Life continues to move.
It’s funny how for some, this war, which we collectively choose to despise yet hold reservation with passionate criticism due to the severity and complexity of ever growing stupidity and mortality, can make us focus more so, on our lives and its distinct milestones.
Or maybe I’m just getting old (yup, next month be the big 29).
I’m at the cusp of more and more “Big Stuff”.
* * *
An old and intimate friend from college days called me last week to discuss, of all things, any advice I could provide him with his current situation. His mother is rapidly diminishing in health and has weeks, nay, days ticking away. She’s fought hard against cancer. Won in the last two bouts. This time, she will not win.
“So what do you do?” he asks me.
“You’re asking me…” I responded, softly.
“You’re in the uh…unfortunate, but experienced position of having had to deal with your mother dying. What do you do?”
I confessed that I felt like a fraud and no good advice could come from me. After all, when my mom passed away, I was 18 and at my most foolish, selfish, irrational, emotional, and volatile. All I could do was feel raw, cheated, and alone. I trembled with trying to respond. How dare I share my advice with another?
I confessed small things…like I wish I’d written a love letter to my mother. Or enacted out a silly play of all the moments in my life that my mother would miss. From high school/college graduation, to marriage, to kids, to other silly mischievous things like accepting a Nobel Peace Prize or learning 14 languages so I could travel with Madonna across the planet. I wished I could have told my mother how much I liked to write and wanted to try harder to be share my experiences with others.
The only writing my mother read was my diary and that after snooping through my room. After one particularly venomous and upset entry in my Dear Diary, mom left a note saying “I’m so sorry. You know I still love you. Try not to fight with Daddy. ”
I warned my friend of the cycles of grief. How swift comes the darkness and how heavy the breathing. How the smells of medications to this day make me curl into myself with fear and sorrow. I told him not to feel afraid to laugh at the most ludicrous in the mourning. It happens. It’s human.
And in all the darkness, how bright the stars were. And how important to take those stars with him and keep them near his heart. Things I’d wished I’d known when I had the chance … well, over 10 years ago now. Time moves forward.
* * *
Another friend writes a news bulletin update to the state of her spiritual life and family. She celebrates her 2nd year of separation and continued pursuits and healing & resolution. She throws herself into the parenting of her child. She continues to focus on herself and her personal/spiritual growth in these times. I try to stay emotionally supportive beyond the miles and months that separate us though her message has the same tone and quality that it did six months ago, and a six months before that. To be sure, I’m hard pressed to tell if she’s moved forward as she has claimed for the last year.
And the stack of relationship/intimacy and boundaries self help tapes that she gave me two Christmas’s ago lie stacked at my desk, waiting for me to listen and learn from them. And to move on with my life for life won’t stand still.
* * *
I find out that the goofiest and dirtiest little man I know is going to become a father. This freaks the bejebus out of me. He’s a good man, sure enough, but will fatherhood force him to become more the man than the thug or will the thug outweigh the man and will the child wear hip hop diapers. With the fubu label. These diapers, I understand, are quite easy to change as they’re already half way down the ass. Life is coming whether you like it or not.
* * *
Two people, miles away, are making way for a child. Through extraordinary struggles, prayers, and investments they will be taking advantage of modern science for this endeavor. Their lives may be utterly transformed, or beset with disappointment within the next few weeks. Too soon to tell but my prayers, my thoughts, and all my best intentions go out for them. Life is in those moments of hope.
* * *
The woman whom I’ve always been both intimidated by and looked up to adoringly, has a very lovely and goofy spouse who’s written a missive detailing cats peeing in the kitchen, massive technical failure, and recent surgeries. How this could happen to a woman who can cook like a demon, write like a vixen, paint like a madman, and has friends who look like cowboys named “Pooky” is beyond me. Life throws you a curveball.
* * *
I speak with my father the other night and am comforted by the fact that some things do not change.
Conversations Held (more times than I care to disclose)
“Daddy?”
“Yes, my lovely daughter.”
“Turn off the TV. You’re not listening to me.”
“Huh?”
“Is Michigan playing?”
“Yeah. But aigoo…stupid…. Terrible coach.”
This week
“Daddy?”
“Yes, my lovely daughter.”
“Turn off the TV. You’re not listening to me.”
“Huh?”
“Are you watching the war?”
“Yeah. But aigoo…stupid…. Terrible coach.”
Life is still very very good.
