"This is Us" and why I watch it

With many people posting about "This is Us" and talking about it, I figured I would watch an episode after the fact, to determine whether it was worth my time. The intimacy between Jack and Rebecca as witnessed in her dance for her husband on his birthday, while he is in his "birthday suit" and she is in the ninth month of her pregnancy, was real in ways we may not want to admit. His eyes of love toward the woman he thinks is beautiful even though she thinks she is unattractive in her big, unfamiliar body, says a lot about their marriage. It says a lot about mine, too.

Watching a woman in labor will always remind those of us who were once in that condition the intensity of the experience, yet this storyline was even more familiar to me.

What many of you may not know is that I had a wonderful doctor in Colorado while pregnant with my first child, was comforted in knowing he had delivered something like 2,000 babies, and looked forward to seeing his long, gray pony-tail and his well-worn tanned face, always smiling at me, putting me at ease with his stories about drinking vodka and taking trips to the nude beaches of Bali.

Though my pregnancy had gone well, the baby had not turned when he ought to have. "Ignats," as the doctor nick-named him, was showing himself to be strong-willed. His head lodged itself into my rib cage and it was determined he was a footling breach, one leg down, and would have to be delivered by a scheduled cesarian section. My doctor kept me calm, telling me that I was lovely, and reassuring me that when the time came, he would be with me and all would be well.

In "This is Us," Rebecca is carrying triplets, which is far more risky than trying to birth just one. She is fine . . . until she is introduced to the doctor who will now be guiding her through some of the most important hours of her life. Her panic was relatable, as my experience was somewhat similar.

My water had broken during the night and as I waited for the labor pains to begin, fell asleep. In the morning I realized nothing was happening but figured we had better get to the hospital, just in case. As soon as I was ready, a doctor I had never seen before came to introduce himself to me as panic was the only thing I could feel. I needed my doctor. He knew me. He would know what I would need to get through this. But his friend had a heart-attack and I would not see my doctor until the next day when he would run into my room, pony-tail flying, apologizing profusely.

As I am being monitored, I suddenly see the faces of those attending to me change from expressions of kindness to horror. The next thing I know, I am being placed hastily on a cart as those assisting are running me down the hall toward the operating room. I see the lights flash by quickly overhead like I'm on a train and all I can think is, "This cannot be happening--dear God, no."

In my case, though my baby was in distress with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, he was not oxygen deprived and was delivered in minutes. Though numbed from the waist down, an experience I hope to never have again, I eventually recovered and would only have to endure one more difficult birth until my third one, in which it took no drugs and exactly six pushes.

Rebecca, however, goes into distress and one of the three babies dies. Though I never lost a baby that had come nearly full-term, I did lose one early on in my second pregnancy. There is no loss more difficult for a mother, I am convinced.

Jack, trying to cope with the loss of the third child, decides they need to adopt a child who was abandoned and brought to the hospital. Love is color-blind and they willingly raise a black child as though he is a biological offspring. Themes of adoption, racism, sibling rivalry, bullying, and a family trying to make it through each day are handled with hope and a subtle humor. It is difficult for me to become engaged with shows or movies in which I do not like the characters. In "This is Us" I am hard-pressed to identify a character for which I am not ultimately rooting. I love these people.

The way the show goes from present day with the "triplets" grown with their own lives to flashbacks of their growing up years is a seamless transition and gives one so much insight into their characters. Kevin, feeling like a failure, even with some success at acting but not so much with relationships, figures out that family needs to come before work. Randall, who seems to succeed at pretty much everything, also realizes family needs to come before work. Kate, dealing with her body image, comes to the same conclusion and allows herself to trust someone enough to believe she can have a relationship. Growing up in the same family, their issues are different, yet somehow the same.

The way the last episode ended this first season is heart-breaking as we have known from early in the season that at some point Jack's life ends. The brief funeral scene has the children as teenagers and with the track we seemed to be on, it was imminent. And yet there was still time for a huge fight between Jack and Rebecca, the kind no married person ever wants to have because the truth is spoken and yet not the whole truth.

The truth is though there is nothing more fulfilling in life than a good marriage and raising children, if one does that and only that, the contributions to the family and to the marriage will be limited. We all need to nurture our creative gifts whether they are music, writing, accomplishing goals in sports or even making things and finding new ways to put them together. We need to develop ourselves in all of the ways we can.

I can relate to Rebecca's need to use her gift and yet I can also appreciate Jack's anger that he has not become her all in all. No one person can become everything for any other person. We need the village to raise our children and need to remain in that community to grow and flourish ourselves. We need to have times of rest and times of work. Times when we can do nothing but shut ourselves up in a room because the words need to find a way out to breathe and times when all we want to do is watch a silly movie with our family.

Though I thankfully cannot relate to needing a separation due to unresolved issues, the part that got to me the most was when Jack told Rebecca on his way out the door that she was still the most beautiful woman in any room, as my husband has shared that sentiment with me.

It makes me sad that this profound moment may be the last this couple shares in this show that has gotten my attention and touched my heart in deeper ways than most television shows ever go. But this in many ways is "reality" tv. We do not know how many days we have to live, to love, to share our hearts with those around us. We can only do the best we can with what we are given. I look forward to "This is Us" giving us all just a little bit more.

it's who you know

"It's not what you know, but who you know that matters," is a phrase that has been proven true more often than not. If I had chosen to live near my hometown and marry a farmer, I could now be re-living my mother's life, wondering if the cherry crop would bring in enough profit to afford some more livestock and new clothes for the family, or if a last minute hail storm would keep everyone in the same pair of boots for another year.

What it meant, owning land, was that we had jobs at an early age right outside our door, or at least down the road. We didn't have to go searching for work with resumes and lists of references. My dad was the boss and if he needed a substitute asparagus picker or someone to help cool the tanks of cherries, he would ask one of us, my sisters and me, to do it. He also had us "fill baggies" and tie the foul-smelling things to the slender trunks of cherry trees to give them a defense against the deer. Milk-testing was another chore done by taking samples of milk as the cows were led into the milking parlor to do their job while we wrote down the necessary information.

For jobs that required strength and size like baling hay, the neighborhood boys would be called upon to become employees. All they had to do was show up, do the work in the way it was supposed to be done, and then show up the next day to do it all again. Proximity and whether one had a reputation for hard work was all that was required. If one wanted a job, there usually was one.

Out in the world, finding work has been much more difficult, and yet, most of the jobs I've had have been given to me by those who know me.

I became a media coordinator for a ministry through a pastor friend who not only got me the job but also gave me a car that had been donated to his ministry, and then helped find a church to provide child care for my two young children, so I could go to an office each morning. Later, when the ministry job had ended and I was sitting in the car picking up my children from the same preschool, the director said I would not need to keep looking for work if I came and worked for her. No resume, no interview, just an open red door that I would continue to walk through for many years.

There is, however, a downside to this system of obtaining employment and it has to do with a change in management. When I returned to the preschool after working at another position I received through someone I knew, I needed to be re-hired, this time by someone who did not know me. All she knew was that there were two groups of women at that school: those whom she considered teachers and those who were not. I was the latter, and once placed there could in no way lift myself up. Didn't matter how much education I had or how much I loved children. Didn't matter that parents and children alike were happy to see me there year after year, handing me their children in love and with respect. I would never be able to be known by that director.

This problem of not being known has always plagued me. Perhaps it is why people never leave their small communities and go out into a world filled with those who will not understand a person even if that person's life experiences are explained in a myriad of ways. When someone recommends one to another, the person doing the hiring does not always see what the person recommending sees. When expectations are not met, the employee becomes vulnerable to criticism not necessarily any fault of his or her own. We all have an idea of who we are looking for and we cannot always communicate to someone else exactly who that is.

After searching diligently for about eight months and probably less diligently for years before that, a friend messaged me with a job for which I could be considered if I would just call her daughter. A couple of days later I was called by the daughter's director and asked why someone as overqualified for an administrative assistant role as I am would want so humble a job considering the degrees I hold and the low rate of pay offered. I explained I needed to make a change, so she invited me in to talk.

The job interview was unlike any job interview I have ever had. We were relaxed with each other from the start, talking like old friends. We shared our hearts about how we were raised Catholic and how those instilled values caused us to believe it was our duty and privilege to reach out to our communities and provide assistance in whatever way we could. We were both drawn to non-profit organizations and loved the idea of helping children who were in need of adoption, and offering hope and healing to couples looking for ways to bring children into their hearts and homes. Our conversation winded its way through the woods to camping and she shared her excited anticipation of a rafting trip. We seemed to have a lot in common, a rare experience for me.

The connection I made with this woman was profound. As I was settling into the idea of working for someone who seemed to actually know me, not the me I show most people but the real neurotic, creative, nerdy, lover of coffee and day-old popcorn me, she mentioned she had finally been offered her dream job and she would be leaving the organization. Momentarily, my heart sunk and I considered a thank-you-but-no-thank-you exit, but then I wondered if this agency really did work as a team, and all got along wonderfully, as she had said. I kept myself from walking out by thinking: How different from this incredible woman could the next director be?

Accepting the position, I went on our planned beach trip feeling ever more anxious that no one had contacted me about my new, grand and glorious position. When I was finally emailed by the interim director, who not only knew nothing about me but did not even know there was a new hire, I thought I would be looking for work as soon as we returned home. Instead I was invited to begin a job a week late which on day one, during my brief orientation, I regretted. The woman sitting across from me could not see me, not the real me anyway. She saw an insecure, middle-aged woman who never managed to have a real career, whom had been let in the backdoor like a stray dog that no one has been heartless enough to put back out on the street. She wanted documented proof that I could do exactly what I had no idea I would be asked to do. When the laptop computer I was given kept dying along with more and more pieces of my heart each day, I realized this director categorized people into two groups: extroverts and those with personalities opposite to hers whom she considered losers. She told me during the worst 90-day job review of my life, 40 days in, that I did not have the "skill-set" (oh, how I loathe that word) for the position and she would recommend my termination to the next director. I would realize later that by giving me a negative review she was denying me the raise promised by the woman who hired me, the woman who trusted the next director to do the right thing. Though her trust was misplaced, mine was not.

Every day for the past six months, I have walked from the parking deck up to my office to sit down at my desk, and wonder if that day would be my last day at this job. Every. Single. Day.

Two months ago, a permanent director was hired by the board and I was given another chance to introduce myself. But it was short-lived as the bogus job review still stands as my only "professional" representation. Doesn't matter that I'm in a position of leadership at my church and have presented liturgical prayers I have written to the congregation. Makes no difference I run my own arts and crafts business in which I sell my artwork to those who find what I create charming and beautiful. It doesn't matter that I have writing, editing, and proofreading skills that could enhance the reports and documentation of any organization, plus the kind of work ethic one develops growing up on a farm and beginning work as a child, working my way through college and graduate school, nearly starving and almost homeless all the while finding ways to survive! No. It is not based on anything real. It is based on the assessment of someone who cannot know me. Whether I will ever be known by the new leadership remains to be seen. Strangely, peace comes in knowing there is nothing left to lose.

If you know me, you know I write this smiling, and shaking my head. You know after I write this, edit it, re-edit it, and perhaps give it one more edit--at least, I may make a pillow, watch a movie, and later have a Guinness to call it a day. I will get up tomorrow morning, try to make it to the gym to work out with a friend who works out early, shower, and drive to work singing. I will walk from the parking deck to my desk, check my emails, get a cup of coffee and welcome whatever it is that will become my day. I will then come home to my faithful dog, get the mail, kiss my husband, feed my son, and wonder briefly about this path I'm on, led by the One who knows me best.