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Subject: Nine Years
Hey Ma!
It’s hard to believe that it’s been nine years since
you drew your last breath here on earth and crossed heaven’s horizon into your
new home. I’m not sure how accessible you are to the activities down here, so I
thought I take a minute to update you.
First of all, did you know that Neb and I get together
every November 8th to honor you? It’s our little tradition. We
always have a shot of Irish whiskey and a back of stories, laughter, and tears.
Ma, you should see what that girl has accomplished. She’s about a month shy of
becoming a nurse! We’re so proud of her and I know you’d be too. She’s worked
tremendously hard and has been studying her butt off! She’s been doing all this
while being a mom to those two amazing kids. Helena, just turned five and
already has as much spunk as you did. Enzo is two, and he’s a gentle soul. He
adores his stuffed dog and loves following his big sister around the house.
So, Nurse Neb has a nice ring to it. You know she’s
taking after her big sister, right? Yep, Christy paved the way. She’s a
Perioperative Nurse. I’m not sure exactly what that means, but I think it’s the
major leagues of nursing. Life and death kind of stuff. Surgeries and the like.
Christy is another tireless worker. She’s looking great, staying in shape, and
keeping a busy household afloat. She has a special glow about her. Then there’s
Hannah and Joe. Get this, Hannah is a senior in high school and will be off to
college next fall. Joe is a sophomore. They’re both incredibly smart, articulate,
funny, and well, a lot of fun to be around.
Dad is the “Geeze about Town”. Just like Norm on “Cheers,”
everywhere you go in Monterey, there’s somebody who knows his name. Big G was a
prominent columnist for a good seven years, but his ink space dried up. He’s staying
busy by helping to get another local newspaper off of the ground and serving on
a dozen local committees. When I go to visit him, I expect to see his face on
the side of a bus, he’s that popular. Which I guess is better than seeing his
face on the wall at the post office.
And me? Well, I’m okay. Still teaching the kiddos. I’ve
finally made it up to fifth grade. On the side, I get to play a lot of
softball. My health is good. I went to Peru a few years ago. Other recent trips
have taken me to Oregon and Washington D.C. I have a new dog. The previous one
passed on in January. Maybe you’ve seen him? Brown, medium-sized, cute as can
be, a bit of a whiner.
Anyway, I sure miss you. There were times in those first
few years that were tough; the first year especially. In church, if heaven was
mentioned, I was wrecked. I quickly learned to prepare for the major “sorrow” events
such as Mother’s Day, your birthday, and Nov. 8th. But it was the random memories
that popped up and dropped me to the canvas. For example, one day I was walking
on the wharf in Monterey and I turned a corner and saw the landing where we
went whale watching together. Sucker punch. Or the time I found your magnetic
sewing needle container in dad’s pantry. Right cross. I was immediately taken
back to youthful days of playing on the floor and watching you sew. One little
tangible object of yours had the power to open the floodgates of grief.
Grief is strange. It’s like an active volcano that erupts
without warning. The eruptions have definitely lessened. But, strangely, there’s
a part of me that wants them to occur. As if through moments of heartache we can
still connect. I sometimes feel guilty because the time between eruptions
stretches out for months. I desperately want to feel those connections, but I
can’t control when they’ll happen.
I’ve discovered that grief is the most profound and
formational emotion I’ve encountered. I think it worked me over, spun me around
like a washing machine, and spat me out a changed person. Of course it’s a long
process. The spin cycle can take years. And during that phase I was probably a
jerk more times than not. I think perhaps I am softer and more gentle. I hope
to believe I am more compassionate and more in tune with the sorrows and needs of
others. I think grief caused me to grow. I wouldn’t want anyone to experience
such pain, but after all these years, I can say with certainty that it had a
maturing effect on my life. I hope that’s not bragging. Others may not be aware
of it. But I am.
And you know, mom, looking at Christy, Jenny, and dad,
I think they’ve come out of the spin cycle just as smoothly. I still don’t
understand why you had to leave when you did. But I think I have a better
understanding of the good that’s come of it.
Of course, you’ve probably known this all along. Knowing
you, you may have even had a hand in it.
Pour the Jameson’s … and thank you.
Love,
me
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