Engaged!

I asked Mom, "What was the happiest day of your life?" She thought for a few minutes and before answering a huge smile lit her face. "The day your father proposed to me," she said. From here on, her voice took on a youthful quality, she spoke fast and sounded more like one of my daughters speaking than a woman with breathing problems.

"Dad called me and told me to get dressed up to go to a party at Jane's in Scarsdale ," she said, still smiling, "It was dad's birthday, November 28th, 1951, and it was cold but clear outside. Your father always did special things on his own birthday," she laughed when she saw me shake my head. Continuing, she said, "We were going to a party at sunset. I put on my favorite dark green wool dress and he picked me up in grandpa's car. He was using grandpa's car at the time because he was working at Brunswick School for Boys and had no car of his own--he had moved back into his old house with Pop after his time in the Air Force. He was in a good mood but oddly nervous. He started driving on the Shore Road in Westchester County when he pulled off to the side and stopped in a grove of trees by the Long Island Sound. I was confused. I thought something was wrong. Then he reached over to the backseat of the car and pulled out a long rectangular box all wrapped in white with a huge bow on it. 'I have a present for you before we go to the party,' he said. He was sweating. I opened the box and there was a beautiful bride doll in the box with an engagement ring tied to it's ring finger. The ring was platinum with a single round diamond. I looked up at your father, and he asked, "Will you marry me?"

Mom's face went back to that very moment and she paused, remembering.

"Did you kiss?" I asked.

"Naturally!" she said. "Then I asked your father, 'What about the party?' and he said, 'There is no party!' We were so happy, and so excited. I wanted to tell grandma first, but your father said, "Let's stop and tell Pop first, since it's on the way,' and we did. Pop was sitting in his favorite chair in the living room when we arrived, beaming. I could tell he had been waiting for us to come. Pop got up from his chair, gave me a big hug and asked, 'Do you have any idea what you're in for?' We all laughed and I discovered that he had helped Dad pick out the ring. He had been putting aside money that Dad sent home from his time in the Air Force and that's how they bought the ring. From there we went to my mom's house and shared the news with her. It was the most romantic night of my life, and the happiest."

Independence Day

Freedom. We cherish and celebrate freedom and independence in our country today. While reading the newspaper, I can't help but feel something so much greater than luck or gratefulness. Having been born in this country, when I was, to the parents that nurtured me, seems more like a supremely divine blessing than simple luck or good fortune. I grew up in a home that was stable in every way (albeit, with a good does of the denial and surreal jollity that permeated the fifties and lasted into the sixties in our house). Compared to the flamethrowing curse-laden dish breaking fights, the domestic violence and infidelity that dominate the news and reality television today, I grew up in a fairy tale. Witnessing the violence of the Taliban, the turmoil in Iraq, terrorism in Europe and the middle east, and poverty in major pockets of the world, my fairy tale took place in Oz.

Thanks mom and dad, for teaching me that by taking care of family in the best possible way, I secure a tiny particle of humanity that contributes sanity to the whole. My hope is that today, all people that cherish freedom and peace achieve moments of them in their lives --anchors to keep them safe when it storms.

On Solitude

Marianne Moore, a poet, wrote that "the best cure for loneliness is solitude." This sentence explains my mother's demeanor. She spends a good deal of her day alone in her room, and yet everytime I visit her, or she comes downstairs, she is cheerful. I have asked her often, "Are you lonely? Are you bored?" Her response is always, "No, I'm content." On occasions, she has admitted to missing my father, but her missing him, I know, goes well beyond lonliness. His death has left a vacancy in her life that will never be filled, and yet her loving memories of him have colored in the darkness of her two years without him. She waits to join him, and she waits patiently. My mother has found solitude--that feathered cushion upon which she places her trust. A cushion that absorbs the outer noise so her inner voice is heard. She listens and finds safety in the space it provides.

Therapy

That which I most detest, I am.
Mom and I have been watching "In Treatment" on HBO. We thrive on watching others cry, lust, deny, and vent. As spectators, we can easily spot these patient's weaknesses and vulnerabilities, and we marvel that they can't see what we see. Like voyeurs, we are glued to the drama and especially enjoy the episodes where the therapist visits his therapist and behaves just as blindly as his patients.
As our own lives play out and we behave like humans do, it's comforting to know everyone else is just as nuts as we are. This is feel-good TV.

New Day

Where did this day come from? Out of the thick as molasses night air I could barely inhale dawned a crisp sunny morning with a breeze that ruffled the hickory's feathery leaves and nearly made the maples chime. "Want to have coffee out on the deck today, mom?" I asked. She has not left the house in weeks, now favoring the filtered chilled air that makes it easier for her to breathe in summer in Virginia. Nodding, she removes her oxygen and hangs the noose shaped canula over a chair stem. We step onto the deck and immediately I see her eyes close for a stretched moment in gratitude. She scans the backyard, so densely leafed out by now that we can barely see the houses that back up to ours across the creek. As she inhales deeply, a smile creeps in. It's her wedding anniversary today, but her husband died two years ago. He loved to sit with her out on this deck. As if called, our red cardinal flies to the feeder and glances at mom. Deciding it's okay to eat, he gets to work pounding out sunflower seeds. Her silver curl stirs in the breeze. "This is lovely, just lovely."

Going Away

I'm leaving for vacation tomorrow. I'll be away for about ten days, which feels like a lifetime in my anticipation. Once we go, it will be over in what feels like the space of a minute. Mom will be on her own, and she says she's looking forward to it. Even though she's staying home, it's like a vacation for her as well. Different people will be stopping by without the filter of Rosemary. She'll have the house to herself. She'll eat some of her favorite foods, like canned hash with an egg on top. I haven't made that lately:) When she sits in her small high back chair, I can hardly see her behind the tray that holds the small mountain of books she plans to read. Going away provides us with new experiences to share when we get back together. It will be like old times. I'll burst in the door when we arrive home, anxious to tell her all about our time in the city and at the beach, and she'll fill me in on all the news around home. Funny how going away is exciting but coming back home is the best of all.

Cages

Trapped.
There are worse cages then those that surround the body. The steel-trapped mind is one in which thought after thought runs up against a brick wall, negative sentences repeat, and answers loom as far away as the darkest reaches of the universe. How can we sever that electrical current that has a life of it's own --the one that has taken over our thought process and dragged our heart into the picture? The one that says, "Poor me. Life is so sad. No one understands me." I find that the only way to disconnect from this destructive thinking is to face the truth. "Yes, no one understands me--but for that matter, no one understands anyone, really." We all live in our unique, individual, and separate reality. The way to break out of this negative pattern is to reach out to others, not for understanding, but to connect. I find that anytime I ask someone, genuinely, "How are you?" and pause to really listen, I have severed that negative thought pattern by taking a new route. Anytime, I smile deeply into someone's eyes and receive a smile in return, I feel joy. And anytime, I grant a simple wish, or perform a small act of kindness, my mind calms down, and for a minute, I feel uplifted by connection. It's taken a long time, but waiting for others to "cheer me up" is not the answer. Pacing the floors of the cage only leads to more pacing. Opening the doors of the cage is up to me.