Wednesday, April 15, 2009

the way back

I am in Indianapolis, now, driving past my old places, now overgrown with commerce, helping my son understand from who and where I came. Like my home in Tampa, every road and resturaunt and landmark revives another memory here of Mom and Debra. But there are other memories, here, as well, memories long hidden in the corners of my consciousness, now revived and shined and looked at clear. The weather is cold, rainy, and cloudy, with only the hint of sun piercing the gray from time to time. This is the climate of my youth.

I am supposed to come up with some profound and moving words for my mother's eulogy, and I am afraid I can't live up to the promise. I don't know what to say about her now. That her illness and suffering toward the end of her life was tragic and undeserved? That it was not what I wanted for her, for me? That I am still sad and mad about it? That I still can't bear to look at her pictures, her magazines, her address book, with her writing scrawled in it? That I think about her every hour of every day, especially when I want to air my frustration about some ridiculous rule or procedure, that I want to call her just to have someone listen to and commiserate with me, help me sort things out, know there is someone in this world who is totally and completely on my side, even when the 'side' is illogical and silly.

My brother is in the hospital right now, as I write this, recovering from a lung biopsy, dealing with his own health compromises, the vulnerabilities we encounter as we age. Dennis, the strong, stalwart member of our brood, who lived his life according to the rules set forth for him, who did what was expected, and who hoped to be rewarded with a time of rest and recreation during his retirement years. Life brings us surprises, sometimes unearned blessings, sometimes undeserved tragedies, some joys, some sorrows. We have to learn there are so many things beyond our control, and we have to enter into the stream not knowing where it's going to lead us, and that we are only responsible for figuring out a way to stay afloat while we ride. I hope my adventures in London are a way for me to return to the stream, to find joy in my encounters with others floating alongside me, instead of where I have been the last few months, on the shore, dry and safe, only observing the stream of life in front of me, too tired and weary and afraid to step inside, to allow myself to float.

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