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.

Golden Girl

I spent last Saturday with my oldest friend, Eileen. We met during our first week of high school, freshman year. She rode the same bus as some girls in my home room and I think we ended up having lunch at the same table. We started talking and just clicked. I don't remember our ever having a class together. But she and I became so close we usually spent part of most weekends together. I don't know how I would have survived high school without her and yet I look at us sometimes and wonder how we ever found common ground.

I'm an only child, she's one of six. I had my own bedroom and bathroom -- a luxury she truly envied. But her house was always bustling and I loved to hang out there. I'm 5'2", brunette, grey eyes, semi-cute. She is 5'8", strawberry blond, fair and naturally beautiful. When we were in high school, I was sensible, the planner, the "mature" one. She was adventurous, laid back and lovably flighty. I generally had my feet on the ground, her head was often up in the clouds. I got the directions for where we were going, made sure we had gas and some money. She'd jump in the car, tell me the latest gossip and make sure my mascara hadn't run before we hit the party. When my serious self needed to lighten up, she was always there to crack me up. When her disorganization or lack of foresight caught up with her, I would help her straighten it out and get back on track. We saw each other through everything in those years and we learned that we could depend on each other for honesty, laughter, understanding. We knew we could trust each other -- and in a school filled with hormonal teen-age girls, some of whom could smile in your face just before they stabbed you in the back, that was saying something! Our friendship is one of the most genuine relationships I've shared in and I treasure it.

Forty years later, the contrasts between us are just as intriguing. She's married to a gem, has 3 kids and lives in California. I'm single, have 2 kids, a son-in-law and 3 grand-daughters all living close by in the East. She's a decorator and artist, I'm a lawyer and semi-singer. She's into biking and sometimes rides 30 to 40 miles for fun but it's a special kind of hell for me just to get to the gym. She's still adventurous, fearless, heading off to some new place whenever she can. I'm a traditionalist, a putterer, happiest at home near my family. She can take the most negative situation you can think of and turn it into a positive one. I can waste time getting caught up in the sad stuff of life and miss out on the chance to feel just plain happy. Could we be more different? Yet as soon as we're in the same room again we're as close as we were when we double-dated to our junior prom. Over the years it's become clear that we've stayed connected, in part, because of the differences between us.

I've also learned that Ei and I share some basic traits: we are Irish, with the irreverent sense of humor that's part of our heritage and the spines of steel that lurk just below the laughter. We are all about our families -- even when they make us nuts -- and we don't understand deception, cruelty or pretension. My friend may seem light and easy on the surface, but she is determined about the people and things that mean the most to her. You see, the thing with Eileen is to never confuse her sunniness with a lack of seriousness. She knows who and what are important to her -- and her marriage, her kids and her home reflect that. All are real, solid, filled with love. Just like her.

I can talk to Eileen like I can to no one else and I think she feels the same. We can go for months at a time without speaking but as soon as we see each other we're like magpies, yak-yak-yak, giggling, finishing each other's sentences, speaking our own familiar language. It's such a cliche but...we just get each other. The familiarity and comfort of knowing we are truly "there" for each other, no matter how many miles separate us, no matter what else is going on, is a gift. There are times in life when we look forward to doing something so much that the "doing" can't live up to the hype. But when I get to spend some time with Eileen it's like being served my favorite wine, savoring the color, swirling it around in the glass before I take that first cool sip. The taste is even better than the anticipation.

We walked along the shore last weekend, complaining and then chuckling at the little aches and pains we're starting to have, bitching about hot flashes, when-is-my-stupid-period-ever gonna-end, why do men get better looking and our butts just spread, and our latest common bond: asthma. She has issues with her siblings, I listen and try to counsel when asked. I have concerns about my kids, my parents, my bosses, and she does the same for me. I thought to myself at some point that day, "I get so lonely for someone to talk to sometimes. What's wrong with me? This is the friend I want to talk to! I just need to do it more often." It's such an obvious solution to those many nights when the phone doesn't ring. I simply have to dial and hear her voice --and we can pick up where we left off.

So I type these words and smile at the memories I've made with this golden girl, Eileen. If I were an artist and someone asked me to paint a picture of my sister, hers is the face I would paint against a sun-filled background. If she was a singer and was asked to write a song about friendship, I think she would write one that sounded part Motown-part Mozart and sing it from the heart. I am more at ease, more myself when I'm with Eileen and I think I give her comfort and complete acceptance. We are, in every sense, best friends. It doesn't get better than this.

Dealing with the Past

I've been divorced for almost 16 years. My ex-husband remarried 3 months after the divorce. He married a woman I'd considered myself to be friendly with, whom he started seeing when we were separated. But we also were seeing a therapist then, talking, meeting, planning time together, trying (so I believed) to work it out. I'd made it clear that I was seeing no one, wanted to focus on him, us and expected the same in return. He even told me during this time that, if we could get past the hurts, we were going to get married all over again. He always knew how to give me hope. So I was shocked when I discovered he was involved with her. I've come to understand that she never considered herself to be friendly with me or she wouldn't have slept with my husband or hurt my children. But I'd sung at her first wedding, worked on a committee with her. She'd been a guest in my home, met my kids, heer father was my mother's doctor. We were not strangers who barely knew each other, which she's claimed to relieve herself of guilt or responsibility. The truth is she didn't give a damn who got hurt. Silly me, I've always thought women should treat other women better than this.

Of course, none of that lets him off the hook. My ex-husband had many gifts: looks, intelligence, humor, creativity, charm, ambition and drive. He was exciting to be around, intriguing to know. We had a lot in common, brought out the best in each other for a long time and loved each other so much -- at least I thought so. We had two kids, Kate and Kevin, and his career as a lawyer took off. The prospect of a happy life lay ahead. But he was also a high-functioning alcoholic and that quick, witty streak in him turned mean, hateful when he drank. He hit, he threw things, he physically intimidated me -- 5'1" vs. 6'2" -- what chance did I have? I learned, as did my kids, not to push the wrong buttons or there would be an explosion. Even when he wasn't drinking he had unpredictable mood swings, an acid tongue and we walked on eggs around him. Over time, he became as nasty to the kids as he was to me, calling them names, tossing off the put-downs, making them feel horrible about themselves with his digs and barbs. We lived in a constant state of suspense and he exerted all the power. This once charming man became arrogant, full of himself and, a lot of the time, full of crap. He could lie to your face with such sincerity you'd believe anything he said. When he wasn't home, he was either working, entertaining clients or.....well, he wasn't faithful to me. I came to realize that he was very insecure despite his gifts and I felt for him. But he also was the most narcissistic person I've ever met and his self-absorption increased as he became more outwardly successful - or drank more. It was so painful to love a man I sometimes couldn't bear, or was afraid, to be around. I know I created distance both to find myself and to protect myself and my kids from all of this. And I'm sure that was painful for him.

Why on earth, you may ask, would you try to repair such a life? Because I loved him, the kids loved him and we'd see flashes of the other side of him and keep hoping it would resurface for good. I also believed alcoholism was at the root of most of the behaviors that alienated us from each other. I hoped that if he could admit he had a problem and get help we'd have a chance at rebuilding the trust that had once been there. I even had him close to going to rehab once but he twisted it into "You just want to get rid of me" and refused to discuss it. And, oh yes, because I was a classic enabler who could not envision my life without the insanity that I had come to know as normal.

Perhaps we might never have healed but I was committed to trying, face to face, no other "distractions" in the way. So I felt betrayed all over again when I discovered that he was sleeping with her, and the fact that it hit so close to home this time was doubly infuriating, humiliating. In hindsight, I'm sure he chose her because he knew the wound would cut too deeply and we wouldn't recover. A gutless move. I ran out of forgiveness in that moment of discovery and realized that I'd lost any self-respect I'd once had in this relationship. What would my children think of me if I took this from him too? What destructive relationships would my daughter get involved in with this as her example? What had my son learned about how to treat or relate to women in this house? Could their expectations about relationships or marriage get any lower? Enough. So we had an acrimonious divorce, our kids suffered tremendously and occasions like graduations, confirmations were avoided like the proverbial plague because of the layers of bile that piled up between us. It took Kate and Kevin years to recover to the extent they have. I'm so scarred I doubt I'll ever date anyone let alone marry again. And while I take my responsibility for the part I played in all this, I admit I feel nothing but hatred for that man and that woman even now. There's no other word to pin on it. Irrational, old news, wasted energy? Maybe, but that's the way I feel. Hatred coupled with a deep sadness that can still wash over me at unexpected moments. I try not to dwell on it or let it control me anymore and I've worked hard on pushing past the bitterness that I carried for years. But the feeling is there even now.

Of course, he (and the wife - who was skinny, rich and could match him drink for drink when they started up) is sober now after a stint in rehab, has restructured his life, can quote the AA Blue Book chapter and verse until you want to beg him to stop, and would have you believe he has it all together now. I don't really buy it, and will always be waiting for the other shoe to drop on Kevin, Kate or (out on the periphery) me. And while his recovery is better for the kids, who have rebuilt a relationship with him, it all came too late for me, for us. I know this doesn't matter to him a whit, that I stopped mattering to him long ago. And I've been reminded a few times even during these divorced years that he still has the knack for cruelty when it comes to me. But wouldn't you know he finally had to admit to himself he was a drunk to get himself together? Wasn't I just such a miserable bitch for begging him to tackle this when we were together, when it could have given us all the chance we deserved? Wouldn't you effing know it? Irony can be amusing in some situations but in this one...it just pisses me off.

Why write about this today? Because our Elizabeth is being christened this afternoon and I have to see "them" again and hold it together. I'll have to guide my aging parents, who loved my ex like a son and would now prefer never to set eyes on him again, through it. And I just have to steel myself for it. Why must a day of such pleasure carry with it this ugly chunk of pain?

My Kate has to walk through this minefield today. I know it unnerves her. And her state of mind and heart are far more important than mine. It's her Lizzie's moment and she and her family deserve our focus and love. She will have my best effort at this ceremony. I'll acknowledge my ex's presence, turn back to the altar and enjoy the beauty of the ceremony that will welcome Elizabeth into our church. I'll also say a prayer that Lizzie the Wing-Ding doesn't take off down the aisle or jump in the baptismal font -- which are definite possibilities! And once the pictures are taken and the pleasantries exchanged, I'll walk away and breathe.

And in my patched-up heart I'll also ask God to forgive me for being so unable to genuinely forgive where these two people are concerned. The experts say I'd be giving myself a gift if I could forgive them and I feel like such a weak and screwed up twit that I can't get there. I certainly have forgiven and forgotten others who've hurt me in the past. But though I truly have tried, I can't say I've ever come close to genuinely feeling that in my heart. I accept where my life is now. It's a good life. Not what I'd envisioned but it's honest, real, without suspense or fear. I've worked hard to get to this point, as have my kids in their own lives. And my son, daughter and I share such a close bond, in part, because we've been through so much together and come out the other side. Despite all that, on these occasions when we're all in the same room I look over toward my ex, I see her next to him and I feel it all over again.

I've come to acknowledge that my children have established a relationship with her, which is a brutal piece of reality for me. She is married to their Dad. She is a constant when they see him. I suppose their relationship with her, whatever it is, was inevitable. But what did she ever do to deserve more than a superficial connection with my wonderful kids, the center of my little piece of the universe, or with my incredible grandchildren? In my head, I guess I understand how this evolved over time. But it's a blow to my heart that, despite my ramblings here today, hurts me so deeply I have no words for it.

Because this has occurred Kevin has confronted me about trying to "do better" when we are all in the same place. He seems to expect me to engage in chit-chat or extend warmth to her -- a burying of the hatchet, if you will. When he said this, it took all of my composure to keep from just screaming, "Are you f---ing kidding me?" I don't think he appreciates the break I've cut everyone by not talking to her. I think my kids worry that, if I were ever to speak to her, the hurt and fury I've carried inside me all this time would be unleashed. I understand this: it takes a lot to get my Irish up but when you have, look out. But I also know that me "unleashed" would only cause me to look foolish -- and change nothing. Surely he and his sister know me well enough by now to understand that I won't risk my dignity by doing that to them or myself. And I never would try to turn a day that's about them or their children into something about me. That kind of manipulation isn't in me. They can trust me to remain quiet -- even if I'm silently reminding myself today that it's not nice to wish for lightning to strike people when you're in church! Sorry, son, I've borne a lot in this mess but I cannot give you what you want here. She can bury that hatchet right where.....well, you get my drift.

By holding my head up and remaining silent, I'm honestly trying to do those I love the most gracious favor I can under very difficult circumstances. I know it's been years now but, when I'm around them, it's all right there slapping me in the face as if it happened yesterday. So this silence, this reserve is the best I can do in a situation I didn't create and which caused incredible pain to three people who didn't deserve it. I'll focus on the joy of this day, my gratitude for Elizabeth's health and healing, and the wonderful little family she energizes with her presence and laughter. I'll give my daughter what she needs. But I'm not a saint. I'm not God. I hope he understands the rest -- and forgives.

Elizabeth

I have three grand-daughters: Erin, Meghan and Elizabeth. They are gorgeous, brilliant, funny and dear and I love them with complete joy. But yesterday I spent a lot of time with Elizabeth who is fifteen months old and I came to see who she is and whom she's becoming. I'm still smiling this morning at the memory of her.

I was in the room when Elizabeth was born on a December night in Maryland. An amazing thing to share with your generous daughter and son-in-law. She was five weeks premature and we were quite concerned before the delivery. But that baby had decided that she was going to be born that night so....we got ready. Relieved, I saw her little body slide into the obstetrician's hands and heard her cry. But she had swallowed mecomium in utero and I stood off in a corner watching as the pediatrician used an instrument to suck what seemed like gallons of brown stuff out of her. Fear began to grip all of us. He took the baby away for tests and returned, stone-faced and emotionless, to tell Kate and Pete that their daughter had a double bowel obstruction and was going to be helicoptered to another hospital 80 miles away for immediate surgery. What on earth was happening?

I stepped out into the hall and looked for the doctor who had been so blunt and matter-of-fact with his horrible news I wanted to slap him. Catching up with him I asked, "How bad is this? Is this baby going to survive?" I can still see his immobile face as he said, "It's hard to say." No, God, I remember thinking, no way is this family losing this baby. I waited while Pete visited with Elizabeth in the NICU then I asked if I could see her too. He took me to her. She was so small and quiet in her bassinet. On instinct, I reached out, made the sign of the cross on her head and blessed her. I asked God to wrap himself around her, to guide the pilot who would fly her and the surgeons who would be opening her up in a matter of hours. And they bundled her off. Kate, who had sensed for weeks that something was wrong with this pregnancy, slept for a few hours and then checked herself out of the hospital so that she and Peter could get to Elizabeth. No way was anyone going to operate on their baby without them being there.

The weeks that followed were a hell I would not wish on anyone. Kate drove 80 miles one way, every day, to spend time with Elizabeth who did not respond well after the surgery. Despite tubes and machines and a hospital with an A+ reputation, the baby lost weight, was jaundiced, vomited all the time, became dehydrated. One Sunday my mother and I rode the train to see her, held her for a long time and knew that she was not getting better. Mom and I cried in the cab on the way back to the station, holding hands, afraid to admit to each other our fear that we might never see Elizabeth alive again. It was terrifying. In the meantime, Pete juggled childcare, work and getting to the hospital whenever possible. The rest of the family lived three hours away so we all worked out schedules either to get to the hospital and share the worry or go help with Erin and Meghan whose world had been turned inside out. I don't know how they managed it all.

After six weeks and many requests, Kate and Peter demanded to see the surgeon who had been invisible since the initial procedure. He deigned to appear, examined the baby and for the first time explained that he had left one obstruction unrepaired. Since she was doing so poorly he would have to go back in. "Enraged" does not begin to describe what we all felt when we learned this. Once the second obstruction was removed, Elizabeth slowly turned a corner but the quality of the care she received continued to be so poor that Kate and Pete concluded they could do better themselves. So they defied the doctors, got instructions on Elizabeth's special feedings, meds and care, packed her up and brought her home attached to an N-G tube, still small and jaundiced and tired. I was staying with Erin and Meg then and was lucky enough to share in this homecoming. "Lizzie," as the big girls called her, came home.

Becoming part of her family was just what our Lizzie needed. The morning after her arrival, I was rocking her in the family room as Kate and Pete prepared the special formula which fed through the N-G tube into her healing tummy. I talked quietly to her telling her she was home now with her family, she would feel better every day and there were people, music, dogs, toys and friends all around her to see and hear and get to know. And I watched her turn her head toward the window, blink her blue eyes at the morning light and open them wide. I swear I literally could see wonder in those eyes as she stared out the windows at a world she had never seen before. I was so startled, thinking, "This is the first time she's seen sunlight!" It was -- she'd been in that dim, quiet NICU for over two months. As we rocked I felt I was seeing her senses opening up to the possibilities around her. She turned her head back and looked up at me as if to ask, "Where have they been keeping this place?" and I started to laugh with relief and hope at her dear little face. It was amazing, unforgettable.

In the weeks that followed Lizzie began to recover, grow, develop, respond to the love, care and warmth around her. The NG tube came out and she shifted to all bottle feedings. Later, her "concoction" formula was replaced by the store-bought stuff. Gradually the nagging fear and worry over her began to fade. The love and determination of her steely Mom and Dad, the fun of becoming a sister were the most potent medicines. Elizabeth healed and so did her family. That summer they moved back closer to all of us and this frightening chapter in their lives and ours ended.

But yesterday, I was with Lizzie from breakfast time till mid-afternoon. And I got to watch, hear, chase and delight in "Miss Born to Be Wild!" She got down from her chair after breakfast and took off running, squealing, jabbering, giggling, dancing, opening and closing, climbing and tumbling for the morning. I thought her Mommy had been a bundle of energy was she was a toddler but.....oh no, this one has her beat! The delight that Miss Liz takes in just being alive is so pure.....even when she's being naughty you just have to laugh at her. It's like she's looking at you and saying, "You were afraid I might not be here, weren't you? Well I'm here, lady, adorable as can be and lovin' every minute of this life so jump on and ride with me. It's going to be great!" And I did exactly that, no holds barred.

The sweetest part of it all was that, once or twice, Lizzie turned around and ran to me with her arms open wide so that I could catch her, swing her up, hug her little body and kiss her pink cheeks. I think she's starting to figure out that this Mom-Mom person is OK -- and what could be sweeter than that? I gained Erin and Meghan's trust when they were little and have received incredible rewards from them. Now little Liz and I have bonded too. I see fun times ahead for years to come for this little wing-ding and me.

Best of all, I can see "years to come"....a long and joyous life ahead....for Busy Lizzie. Fortunately, she will never remember what she went through but her body is strong and her spirit is fearless, in part, because of it. And her happy nature shines through in her big blue eyes, her giggles, her curiosity and her complete delight in being here. I am beyond grateful for all three of these gifts, my grand-daughters. But for the rest of my life every time I hold Elizabeth I'll be whispering a silent "Thank you" from my heart to the God who agreed with me on that December night that there was no way we would lose her.

My Daughter

It snowed here today -- really snowed. One of those snow storms that made me think of home in Pennsylvania and the view from our kitchen window, where you could see across the neighborhood and up the hills covered with tall maples and pines. On a winter night the view was so clear you could see lights twinkling from houses across the way, smoke curling up from the stone chimneys on the hillside as the last flakes blew by. On the morning after a snowstorm, our neighborhood would be quiet but for the sound of scraping shovels on driveways as we waited for the snow plows to come clear the streets. And all of that made me think about sledding with my friend, Lorraine. There was only one way to spend such a day! We'd wrap ourselves in turtlenecks, squeaky snow pants, thick jackets and boots and meet outside, trudge up her street dragging our sleds to the highest point. In tandem, we'd toss those sleds on the icy surface, run with them a few steps, throw ourselves on and zoom down in the wind, screaming with the thrill of speed. The rest of our friends would be there too and we repeated that trek-up and whoosh-down until we all were happily blue with cold. Then we'd stagger up her driveway or mine, toss our wet things in the garage and warm up with cocoa and cookies in the kitchen. It was that kind of day today and I know there were scads of kids out there doing exactly the same thing.

I also remembered taking my daughter, Kate, sledding for the first time. She was just over two and I was pregnant with her brother. There was a gentle hill in an old Quaker cemetery that we could walk to from home. So we bundled her up, her Dad and I, and trudged on over to the hill where the neighborhood kids were gathering. And we pulled her up and rode down that hill with her, squealing and laughing in delight as she discovered the feel of the wind on her face and savored the sense of flying. I would rest here and there, waddling "with child" as I was. But her Dad kept going and she would clap and shout, "Again!" when he would zoom down alone and "crash" into a snowbank for her amusement. We made snow angels and sipped hot chocolate from a thermos before trudging off for home. It was a magical day filled with "firsts" with this adorable child. It's all so vivid to me today.

Kate is a mother now, three times over, and she is so good at it. She is tougher than I was and I respect that in her. But her heart is as full of love for her three girls as mine was and is for her. I'm so moved as I see them look to her for those cues we mothers give. My daughter often runs on her emotions which spring from her generous heart -- a heart that is often on her sleeve and gets battered around at times. But I've learned that her head will always catch up with her heart and that she will figure out how to go about doing the right thing, whatever challenge or situation she is confronted with in life. I trust her in that. Though she is often tired and pressed by her responsibilities, I also see that she is still filled with wonder at the world and takes delight in so many things. My child-on-the-sled is still there. She lives a full life and has her husband's love, the trust of three daughters and many friendships to savor. No one deserves these gifts more than my Katie B.

When you are blessed with such a beautiful soul in your life you can foolishly find yourself leaning on that soul too hard at times or assuming it has endless depths for anyone who reaches into it, including yourself. I have been guilty of that with my Kate in the past and I try to be more aware of it now. I think the lesson here is never to take for granted the generosity of such a soul. In my case, never forget that you are the mother, and whether your child is a toddler, teenager or grown woman she needs to know that she can still be the daughter and turn to you for a mother's strength and guidance. It never should tilt out of balance in the other direction. Will there be times when one needs the other more? Yes, all relationships must have that flexibility in them to survive and grow. But this woman, this daughter, means so much to me. I hope she knows that I will not take her for granted and that she can turn and find me there at any time for her, for anything.

Kate's place in my heart is like no other. She is one of my greatest blessings. I couldn't be prouder of her and the person she is. And no matter how old we both grow, how squarely we each stand on our own two feet, I hope she knows that I always will love her with a depth that took root from the moment I knew she was growing inside me. I don't have the words for it but I think she's beginning to understand what that means through the power of her love for her own daughters.

The sun is setting on this frosted day and the night cold will wrap itself around us. Chimney smoke will waft again into the dark sky, lights will glimmer from windows and people will tuck in against the cold until morning. But I'm warm in my heart tonight with the memory of my blue-eyed, freckle-faced, beautiful little girl skimming down a hill on her first sled-ride.....full of glee and delight, wonder and love. This is who my Kate is and she is always with me.

Gratitude

My son has let us know today that he will not be deployed to Afghanistan -- at least not with this first wave of Marines that will be leaving soon. He seems to be a bit disappointed but we here who love him so much are so relieved and grateful. This is sure to be a very dangerous mission -- the first wave to really go in and try to dig out and kill off the Taliban. While I know that Kevin is prepared to perform whatever duty is asked of him -- and that he still may be called upon to go there in the future -- I'm so grateful that he isn't going now. I will keep his fellow Marines, as well as the men and women of all of the service branches, in my prayers even more now. Once I've said about a million Thank You's for keeping him here.

Bathing Suit Hell - Swimming Pool Heaven

I am not big at exercising -- treadmills, bikes, lifting weights, that sort of exercising. Never have been. But I've always loved to swim. My Dad taught me to swim when I was really young and I've always loved the water. But the hell of getting my 50+ body -- which is a walking advertisement for "I am not big at exercising" -- into a bathing suit is excruciating on every level. Pull, tug, yank, and then jiggle in parts I cannot even allow myself to glimpse in a mirror. Walk by strangers to get to the water, wrapped in a towel. It's demoralizing. I know you know what I mean, lots of you.

However, I re-joined a really nice gym nearby because they have a great pool, a whirlpool where I can recondition my cartilage-almost-gone left knee, and a clean locker room with "products" in the showers that I can use to wash, shampoo and condition. (Sort of luxury hotel-ish, you know?) And after suffering through the first few walks through the locker room to the pool, I've come to see that I am not the heaviest woman in the building (as I have convinced myself), or the ugliest thing on sandals, or the slowest swimmer in creation or ... whatever. And by that I don't mean, Great, there are so many women bigger than I am! I mean, look around, get some perspective and deal more gently and kindly with yourself and everyone else. It's a balancing of reality vs. the way I make-things-so-much-harder-for-myself than they have to be. I think a lot of us women do that.

There are so many of us contending with the changes that aging, accidents, illness or just plain putting-ourselves-LAST cause. Who are still trying to get it right, take the time to burn off some calories, do the healthy thing and clear out the cobwebs. Who cares if there's cellulite on the damn thighs or if it takes me longer to do 20 laps than the swimmers in the other lanes? Why should it matter? Once I'm in the water I'm 6 years old again, being thrown into the waves on a beach in Stone Harbor and riding them in to the shore. There are seagulls cawing overhead, sun beams glimmering on the ocean's surface and the warmth of a summer day beaming on my skin. What could be better than that?

So....I have to let up and lighten up on myself and encourage myself to keep tugging on that damn suit, strapping on the goggles, getting into that lovely pool and giving it a go. It feels so good once I push off from the wall, get my stroke going and start kicking. It feels beautiful. Jiggles be damned. Jump in!

My Son

My son, Kevin, will turn 29 on March 18th. He had rough and rocky teens and early twenties. Angry over our divorce, numbing himself with everything you could think of from his pain, unable to find his place in the world. He was so tough. He finally scared himself with his behaviors and his oldest friend, Drew, a Marine himself, took him in hand. Drew and I talked several times around then but I credit him with giving Kevin the good swift kick he needed and telling him he needed the professionals to kick it some more. So my Kevin, the little boy who stole my heart at his arrival and took a few pieces out of it along the way, enlisted in the Marine Corps. In 2007 with the Irag War going full tilt. He has been through boot camp and electronoics training and he is stationed now at Camp Lejeune, N.C. When he was out in California at a base in the desert, I thought they might be preparing him to go to Iraq from there. The conditions, the heat, the sand, all of it was so similar to the conditions he would face in the Middle East, I thought that might be part of the plan. But he was sent to Lejeune. And now he is hearing a lot of rumors that he and his guys may be shipping out to Afghanistan. This is the risk of enlisting in war time, I know. This is what Marines are trained to handle so they step up and do it when asked. I will be there for him in spirit and pride and love if this is what happens. But I cannot begin to say how utterly frightened and rattled I am. He'd be gone for over a year. What if he's wounded? What if his legs are hurt and he can't walk or run, or his hands were injured and he couldn't take care of his basic needs let alone play his guitar anymore? Oh God, what if he loses his life? I know this young man well and I know that there is a part of him that feels he has something to prove, he needs to test himself and show himself that he is courageous and strong and not that guy he used to be. What if he does that...and we lose him? I can't help but think these things. I'm his mother and he rests in a part of my heart this is all his. Dear God, please don't let them send him there. I nearly lost him to his own foolish choices and behaviors here. But he pulled himself up and has not only survived but transformed himself. Did he do that to die for this insane war? I love my country but I hate this war. And I hate that our soldiers are dying for people who don't want us there. Do I want them to find Bin Laden? Yes. Do I want my son in the line of fire as they do it? No. Not ever. Please, keep him here.

Valentine's Day

It's Valentine's Day, a holiday that hasn't meant much to me for many years. I've let the people in my life that I love know that I love them. But I don't have a man of my own and for the first time in a long time I'm really missing that this morning. Someone to snuggle up against as I open my eyes. Someone who's still sleeping upstairs while I start the day in the quiet of the early morning. Someone to bring coffee to, to share the paper with, to run errands and chat with as we go about a Saturday. For some reason, after nearly 18 years of being single, I'm feeling "single" more deeply than usual. Perhaps more lonely than alone. Soon I will have been divorced as long as I was married. Not a statistic I expected to stack up in my lifetime, you know? So in the spirit of the day I wish all the lovers in the world well. And, while I have a good and satisfying life which I cherish, I kind of wish today that there was one man who loved just me and who was here to share this kind of silly day. Some roses, a little chocolate, a nice dinner, some candlelight, and back to bed......you get the picture. Maybe next year?