“Serenity comes when you trade expectations for acceptance.”
In late August of 2009 I was involved in organising an alternative therapies fundraising day for a children’s arts festival. Mal (my late husband, who I barely knew to say hello to at the time) was one of the therapists volunteering on the day. During a lull in proceedings, I popped into a lady who was doing angel card readings. In the course of conversation she asked if I was single and if so what were my hopes around that. I explained that I was single and that I hoped I wouldn’t always be. She asked very directly if I compared every man to my Dad. I laughed because it was something I had been accused of on numerous occasions by various friends. She told me I needed to stop or I would never find anyone. She went on to say that actually my soulmate was very physically close at the time. Mal was in the next room doing Reiki treatments!
I knew she was right that I needed to stop comparing men to my Dad – there was never going to be another Seán Staunton. My Dad was wonderful. He was kind, loving and generous to a fault. He had no interest in material possessions (apart from some DIY tools that he had no idea how to use!). If anyone admired anything in our house, they were likely to be given it to take home with them – sometimes to the dismay of my mother. Dad was a very proper, dignified man. He always wore a suit and tie – even as he chopped down a tree one day in my garden! He had a strong faith. He had the right words for every situation and always seemed to do the right thing. He was heavily involved in politics and was loyal to a fault to his chosen party. He was a town councillor for years and editor of the local newspaper. Everyone knew Dad and Dad knew everyone.
Being ‘Seán Staunton’s daughter’ brought with it lots of expectations, expectations that others had of me as well as expectations that I had of myself and until Mal came along I largely lived up to these expectations. I worked hard at school, I never rocked the boat too much as a teenager, I made a sensible career choice becoming a primary school teacher, I endeavoured to do ‘the right thing’ whenever possible, etc. I was more or less predictable in every area of my life.
Then in September 2009, along came Mal and expectations went out the window! From the very beginning I was behaving in ways that surprised both myself and those around me. There was nothing sensible or predictable about our relationship. In ways he was the polar opposite to my Dad. He was an English protestant who wore combats and t-shirts on a daily basis. He had tattoos. He practised Reiki and angel channeling and had little or no interest in history, politics or current affairs. But in the important ways he was very similar to Dad – he was kind, caring, generous and he loved me unconditionally.
I fell in love with Mal almost immediately and although I suspected he felt the same, I knew that if I behaved as expected and waited for him to make the first move then nothing was going to happen. So I laid my cards on the table and told him how I felt. Thankfully, the feelings were mutual but he said because of the age difference (he was fifteen years older than me) that he never would have made a move. From then on life was a bit of a whirlwind. We started dating in September, he moved in in November, we got engaged in March and married (in Gretna Green : ) ) in June! We had our first little girl a year and a bit later and our second little girl a year and a bit after that! Life was hectic but life was utterly wonderful – full of more love than I could ever have imagined I would be lucky enough to have in my life.
As many of you know by now, Mal passed away suddenly in April 2016. You can read my previous article about this time in my life here on A Lust for Life. Our little ones were 3 and 4 years old at the time. I was, and am, heartbroken. If I had ‘lived up to the expectations’ of myself and others back in September ’09 and disregarded my strong feelings for Mal, I could have saved myself a lot of pain but I will be forever grateful that I lived in the moment that fateful night and shared my feelings with him. I am deeply indebted to the ‘mindful’ part of me who scorned expectations – ultimately allowing me to experience incredible love and happiness with my soulmate and our beautiful children. Mal was a precious gift in my life and even in his death he continues to give. Mal’s death has served to gradually release me even further from the shackles of expectations.
Just a few hours after he passed away the undertaker asked me to gather some clothes together for him to dress Mal in. ‘Expectations’ reared their ugly head and I found myself with his one and only suit in my hands before I came to my senses and threw it aside and gave the undertaker Mal’s favourite combats and a t-shirt which said ‘This Daddy belongs to Lottie and Rosie’. Mal looked like himself when he was laid out. He hated wearing suits and in the throws of deep shock and grief I knew he was pleased with my choices.
Escaping the expectations of yourself and others can sometimes be very confusing and distressing but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing – at least you are being real. I started seeing a therapist very soon after Mal died. She has been an amazing support and I’m so blessed to have found someone I completely trusted so quickly. A few months after Mal died I was going through a particularly rough patch and during one of my therapy sessions I stood up and I hit the wall. I was horrified – completely shocked at my own behaviour. Hitting walls was not something I did! However, with support from my therapist, I endeavoured to be compassionate towards myself and realised that at that precise moment that was the action my body needed to take. I tried not to judge my action harshly despite it being completely at odds with the expectations I had of myself. That night I wrote this poem:
Stranger Hitting Walls
Who’s that stranger hitting walls?
Me? Don’t be absurd- I don’t do that.
Or maybe I didn’t do that before……..
Before I lost him,
Before I wasn’t there for her,
Before I was a ‘me’ not a ‘we’,
Before no one held me in bed,
Before no one kissed my lips,
Before no one touched my face,
Before I was everything for them,
Before the notes stopped coming,
Before I was a 37 year old widow,
Before I ached for a hand to touch mine,
Before the overwhelming uncertainty,
Before the devastating pain,
Before part of me died.
Yes I guess the stranger hitting walls is me and I don’t bloody blame me!
On a lighter note, as expectations continued to loosen their grip on me, I did something else quite out of character. About a month before Mal’s anniversary I was out for a spin with my Nephew David (one of my best friends in the world) and I asked him what could we do to celebrate the anniversary that wouldn’t be sad and depressing. He immediately suggested that we all get tattoos as Mal had a number of them including a large, full colour one of two koala bears hugging on his stomach with my nickname underneath it, which he got for me 3 months after we started going out! I was horrified but he was so proud of himself and said he just wanted me to know that I was ‘forever’. I was tempted to ask had he never heard of eternity rings but managed to resist! I told David not to be daft, I hated tattoos! If anyone else had suggested it that probably would have been the end of that but because it was David and I value his opinion so much, the seed was planted. I thought about what design I would get and where I would get it.
I emailed the place where Mal had his done and asked did they do walk-in appointments as I didn’t want to actually commit to getting it done. They recommended that I make an appointment and to cut a long story short on April Fool’s Day this year I found myself sitting in a parlour in Galway with my dear friend Dalva with me for moral support, waiting to get a tattoo! I had chosen a ‘love and light’ symbol which you can see in the above photo as Mal used to always sign off his letters and cards ‘love and light, Malcolm’. Dalva said “I bet this is the wussiest tattoo the guy has ever done on the most worried looking person.”
When I was called in, Dalva asked could she come with me so she did and sat beside me as I had it done. The tattoo artist asked why had I chosen to get my tattoo done there. I explained that my husband had had his done there and mentioned what they were. He said “oh yeah I remember him cos they were such unusual tattoos – how’s he keeping?” At this question Dalva burst out laughing out of pure nerves and that set me off and the two of us were nearly crying with laughter. I eventually pulled myself together and said “Actually he passed away last year”. Given our hysterical laughter, I’d say the poor fella thought we were lesbian lovers who had killed Mal and buried him in the back garden. He didn’t know what to say! The end result was a small tattoo on the inside of my right wrist that I am very pleased with indeed.
On Mal’s actual anniversary I once again turned a blind eye to expectations. There was no anniversary Mass (Mal had great faith but was not religious as such) or memorial notice in the paper. These are lovely traditions for some but they just wouldn’t have been right for Mal. Instead the girls and I came up with a far more fitting celebration of Mal’s life. I asked our little ones “What did Daddy really like?” They considered it for a moment and came up with “coffee, cake and Mocha” (our favourite coffee shop where we had spent many happy times together as a family). I instantly knew their suggestions were perfect so we invited family and friends to join with us in Mocha on the evening of Mal’s anniversary to share coffee and cake in his memory. It was a beautiful gathering. There was lots of laughter and smiles and sharing of stories and memories. The love was palpable.
They are just a few examples of how I have begun to live more mindfully by allowing expectations to have less of a hold on me. Had I not met Mal, I would probably still be living up to expectations as ‘Sensible Sarah’ but I am giving her a well deserved holiday for now and attempting to be true to myself in my actions and in the choices I make. Don’t wait for a terrible tragedy to befall you to examine the expectations that might be denying you the gift of living your life mindfully and meaningfully. As Shakespeare said “Expectation is the root of all heartache”.
Love and light,
Sarah
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