Loneliness

I've been single for a long time and I've been content with it for just as long. But lately I'm looking at my life and feeling the lack of a man to love, to just hang out with, for the first time in ages. The silence in the house at night is so deep. The fact that my dog is the only male whose head is on the pillow beside me is not quite as cute as it used to be. The hours spent reading or watching television at night alone seem to be weighing me down as they never have before. I have no buddy. And the sense that I will be alone for the rest of my life without one is making me feel pretty sad just now.

A dear friend recently has separated from her husband, whose behavior has reminded me very much of my former one as I've listened to her. It's been hard to remain objective, to leave my buried baggage behind when she and I have talked, though I've tried. Maybe that's what's churned this up within me just now. And I've been helping my son and daughter-in-law plan a belated celebration for their wedding/one year anniversary recently. While I'm looking forward to it when it happens, I also know I'll be there alone again. The dumped wife who never got it together with anyone else, you know? It's not the most positive way to look at myself, I know, and I don't often think of myself that way. But I know that I'll be there, see him with her, and will enter, mingle, relate and respond to people with a smile on my face and knot in my gut till it's over and I can retreat. This is NOT the way things were supposed to be. And it sucks.

Will I ever do anything about this? Probably not. My heart is functioning but there is no heat or passion pumping through it. And something just plain broke inside me when my marriage, my life, fell apart. I respect those women who pick up the pieces and build a new life with someone else when things don't go as planned. And I know how strong I am, how much I've overcome and learned. It shouldn't be this hard to take a chance, to step out of what people stupidly call the "comfort zone". But my fear of trying and losing at love again is so enormous I can't move past it. The "alone thing" hasn't really bothered me much till now. It gets me at Christmas, when I don't have a man to shop for. I used to love that and I miss it every year, though I've learned to zoom past the men's departments as if I'm on speed. It nags at me at social things -- weddings, dinner parties, martini nights at my friends' -- when I don't have a dance partner or someone to share dessert or chat about it with over coffee the next morning. I've staved off a lot of that stuff pretty well till now and avoided the "poor me" thing. But now....getting older, seeing my kids carving out their lives with their partners so beautifully, working too hard for my age, seeing my parents failing a bit more, having no siblings...the future seems like something that is going to be very quiet, very predictable and, yes, lonely.

One of my idols, Joni Mitchell, wrote a wistful song titled "My Old Man" that I still love to sing. When her guy, so good at "keeping away my blues" is gone, she sang, "The bed's too big, the frying pan's too wide". Pretty much says it all, eh? The space around me isn't feeling empty just because there's no man in it. That's a part of it, for sure, and I have to admit that. But it's also empty because as I look ahead I don't have hope of that space feeling fuller or warmer than it does now. That lack of hope is why I'm feeling a little empty on these summer nights. More than a little.

I miss .... love.

Going Home

Yesterday I drove my parents back to the area outside of Philadelphia where they raised me. My Dad's oldest friend, who was also my godfather, died and we went to the viewing, funeral Mass, burial and gathering afterwards. It was a day for tears over his passing but smiles at the reminiscing. My uncle was such a good soul, reserved and Italian-tough, but always a teddy bear with me. He had been widowed three years ago and had missed my aunt so. She was the other side of their coin -- open, gregarious, always delighted to see you walk in her door. We shared so many incredible meals and happy times with them. I'm certain she welcomed him home to heaven with joy. So I'm glad that his loneliness is over but I'll really miss him.

It was a day when I also had to see with my heart that Mom and Dad are aging and the toll such a day takes on folks in their late 80's and early 90's was clear by the time it ended. They are a little unsteady on their feet, a little more forgetful. Dad can't hear well and I see that his eyesight is a little weak. Mom needs her cane. I know the day is coming when I will be the daughter saying farewell to her parents. So there is some apprehension there -- apprehension mixed with regret as I leaf through the memories of going home.

You see, yesterday we drove past my college, St. Joe's, and out through Wynnewood, Ardmore, Bryn Mawr, Rosemont. All the Main Line towns I used to scoot through to friends' homes, shops, dances, games, schools. The trip to the cemetery took us out through Villanova, Gladwyne, Broomall, Newtown Square, on a fall day filled with autumn colors and strong breezes. We wound up the road by our old neighborhood, past my bus stop, our favorite diner, the old library that held the joy of new books for me as a kid. We passed shopping centers my Mom and I had known like the proverbial "back of our hands." And on the way to the luncheon, we drove right down my old school bus route, past the horse farm where our driver would pull over on Spring mornings to let us count the number of new foals who'd been born in the stables at night and were just taking hesitant baby steps in the pasture while the mares nuzzled them in the morning sunlight. At the end of the afternoon, I drove back by way of our old street, and we sat in front of our old house for a moment, sad at its disrepair. It looked unloved and worn. I wanted to jump out, trim back the trees and shrubs, spruce it up inside and out, fling open the doors and hand it back to Mom and Dad with a thank-you for a happy childhood. But we had to drive on, to drive home.

I stood by my parents yesterday, feeling them cope with the loss of another dear friend, watching them let go of their pasts with tears and yet with smiles. They even joked about the mausoleum where they've bought "drawers", as my mother calls them, for their "eternal storage." A pair of ghouls, they are. Dad reminded me he gets the one with the air conditioning, Mom wants the one with Sinatra playing "uninterrupted". They joke and I laugh with them but I'm forced to glance toward the day when I, their only child, will have to let them go. And I shiver inside at the thought of a world where I won't hear my Dad's distinctive voice, my Mom's sarcastic comments. Even thinking of it imprints an emptiness on me. I know it will happen and I'll deal with it. But going home with them for a day took me back to those uncomplicated years before my marriage, before making my own family, before disappointment. And I found myself today in a little bit of despair.

So today has been tough. I've had one of those "How did I get here?" days and it's hard to shake. You see, I not only went to that funeral this week but I also met two old high school friends for dinner a few nights ago. Also in Philadelphia, off the far side of the Schuylkill River, in the hills of East Falls. Grace Kelly Country. I'd never been there before and now I'm dying to see it in daylight! It was so picturesque, so lovely just to drive through. And today I've been asking myself, Why did I ever leave those beautiful surroundings where every street and traffic light was familiar? How did I say good-bye to hills and valleys, niches and nooks, cozy neighbors and childhood friends? Why did I think living in the midst of flatness and traffic and turnpikes was acceptable? Could I ever go back there now?

I know it's just dumb. My life has been here in New Jersey for thirty-plus years. Mom and Dad moved here as soon as their first grandchild arrived, for God's sake! I've raised my children here, made wonderful friends, carved out a life both as a married person and then as a single one. It's a good life. But it's crowded and expensive and not very pretty here. And it's flat and dull to look at. And while there are lots of townships and boroughs, there are few actual towns or real communities. Shopping centers aren't Main Streets, you know? And old friends, childhood places, familiar faces....when you spend some time within them you realize how much you've successfully ignored the very real fact that you've missed them so much. I wish I had been able to create a life in that place with the same people I loved then and love now -- without missing any of the folks I would never have met if I hadn't moved away! I know that isn't possible and that wishing is a waste of time. But it was a day for remembering yesterday. A day for a bit of regretting today. Tomorrow... I have to take hold of it, make it better. I'll do it. But down deep I'll be resisting the temptation to just jump in the car and spend the day driving back, riding around, exploring, rediscovering and remembering it all. Even amid the tears, it was beautiful.

A Wedding in Charleston

My son, Kevin, and Leigh got married in Charleston,South Carolina, on September first. I've written about these two here before and I'm glad I was right about the connection I saw between them. Now they've made it official and my daughter, Kate, and I were there to be a part of it as was their Dad. So were Leigh's mother and stepfather. It was a perfect day.

Kevin was handsome in a black pinstripe suit and bow tie. Leigh wore a short lace dress, satin and lace band around her pinned-up hair, with a little veil over her face. She wore her mom's pearl bracelet and my earrings, and tucked my daughter's garter underneath her dress. She carried peach and purple calla lilies and Kevin wore a white one on his lapel. They dressed in an amazing historic home along the waterfront in Charleston and rode to the chapel in a limousine that Leigh's mother and stepfather rented for the occasion. And they took their vows - which they had written themselves - in a beautiful little church, St. Luke's Chapel. Sunlight streamed in through stained glass windows, candles glowed, a trio played Bach and Vivaldi and the love they feel for each other was so strong and clear you could touch it. My Marine son was composed and certain in the promises he made to his love. And Leigh, tears trickling down her cheeks, looked him straight in the eye as she said her vows. It was a precious moment, a life changing one for them, and I'm so grateful we were there to share it with them.

After pictures in the garden and back on the waterfront, we had dinner together in a private dining room at a wonderful hotel. Delicious food and wine, conversation, and then we moved on to the hotel's terrace for the kids cut their cake. I had the real treat of singing "The Way You Look Tonight" for them in that setting -- a spontaneous thing -- and they danced and cried as the classic Southern lanterns glowed between the palm trees and the stars twinkled overhead. There could not have been a more romantic setting than that terrace for a bride and groom to cut their cake, sway to a song and shut the door to the world. A perfect way to begin their life together. I will cherish the memories of this day forever.

My little boy, that blond, blue-eyed little guy who wound his way around my heart nearly thirty years ago, is a married man now. And I think he will be married to Leigh, the best friend he fell in love with, for the rest of his life. I'm so filled with appreciation for their luck in finding each other, trusting each other, committing to each other. In these times, such things are rare. So they are even more precious.

So now I'm leafing through my memories and biding my time until he has a son....just like him!

Birthdays -- Bring 'em On

Some people like to make a big deal out of their birthdays. I'm sure I was one of those people when I was a kid but that ended a few decades ago. As I've aged I've kind of felt like July 24th can just slip under the radar 'cause each one just seems to remind me about increasing cellulite, deepening wrinkles, decreasing estrogen and the need to dye the grey roots more often! But I spent part of my birthday yesterday with my daughter and her girls and I couldn't have been given a better reason to revise my view on birthdays.

I took a vacation day -- a gift to myself. And I started the day off hearing my dear parents, then my almost-daughter-in-law, later on my sweet son and then my best friend, Eileen, calling to sing "Happy Birthday" to me in various keys. Got those stinkin' grey roots dyed at the hands of my handsome hairdresser, Mark. And then I hung out with my favorite girls for a few hours.

Now spending time with Erin, Meghan and Elizabeth always involves getting snacks, pouring drinks, settling spats, attempting to complete a conversation, cleaning up spills and tracking the whereabouts of Lizzie-the-Motor-Butt. This is inevitable. But today it also meant that I could be with my lovely Kate, which is always a treat. They all came by to bring me a gift and we visited for a bit, then headed for the supermarket "just to pick up a few things." We managed it though Liz climbed out of the cart twice, the big girls begged for twelve different things they didn't need, Meg got tomato sauce on the back of her shirt and knocked over two bags of bird seed, Erin listened in on our grown-up conversation and reported back on it all to Meg....it was a typical expedition! But it was classic "Girl Time" and I loved it.

After I got back home, I emptied bags and cleaned up juice packs, smiling to myself for the longest time. Why? Because the love I feel for my kids (Kevin should not be left out of this musing just because be wasn't home this year) and grand-daughters and the love they pour on me just encircles me like Hallmark's best wrapping paper and brightest ribbon. These incredible people who are in my life remind me of all that really matters while we're here on this earth: time, conversation, listening, laughing, touching, hugging, sharing, love. I found myself thinking that if having a birthday means I can spend a little time just feeling warmed and loved by my big girl and her little ones on this date each year.....well then, I'll not only welcome every birthday but I'll hope for several more decades of them. If a little bit of a birthday can be spent holding hands with Erin and Meg as we walk together, or hearing Lizzie call, "Mom-Mom?" at the top of her lungs when she can't see me, or chatting and catching up with my daughter's latest doings.....oh, go ahead bring 'em on. I can take it.

I'm fairly good at counting the blessings I have but this birthday, spent simply and without fuss, has made me stop, smile and see with such clarity the most wonderful gifts I've ever received: my kids and my grand-kids. Time with them is all I want, all I need. I can't deny I'm getting older but it could be I'm actually getting a little wiser about the stuff that really matters. 'Bout time.

James Taylor wrote, "The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time." Yes, that's true but I think the rest of the secret is enjoying that passage with those you love the most, as often as you can. So, birthdays, if every July 24th from here on out means I can spend a little time that day just basking in my own little piece of the future -- my kids and my grands -- I'll celebrate every one and have sense enough to realize I'm pretty much the luckiest old woman around.

Villa Girl on a Harley

On Sunday night I learned that Kathy, whom I went to high school with, had died in a motorcycle accident. Her husband was driving, came up over a rise and was struck by a minivan that turned left into the bike's lane. He was seriously hurt but Kathy died at the scene. The thought of those last few seconds of her life haunt me. I keep wondering, Did she realize what was happening? Was she frightened? Did she suffer? These morbid thoughts...I can't seem to shake them. But how can I help it? No one should lose her life that way.

We went to Villa Maria Academy, Kathy and I. We were not close friends in high school but we were in the same homeroom and we certainly chatted and commiserated during those years. I had lost track of her until she found me on Facebook several months ago. She noted that I was single and we chatted about it because she had gotten divorced too. But she'd remarried several years ago and was so happy. She wrote that all the old bad stuff didn't matter now and, while she "wouldn't write her ex a thank you note," she was grateful that she had learned what not to accept from anyone because of him. Talk about putting a positive spin on things! But that was Kathy -- bright, empathetic, encouraging, irreverent, genuine. Great qualities for a nurse -- a profession she seemed to really love. I got to know her in a whole new way this year and really appreciated her.

Since Kathy was a social butterfly on Facebook she went about connecting me with some other classmates and vice versa. Thanks to her, many of us have been sharing info, updates, photos, etc. with each other for months. And suddenly....she's gone. She raised four kids, had several grandchildren, just started a new job, her sister is fighting a recurrence of cancer....all these people love and need her. How can this be true? She had written me, "Can you believe it, a Villa girl ridin' a Harley?" Her husband's Harley, but she loved it. And she died riding it on a Sunday morning on a country road in Michigan.

When word began to circulate in our "news in an instant" world there was, of course, shock, disbelief, grief among many. This woman was such a life force -- she couldn't be gone. Yet it's funny....her gift for connecting people seems to have a life of its own. I think I've received or sent emails to twenty old friends just today, people who've heard about Kathy, wanted to be sure, wanted to send a message, flowers, a Mass card, a donation somewhere. And while I feel real pain over her death, I also feel an even deeper gratitude for her life because Kathy's delight in reuniting with people has taken hold of so many of us, her classmates. Our messages, our reconnection, seem like Kathy's way of reminding us about the the experiences we shared, the relationships we formed -- and we're acknowledging that we need to nurture each other now. Despite her death, Kathy has left this living gift to us. I swear I can feel her gently pushing all of us toward each other, with a pert grin on her freckled face. If the messages exchanged today are any indication, her work here with the Villa Class of '70 is done. It's up to us now.

The loss of such a vital person is hard to accept but this woman's legacy is clear: stay open to love, give without expecting anything in return, cherish family and friends, keep them close -- not only to yourself but to each other. I'm certain that this is how Kathy lived her life. And I hope that her death has led us to understand the simple beauty of the way Kathy lived.

I don't know why it has to be a death that prompts us to stop and reflect on the value of a life so honestly lived. I don't understand why we must suffer such a loss before we reach out to regain our old friends. I wish I had been wise enough to search out my high school classmates like Kathy did. I wish I had been open enough to talk to her about these things, to thank her for her generous heart, when she was here. Perhaps this is what she was meant to teach us before she disappeared into the summer sunlight.

I won't forget these lessons -- any more than I could forget Kathy, red hair, sparkling eyes, chatty, open, the real deal. I'm so grateful she was kind enough to reach out to me and reconnect me with our old friends before she was taken away from us. So I'll do my best to keep that going for as long as I can. It's my gift to her. My thank you note.

Villa girl, you ride on ahead. We'll catch up with you down the road.

Engrave It in My Memory

Well, talk about "mother's instincts".......not only has that lovely girl I wrote about entered our circle, my son is now engaged to her!

In a few short months, Kevin has fallen in love with Leigh and asked her to marry him. And in another month or two (since she said Yes) they will be married. They're adults and they both feel ready to take this step, to begin their life together. And I support them completely. Hah, I think to myself, what did I tell you?!

Leigh and her mother have been scouting out places for a ceremony and reception and today my Mom, Kate, Pete and their girls will be meeting them at a possible place for a get-acquainted lunch and tour. Leigh and Kevin have a lot to take care of in a short amount of time both here and in North Carolina, but we're all behind them and can assist with any job they ask us to handle. We women definitely go into fifth gear at the thought of a wedding but we're all just so excited for both of them that being part of this process in even the smallest way will be a pleasure.

It's funny. So often I'm worried about one or both kids, what they're doing, where they're going, how they're coping...you name it. But just now my daughter, often bubbling with what-can-I-do-next, is content and savoring her life right now with her husband and daughters. My son, who has often felt alone and isolated, has found what had been missing in his life and I can hear the happiness he's feeling every time we talk on the phone. Knowing that my children are on such a positive road fills my heart. My Mom and Dad are aging, feeling their limitations, but doing it as gracefully as they can with some wry humor thrown in when all else fails. They're amazing people and I'm so fortunate that they're still here with us. My grand-daughters are the most precious little girls and the very thought of them brings a smile to my face and heart. I have caring friends, a good life. Cap that with the joy of seeing Leigh and Kevin in love and sharing in their plans, and I have to stop and acknowledge that I'd almost forgotten such an important truth: the future is still full of the possible.

Sometimes your vision clears and you can see that your little piece of the universe has unfolded as it was meant to -- then the trick is to recognize that and engrave it in your memory. If the malcontented demons rise up again inside me, I must re-read this post and remember this moment, this time in our lives.

It's a day to count blessings, to be grateful, to look for nothing more than exactly what we have, and to believe in the power of love -- a power that seems to reveal itself to us in ways obvious and less so as our lives ebb and flow. I feel blessed today. Literally, there is love in the air. And I share it with you.

The Invisible Thread

Years ago my kids and I were talking one day about trusting in each other, knowing that we would always be there for one another. I think this conversation came about after they had gone through a rough weekend with their Dad and had called me in the midst of it for guidance on how to deal with it. We had strategized a safe route for them through it and it had worked. And I think we were decompressing and rehashing it after they got back home.

I reassured the kids that I'd always be there for them and we talked about knowing that we could rely on each other when things were scary or upsetting. My daughter used the image of there being an invisible thread running among the three of us and that, no matter how far it might stretch at times, we could trust in the fact that it would never break. Yes, she was wise beyond her years. After that, from time to time we reminded each other of that image, reassuring each other that, no matter what might happen or where we might be, our bond was unbreakable. We would always be there for each other.

When Kate got married, her Pete became part of the circle that our invisible thread had formed. And today I think our circle may be welcoming another member. My son has fallen in love with a very special young woman. I won't even name her here because I don't want to jinx it. But today Kate and I spent a couple of hours with both Kevin and her and somehow the three of us found ourselves talking and listening to each other more honestly than we've been able to in a while.

As close as we are (and, perhaps, because of it), it hasn't always been easy to have an honest exchange among us. Kate and I have had to work hard at setting up boundaries and respecting them -- harder work for me than for her, I admit. Kevin pretty much "did it all" in the past and exhibited a great deal of rage along the way. No matter what or who lay at the heart of all that, he often directed his anger at me -- probably because he knew I would still be there afterwards. Of the three of us, he has the shortest fuse and often aims the verbal ammo first, thinks second. Our times together are not always spent fighting but when these arguments have taken place they've left behind resentment and a leeriness about dealing when another issue comes up down the road. We've been there for each other as promised but sometimes we three have avoided being honest or confronting a problem for fear of another scene.

When things get tough or people seem to fail him, Kevin often gets fed up and just wants to bail. He's been complaining about some aspects of his military life lately and suggesting he's going to find the way for an early departure. Neither Kate nor I have "gone there" with him on this because (1) it's childish and (2) he enlisted, he's theirs, get real. But when he brought it up again today I guess we both realized we had to get him to think and consider the consequences -- this "let me out, get me out" is an old pattern with him and, if he actually tried to carry it out, it would be disastrous for him and his future. So each of us was honest, direct, reminded him he'd made a commitment and was expected to see it through by both the Marines and us. We both talked to him about his options, the possibilities he is missing, ignoring. Kate cried about the incredible changes he's made for the good and her pride in him - and I saw a few tears in his eyes. In our own way each of us advised him to stop complaining and figure out how to improve his life within the system he has chosen. Initially Kev was impatient and even demanded of me why I wouldn't help him get out of this. But I told him that I would not step in to bail him out of a situation he'd created but then decided was just too hard, as I have in the past. I'm not that parent anymore. A grown man, a member of the Marine Corps is quite capable of figuring this out and making it better himself. This was a long overdue shift that I had to put out there for his sake, his sister's and mine. I just didn't know I'd be saying it today.

Once we'd each said our piece, there was no yelling, no accusing and minimal attitude. There was appreciation for our honesty and for our faith in him. This was a shift in him. We not only survived this conversation but reconnected with each other on a level that we had not reached in quite a while. Each of us respected each other's thoughts and opinions, offered advice without judgment and acted like healthy adults. Maybe everyone else gets through such talks without missing a beat, but we often haven't. And while I think all three of us have matured and figured how to handle some things in a better way, I also think that Kevin's girlfriend's presence made a difference for him -- and for us. When he began to get defensive or irritated, she urged him to listen, to ask questions, to appreciate the love behind our words. He calmed down, listened to what we had to say and acknowledged he had some thinking to do. The best in him rose to the occasion and I think I know why: he had the assistance of a gently skilled seamstress today. I think our "invisible thread" just grew a bit stronger.

I can see that this new woman in our midst already knows Kevin well and has some understanding of the history we three have written together. She was tactful, sensitive, engaged but she never overstepped - not an easy task! She played a gentle but helpful role in our little trio's connection today, aware of Kev's natural defensiveness but helping him keep it at bay. I was touched by her understanding of my son and her appreciation of the love that Kate and I feel for him. Another young woman who is wise beyond her years.

I hope that, if this relationship is right, Kevin will feel confident enough to give his heart to this lovely, unique woman and have it returned in full. To sense that he may have met his match, the thing that's been missing from his life, is such a hopeful feeling. I've worried that Kev, who has often felt alienated from his peers and unable to connect with people who really get him, might give up on ever finding a true partner to share his life -- or even give up on life altogether. But I think that this woman sees past his tendency to build up walls and is gently tearing them down. She is giving him not only love but genuine acceptance and encouragement. What a gift this is for my dear son. What a good heart he has to give her in return.

I don't want to jump to conclusions or lay a lot of expectations on her or them. This is a new relationship and they need to take time to really know each other. And it's theirs, not mine. But if Kevin loves her and she loves him, if they want to make a life together.....well, our invisible thread is tightly wound but very flexible. It would be a joy to welcome her and weave her in.