“I just don’t know. I’ve never felt like this before. I guess life came pretty easily to me, you know?” She looked at Ruth, feeling shy, worried she sounded like she was bragging. “After William, though, I don’t know. I just haven’t been able to feel good about anything. And I know it’s me. Because nothing else has changed.” Margaret paused and looked down the slope of the hill. “This might sound odd, but when you told me about your brother . . . I understand him. Feeling like all that pain and the darkness is too much, being powerless to make it go away.” Nervously, she lit a cigarette. She needed to control her mouth better. It had felt so special when Ruth shared that awful experience with her, such a tragedy. How could she have compared that to her own feelings? “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made that comparison.”
“No. It’s all right. It must be a very frightening way to feel.” Ruth paused, looking off at the horizon, and then turned back to Margaret, gently taking hold of her hands. “I wonder, though, what would happen if you stopped expecting yourself to be so perfect?”
“I’m hardly perfect.” Margaret laughed, feeling awkward. Could she really let herself off the hook that way?
“Well, of course not. There’s no such thing. But you’re clearly a very bright and capable woman.”
“Really?” She flushed with pride and, for a moment, she remembered her days in nursing school, when her life was filled with so much possibility.
“Absolutely.” Ruth nodded her head reassuringly. “You know, it isn’t unusual to feel like you aren’t good enough, especially when you have children. Sadly, I don’t know this from personal experience—Dr. Apter and I met too late in life for that—but there are many new studies about postnatal psychology that suggest a lot of what you are feeling is very natural.”
“I know all about the baby blues, but if that was it, I should be better by now. I should appreciate the time I have away from William instead of wanting him by my side the moment he is gone, and then detesting that I have to take care of him when he is back in my arms. I should be able to sleep when he’s sleeping so I’m not so tired. I should . . .”
“Forgive me for saying so, but in my experience, life doesn’t often unfold as it ‘should.’ Instead, we need to learn to make the best of what it is. Even in the hard times.” Ruth smiled reassuringly and Margaret wondered if she could possibly do this. Simply accept herself as she was. It seemed impossible.
The women began walking down the slope and came to yet another spectacular collection of flowers. “Oh, I just love hydrangeas. I carried them in my wedding bouquet.” Margaret beamed, suddenly feeling gleeful at the memory of it.
“I’m sure you were a stunning bride.”
Margaret blushed.
“Did you know that hydrangeas change color depending on the acidity of the soil they’re planted in?” Ruth paused. “I’ve always loved the idea—that you can change the environment to change the flower itself.”
“I never knew that.” Margaret shook her head. “It’s kind of like me. Like my soil has changed, and now I can’t get my old color back.”
Ruth looked at her calmly, considering this statement. “Well, if that’s true, then I guess you have some options, right?”
“Options?”
“Yes. You can learn to appreciate the new color or, perhaps, you can look for ways to change the soil again.”
Change the soil? That was what lobotomy was going to do, Margaret suddenly thought excitedly.
“Hmmm, maybe you’re right!” Margaret smiled widely and then looked at her wristwatch. “Oh my, I need to dash off! I wish I had more time, but I promised my mother I’d be home for William’s nap. She has the plumber coming. Thank you for today. You have no idea how much better I feel.”