Stuffed Puppy Dogs

I read recently about a family therapist who got a call from a fifty-four year old woman whose marriage was crumbling because of her obsessive collecting of stuffed-puppy dolls. The walls of her house were lined with shelves, and every square inch of space was occupied by every variety of stuffed puppy available. The woman's normally sedate and long-suffering husband had finally had enough and wanted a divorce. She came to the therapist in desperation looking for some way to stop her compulsion.

The therapist was able to help her trace the problem to an almost forgotten event that had happened to her as a four year old. She had a stuffed-puppy doll, Patches, that she loved above all other things. She took it with her everywhere. It was tucked lovingly under her arm at play and occupied the place of honor on her pillow each night. Too much love and attention had patinaed the dog doll with dirt and fraying threads and the little girl's father tried and tried to get her to part with her pet, but her heart wouldn't let go. Finally, in a fit of anger and frustration, he tore the pet from her hands, ripped it's head off, and threw it in the trash, as his little daughter screamed in anguish for him not to hurt her beloved.

He thought she would quickly forget the stuffed pet and move on. He thought the hurt would quickly heal. But the crying didn't stop for days. He finally tried buying her a new Patches, but the child would accept no substitutes. After many nights the crying gave way to quietness.

Fifty years later, unhealed wounds were still hurting her. Fifty years later she was still looking for what she lost.

Very sad, I know, but how revealing. How many wounds do I have that still cause me pain? That still cause pain to those who love me? How have I wounded my children? Yet "love covers over a multitude of sins." I'm sure we equally bear the marks of forgotten kindnesses and kisses. I must examine my compulsions with more experienced eyes and bind up the old wounds.

Waking up in the dark

I remember when I was a child, waking up in the pitch dark late at night and climbing out of bed to make my way to the bathroom. I thought I was in my own house, but I was confused and was actually at my grandmother's. I remember my utter confusion when I couldn't find the light switch in the usual place. I remember my surprise when I banged my shin against a chair that didn't exist in my mental picture of reality.

As an adult (more or less), I now experience this same surprise and confusion when life doesn't work the way I think it should; when people behave in ways that I never even thought possible. My mental picture of reality is off, and I realize I'm stumbling around in the dark. I need to pay attention when these surprises occur and realize that life and reality are what they are; that my surprise results from a false mental image of the way things are.