Upon Return

“I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for death”

Edna St. Vincent Milay

I am back from Paris, and I will share a bit about that soon, but I returned to two deaths and I need to explore those experiences first.

Frances’s uncle died while I was on the plane home from France.  John’s death, at 55, has been anticipated for at least a year and the fact that he never actually died made it seem like he would live forever.  Less than a month ago he was on an Alaskan cruise with his wife.  10 days ago he took his son fishing. 

Every death envelops me in Molly’s death, and her death taught me that the only way to mourn is to live.  John died in California and it was not even a question that Frances and I would be part of the gathering: his life was remembered by a large family telling stories, hanging out in the pool, eating plenty of Mexican food and drinking plenty of wine.  Even as we mourned John, we instinctively celebrated life – his and our own. 

An hour after our return from California, there was a knock on the door that a neighbor had just died at home. 11 PM.  Dark.  She had been recently diagnosed with an aggressive cancer and I don’t think death took her by surprise.  It was a small and intimate gathering around Cathy’s body as her husband prayed for her and waited for the funeral home to come.  Someone put a flower in Cathy’s hand.  Her husband lit a candle.

I suppose God was in the room with us.  Cathy was not.  She was still warm, but gone and not lingering.  Naked but for a towel over her body. Peaceful but not sleeping.  Dead.

I tend to experience death as spiritual transition; Cathy taught me that before it can be a spiritual reality, death is a physical experience.  But that physical experience is relatively short: the body was removed; the pictures came out; the stories were told.  Life was, and continues to be, celebrated.

So my entire being is full of death and its challenge to live boldly and with passion.   Since death will ultimately take us all, there is not much point in giving it more than its brief moment of physical victory.  I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for death.

What Lies Over the Hill?

Today is one of those “turning point” days for me. 

I finished up substituting for the year and head to Paris tomorrow (for two weeks) with my own Master’s program. 

The Paris trip is a big marker for me.  It’s an opportunity to stretch my middle aged wings, test my personal strength,  and discover new things about myself.    And of course I will look for Molly; I expect that I will sense her presence in and around a good deal of this experience.  She KNOWS that  this trip is a tad bit out of character for her mother. 

And then what?   I have not had a summer off in at least 30 years.  My guess is that I will enjoy the leisurely pace for about 4 days.  And then, by the 4th of July , I will likely be doggone sick of myself.  

We’ll see.   I cannot imagine beyond these next two weeks in Paris.    The trip is one of those hills that is just too big to see over until you get to the top.

I look forward to sharing the view when I get back!

Dad and I spent Molly's last gift card last weekend.   I don't know if Dad saw me cry.  But Molly was so present, and the day was so right.   The tears were streaming. God knows what the barrista was thinking...

I was at my parents' home last weekend, for a hometown festival.   Years ago, my Dad established himslef by winning his division in the festival 10K. so I do not honor the family name by stumbling along in the middle of my age group n the 5K.  But I try.  This year, Dad moved into camera-and-chair mode, so he took pictures, and I ran.

And then we went to Caribou Coffee to spend Molly's gift card. It was a VERY intentional trip on my part.  Dad had never had a smoothie - or so he says.  So it was fun to introduce him to the tastiness of frozen fruit and yogurt sipped through a straw. 

Remember that West Nile Virus almost killed my father last fall.   It was touch and go for weeks.  So there is something miraculous about how well he is doing.  And I was feeling good too after the race - much better than I looked, by the way! 

The whole morning was captured, for me, by a board that you could write on whle you waited for your drink order...  WHAT ARE YOU MOST THANKFUL FOR? the board queried.      Folks wrote the typical things...... they were thankful for their mates..   their children....  their faith.

I was thankful for "Today".   Molly was there.  Dad was there.  I was there.  It was enough.

Molly’s Birthday

Molly would be 19 today.  Maybe Molly is 19 today.   I don’t know.

What I do know is that her friends have remembered her on Facebook and that she is very much a part of not only my daily reality – but the reality of many young people who are growing into young adulthood.

I feel for those young people.  I hope that they are only holding happy memories.  I hope that they are not blaming themselves, or replaying conversations or worrying that in some way they contributed to or might have stopped Molly’s death.  We did a fair amount of work right after Molly died to help with that – but I hope we did enough.

  

Molly’s death was a runaway train.  There was no way that anyone was going to stop it.  She was stubborn and strong and smart and pursued by mental illness.  She was also a good actress.   So, Molly’s friends should only be celebrating their memories of badminton and plays…  field hockey and school parties….   sitting around the piano, worrying about grades and staying up late. 

As the years go by, I feel less and less connection to Molly’s birthday.  We loved celebrating it with her, and she had some wonderful birthday experiences (para sailing in Florida and taking a horse and buggy ride in Philadelphia come to mind….) but the celebrations were about HER.   

Oddly enough, it is the anniversary of her death that connects me to Molly now.   It is not a day I would ever celebrate.  But it is a day that reminds me (as if I need the reminder…)  both  how much Molly’s life means to me, and how challenged I am by her death to live every day to the fullest.  It is a day big enough for both of us.

Appliances

I have given in to the tempation and purchased a rice cooker.

Rice cookers are not heavily advertised, are unlikely to be promoted in the Sunday paper, and on the whole are not as sexy as - say - margarita blenders.   I am proud that the big corporate machine did not influence my purchasing decision until I realize that the true motivator was pots of burned rice.  I need all the help I can get.

And for the record, I LOVE it.  It's a wonder priced at under $30.  I have used it to cook brown and white rice, to steam vegetables and to heat tofu.  And it has a TIMER function!   Tomorrow, I am going to cook a pork roast in my slow cooker and time my rice to be done wth the pork when I get home from work.  What took me so long? 

And with the success of that purchase, I headed out to thrift shops to investigate bread machines.  Again, not the appliance of the hour (Do you remember the s'more maker?  Or the hot dog cooker/bun warmer?  Those were appliances of the hour).  In fact, so NOT the appliance of the hour that I knew I shouldn't have to pay full price.  I was not disapointed.    There were five machines to choose from - each priced at $10.  I chose one that appeared to have all of the parts and be the most recent model.  I had to pull a manual off the internet, but the machine has already produced a lovely loaf of wheat bread for me.

The bread machine, too, has a timer.  Maybe I'll set it to be done with the rice and the pork roast tomorrow.  The house, at least, will be inviting as I head in after a day of subbing (I hope!) and rain (I am certain!).

Blue Herons, Rainbows and Flowers

I sense Molly's presence. 

It's not a constant thing, or a hallucination.   It is not audible or visual.  But in the blue heron that played along the river as Frances and I took a walk yesterday, in the rainbow that appeared over the harbor in Ireland when I went back for the first time without Molly, in the plant that blooms in her favorite color on her birthday - but had never bloomed before her death - I sense Molly's presence.

Some would say that sensing Molly around me is trick I am playing on myself so that I don't have to admit that she is "gone."  They are free to  their opinion.   I choose to believe that regardless of if we live or die we remain connected to each other and that our relationships endure.

To me, she lives on.  Actively. 

High School

All of a sudden, I am subbing a lot at what would have been Molly's high school if she had gone to public high school.  After most of elementary and all of middle school in public school, she never really considered going to the public high school - she was definitely looking for a different experience - but now she walks those halls with me every time I am there.

I think of her as I walk the crowded hall ways.  Her mental illness included hyper sensitivity: sounds that I could barely hear would drive her crazy; crowds were almost impossible for her to navigate; she did not like to be touched and she needed sunglasses outside.   This was not a kid who enjoyed the mall.  By early high school, her hyper sensitivity became a very limiting factor in her life.  The halls at our local public school would have been very difficult for her.

I think of Molly when the classes are going well and I wonder if, in fact, she could have thrived there.  For the healthy child, the school is a good place to be.   This always lingering question is most poignant for me becuase Molly attended a local boarding school (relatively common on the east coast).  This was her idea, believe me.  Boarding school was not even part of my vocabulary untill she brought it up.   But the more we looked into it as a family, the more it made sense for her.   While of course we didn't consider her ill at the time, we knew Molly needed structure; she needed to be challenged - rather than invited - to participate in extra curricular activities; and we hoped the experience would lead to increased confidence and social ease.   She had great grades and glowing recommendations.  She got a scholarship.  She went.   It worked for awhile. 

And I think of Molly at the local high school when the classes are misbehaving - not becuase I think she would have misbehaved - but because if she didn't test into the upper level courses, her peer group at the school would have been very challenging.

In a weird way, I also think of my own high school experience as I work there.  Seniors have their last day next week, and obviously I had a last day of high school, but I can't even begin to remember it.  I am sure that it would be shocking for these kids to know that as important as the last day of school is going to feel to them, most of them won't remember it ten years later.

So Molly and a younger me are  hovering over my subbing jobs lately.  And it's good company.