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Archive for the ‘psychologist’ Category

Was it Cicero, a Roman statesman, Matthew in the New Testament, Shakespeare or that wonderful poet anonymous who said, “The eyes are the windows to the soul?”  It doesn’t matter who said it, nor does it really matter that each quote is a little different.  They all say the same thing, and each is so true: the eyes are definitely the windows to our heart, our soul and often a glimpse into who we are.

Our eyes have many gestures, if gesture is the right word to use in reference to eyes.  Or do they have a language of their own?  They sparkle, flirt, look bewildered, shocked, frightened, askance, and we mustn’t forget the eye roll, accomplished best by teens.  Of course the list is almost endless.  Interrogators watch the eyes for guilt, hidden answers, avoidance or any other clues which might lead to solving a  mystery.  Psychologists search deeply through the windows seeking answers into the troubles and mental health of a patient, and parents learn early on that the puzzling situations of family life are often solved by looking a child straight in the eyes and asking the leading question.

“Who’s been eating the Easter candy?” my mother asked glancing at my two older sisters and me.  “It wasn’t me,” they both cried in unison.  “I didn’t eat any,” I answered, the guilt building.  I was 9 and thought my pure statement would get me through.  However, my mother-turned-detective was relentless.  “Look at me,” she commanded, the word guilty no doubt flashing across my eyes like blinking lights on a theater marquee.  “Tell me the truth.”  There I was – caught with my hand in the cookie jar – or rather in a candy bag — with nothing left but confession.

Better at eye reading than all the professionals in the world are parents, especially mothers, and I learned from the master.  “Have you been smoking?” I demanded from one of my barley teen children, the barely-teen scrubbing the teeth in the middle of the afternoon while the clothes reeked of tobacco.  Even without the smell, brushing of teeth without a reminder was out of order and a bit suspicious.  Barely-teen mumbled through the tooth paste, “I dod ‘moke,” and while the reeking was helpful, the eyes told the truth, followed, finally, by the guilty voice admitting puffing one or two — but never inhaling.

“Where did you go this afternoon instead of classes?” I asked another of my teenagers. Eye puzzlement was a dead giveaway, even though the guilt was on his smile.  He didn’t care that he was caught, but marveled at my detective work and network of spies.

And when they were younger, it was their eyes telling of sickness before they spoke.  “Mommy, I don’t feel good,” mumbled Debbie, my six-year-old.  “I know Sweetheart,” I replied holding my palm against her forehead.  “I can see it in your eyes.”  “Are my eyes sick too?” she had asked.  Many people look a little glassy eyed when they are sick, but Debbie possessed the sickest eyes of anyone I knew; sparkling and deep brown in color during well times, but with illness they turned into dull, hazy marbles.

As parents we observe a troubled marriage and see pain in the sad eyes of our adult children.  We so want to share their burden, but wisely allow what is not working to end in its own natural way so they can pick up the pieces and begin anew.  Hopefully,  happiness will come again, and we will know without words of its arrival because of gleaming eyes telling of love’s return.

So as parents, wives, husbands, friends and relatives we look past what’s up front to peer inside of another’s soul or heart when there is a need; not to intrude, but to help, guide and comfort.

I have noticed with Alzheimer’s the eyes often reflect different messages:  With Rose and Nick (Ken’s parents), their eyes became vacant as the disease neared its end.  It was if no one lived inside.  Yet, my mother’s eyes danced with the wonderment of a little girl during her journey through Alzheimer’s, and flamed with excitement at  being offered ice cream in the middle of the night.  I don’t ever remember her soft blue eyes looking as if she were no longer there.

“My mother’s eyes have that vacant look,” said Marvalee, as we talked about Eva during the music-filled afternoon we all enjoyed.  “That’s something new,” I answered.  “When Ken and I saw her in January her eyes were still bright, still showing some life, some bit of recognition.”   Now that was gone.  Are the eyes saying that Eva doesn’t live there anymore?  When we can no longer find expression and answers through the eyes, when the windows to the soul become closed, what does that say? 

Often I look into Ken’s eyes, and they still tell me a lot.  Some days they appear dull, and during the dull look I find him more combative, more uncooperative than when they are bright.  Those moments when he remembers me I even see a sparkle coming from deep inside his heart.  He seems relaxed and softens as I sit with him on the couch holding his hand.  Most of the time, however, I see a jumble of ever-changing expressions and emotions:  anger, despair, bewilderment, fury, fear, seething, frustration, confusion, recognition, ridicule, revenge, hostility, and every so often love.

Yes, no matter where we are in life, our eyes are the windows to our soul, our heart, and our health.  Fortunately, or unfortunately, we learn to read one another like the best of books.  For me it’s been a priceless gift.

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