Molly and I have this quote from St. John Chrysostom framed, and sitting on our dresser:
“As if she were gold receiving purest gold, the woman receives the man’s seed with rich pleasure, and within her it is nourished, cherished, and refined. It is mingled with her own substance and she then returns it as a child! The child is a bridge connecting father to mother, so the three become one flesh. . . And here the bridge is formed from the substance of each!”
- from Homily XII on Colossians
The early Church fathers have a reputation, not entirely undeserved, for being a little uptight when it comes to sexual matters (Origen and St. Augustine, for two large examples). But God bless St. John. Here he describes sex in terms any married couple could appreciate – ‘the woman receives the man’s seed with rich pleasure. . .’ Yeah, that fits with our experience. And his description of the child as the ‘one flesh’ of husband and wife has always resonated with me. He carries strong echoes (or, more truly, foreshadowings) of the Theology of the Body, 16 centuries before the fact.
So, thank God for St. John Chrysostom. And I would heartily recommend to any of my blog-friends the rich little book of his homilies On Marriage and Family Life.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Adventures on Spring Break
A while back, I posted about a near-miss automotive mishap that occurred several years ago, while our family was on its way to Florida. We've actually traveled to Florida for spring break twice. The first time was in 1989, after I’d re-established contact with my ‘first mother’. At the time, we only had three kids – 3M was a year old at the time, 2F was almost four, and 1F was almost seven. My aunt (my dad’s sister) was living in Sarasota at the time, and gave us a standing invitation to come down and stay with her at her place, and so we did.
It was the first time I had ever been south of the Ohio River (Molly had been to Florida once in college), and we generally soaked up the whole ‘heading south’ experience. Leaving Michigan with snow on the ground, and watching leaves appear on the trees and the grass get greener, the further south we went (and just seeing things like the red dirt in Georgia, for the first time). By the time we crossed the state line into Florida, it was 85º and the sun was shining, and we just felt like we were somehow cheating the system in a major way. We stopped at the ‘Welcome Station’ just across the Florida line, and 2F ran over and spontaneously hugged a palm tree. . .
We arrived at my aunt’s house, and she did a wonderful job of playing the gracious hostess and local tour guide. We drove over to Disney World (for which I’m sure I paid way too much for five of us to spend most of the day standing in line, but my kids wouldn’t have let me leave the state without going there), took in a Tigers spring training game, and consumed all the fresh-squeezed orange juice we could get our hands on (since then, frozen/canned OJ has just never been the same).
Two events stand out in my memory. First, was the initial face-to-face meeting with my ‘first mother’, for the first time in over 20 years. We were both pretty nervous, but we had a good visit. Molly’s winsome personality (she covers for my shyness in a most happy way), and the kids, went a long way toward relaxing the mood.
And there was the beach on Siesta Key. Oh. . . My. . . Goodness. It was the most incredible, beautiful beach I have ever seen. The sand was white, and fine – about the consistency of flour. We scrambled around to find a small container to take some of it back with us, just to show our friends. The water was a luminescent blue-green color, and we watched with delight as pelicans hovered high above the surface of the water, before diving to snatch a fish. And most incredibly, the beach was virtually deserted – we could look more than a mile in both directions, and see fewer than a dozen people besides ourselves. It was just incredible. We stayed on the beach until it got dark (the only not-beating-the-system aspect of the whole experience was that it was 85º and sunny on the beach in March, but the sun set at 6PM; (*sigh*) you can’t have everything).
Our week in Florida ended all too soon, and we piled back into our minivan and reversed the process we’d so enjoyed on the way south – with every passing mile, the grass got browner, the leaves on the trees got sparser and then non-existent, the air got colder, and by the time we crossed the state line back into Michigan, it was 35º and raining. . .
But we’d had a wonderful trip, and made a bunch of family memories.
-------------------------
Three years later, we went to Florida again, with four kids this time – 4M was a year-and-a-half old – and Molly was six months pregnant with 5M (this was when we had our vehicular near-miss). Our main goal this time was to meet my birth-father in person, for the first (and so far only) time; he also lived in Florida, not too terribly far from my aunt. We mainly stayed with my ‘first mother’ and her husband, for that trip, but we stayed at my aunt’s place for the meeting with my birth-father.
On the tourist front, we visited the Kennedy Space Center, which given my own youthful fascination with all things Space, was a major highlight. The tour of the space center was really cool, but we got an added bonus, because while we were there, a shuttle was due to land there in Florida. So, we found out the details, awoke at 4AM, inquired about the best place from which to view the landing, and staked out our spot. We were about three miles from the runway; looking across open water, we were looking right down the runway – the shuttle would virtually fly right over our heads.
As the sun rose, the crowd of shuttle-watchers grew, so that, by the time the shuttle was due to arrive, cars were parked pretty much all along the shore of the little inlet we’d parked on. The guy next to us had his radio tuned to the Space Center communication, and we could listen as the commentator tracked the shuttle’s progress – “Atlantis has just crossed the California coast, at such-and-such altitude, flying at such-and-such speed.” “Atlantis is over Texas now. . .” And so on.
A few minutes before the scheduled landing, suddenly a fleet of helicopters popped up all around us, while the radio told us that Atlantis had crossed the Gulf Coast of Florida. We heard a sharp double-crack, almost like a pair of rapid-fire gunshots, and then we heard over the radio, “Atlantis is on the runway!”
AND WE NEVER SAW IT!!!
The damn shuttle flew right over our heads, and we never saw it! We heard what we were told was a double sonic boom (although I don’t think the shuttle would have been supersonic at that point; that’s what we were told, though), and we were certainly present for a shuttle landing, but somehow, despite all that, we managed to completely miss making visual contact with the bird itself.
(*sigh*)
Returning to my aunt’s house, we were eager to get back to the beach on Siesta Key, remembering what a slice of paradise it had been three years previously. But you know, a lot can change in three years. . .
Driving out to the key, it was instantly apparent that this time, the beach wasn’t going to be quite so deserted as it had been on our first visit. We parked the car and walked, farther than we remembered having to walk before (and Molly six months great with child). And as we stepped onto the celestial white sand, it became instantly obvious that, in the three years since our previous visit, the college students had discovered Siesta Key.
The beach was crammed, virtually wall to wall (if beaches can be said to have walls) with college kids, in various states of drunkenness, and various states of, um, undress. As we walked across the sand, trying to scope out a place where we could put our blanket down, at one point we were walking behind a young woman in a very, um, skimpy thong bikini (the kind that Molly refers to as ‘butt floss’; and actually, ‘skimpy’ vastly overstates the amount of actual cover the suit was providing for her). 2F, who was not quite seven at the time, turned to me and asked, in that innocent six-year-old manner, “Dad, how come that girl’s butt is hanging out?”
“I don’t know, dear,” I replied. “I wonder if her mother knows.”
The girl briefly sort-of half-turned her head and cast a quick sneer in my direction, and those pleasantries having been taken care of, we all continued on our way.
And with every passing minute, Molly was getting more and more steamed, her rotund self, great with child, juxtaposed most unfavorably (at least in her own mind) with the nubile young ladies on display all around her (and ‘on display’ does not begin to do justice to the situation). To be fair, a spring-break beach full of scantily-clad college girls is not a happy situation for a six-months pregnant mother, with four kids in tow. I practiced as much ‘ocular self-discipline’ as I could muster, and reassured her repeatedly that, as far as I was concerned, she was more woman than any of these girls would ever be, but her embarrassment could not be assuaged. And I knew that this was not going to redound to my benefit. I took a few minutes to let the kids get wet, and we hightailed it out of there. And the whole way back to my aunt’s house, Molly fumed at me, for taking her out in public looking like a whale, to be embarrassed by all the Sweet Young Things on display, etc, etc, etc. I have mostly lived it down by now, but I know better than to bring it up. . .
We had a good visit with my birth-father, and his two daughters, my half-sisters, and once again headed back home.
I don’t think I’d want to live in Florida (I’m told August there is pretty brutal), but the two times we’ve visited have been interesting, and a lot of fun. . .
It was the first time I had ever been south of the Ohio River (Molly had been to Florida once in college), and we generally soaked up the whole ‘heading south’ experience. Leaving Michigan with snow on the ground, and watching leaves appear on the trees and the grass get greener, the further south we went (and just seeing things like the red dirt in Georgia, for the first time). By the time we crossed the state line into Florida, it was 85º and the sun was shining, and we just felt like we were somehow cheating the system in a major way. We stopped at the ‘Welcome Station’ just across the Florida line, and 2F ran over and spontaneously hugged a palm tree. . .
We arrived at my aunt’s house, and she did a wonderful job of playing the gracious hostess and local tour guide. We drove over to Disney World (for which I’m sure I paid way too much for five of us to spend most of the day standing in line, but my kids wouldn’t have let me leave the state without going there), took in a Tigers spring training game, and consumed all the fresh-squeezed orange juice we could get our hands on (since then, frozen/canned OJ has just never been the same).
Two events stand out in my memory. First, was the initial face-to-face meeting with my ‘first mother’, for the first time in over 20 years. We were both pretty nervous, but we had a good visit. Molly’s winsome personality (she covers for my shyness in a most happy way), and the kids, went a long way toward relaxing the mood.
And there was the beach on Siesta Key. Oh. . . My. . . Goodness. It was the most incredible, beautiful beach I have ever seen. The sand was white, and fine – about the consistency of flour. We scrambled around to find a small container to take some of it back with us, just to show our friends. The water was a luminescent blue-green color, and we watched with delight as pelicans hovered high above the surface of the water, before diving to snatch a fish. And most incredibly, the beach was virtually deserted – we could look more than a mile in both directions, and see fewer than a dozen people besides ourselves. It was just incredible. We stayed on the beach until it got dark (the only not-beating-the-system aspect of the whole experience was that it was 85º and sunny on the beach in March, but the sun set at 6PM; (*sigh*) you can’t have everything).
Our week in Florida ended all too soon, and we piled back into our minivan and reversed the process we’d so enjoyed on the way south – with every passing mile, the grass got browner, the leaves on the trees got sparser and then non-existent, the air got colder, and by the time we crossed the state line back into Michigan, it was 35º and raining. . .
But we’d had a wonderful trip, and made a bunch of family memories.
-------------------------
Three years later, we went to Florida again, with four kids this time – 4M was a year-and-a-half old – and Molly was six months pregnant with 5M (this was when we had our vehicular near-miss). Our main goal this time was to meet my birth-father in person, for the first (and so far only) time; he also lived in Florida, not too terribly far from my aunt. We mainly stayed with my ‘first mother’ and her husband, for that trip, but we stayed at my aunt’s place for the meeting with my birth-father.
On the tourist front, we visited the Kennedy Space Center, which given my own youthful fascination with all things Space, was a major highlight. The tour of the space center was really cool, but we got an added bonus, because while we were there, a shuttle was due to land there in Florida. So, we found out the details, awoke at 4AM, inquired about the best place from which to view the landing, and staked out our spot. We were about three miles from the runway; looking across open water, we were looking right down the runway – the shuttle would virtually fly right over our heads.
As the sun rose, the crowd of shuttle-watchers grew, so that, by the time the shuttle was due to arrive, cars were parked pretty much all along the shore of the little inlet we’d parked on. The guy next to us had his radio tuned to the Space Center communication, and we could listen as the commentator tracked the shuttle’s progress – “Atlantis has just crossed the California coast, at such-and-such altitude, flying at such-and-such speed.” “Atlantis is over Texas now. . .” And so on.
A few minutes before the scheduled landing, suddenly a fleet of helicopters popped up all around us, while the radio told us that Atlantis had crossed the Gulf Coast of Florida. We heard a sharp double-crack, almost like a pair of rapid-fire gunshots, and then we heard over the radio, “Atlantis is on the runway!”
AND WE NEVER SAW IT!!!
The damn shuttle flew right over our heads, and we never saw it! We heard what we were told was a double sonic boom (although I don’t think the shuttle would have been supersonic at that point; that’s what we were told, though), and we were certainly present for a shuttle landing, but somehow, despite all that, we managed to completely miss making visual contact with the bird itself.
(*sigh*)
Returning to my aunt’s house, we were eager to get back to the beach on Siesta Key, remembering what a slice of paradise it had been three years previously. But you know, a lot can change in three years. . .
Driving out to the key, it was instantly apparent that this time, the beach wasn’t going to be quite so deserted as it had been on our first visit. We parked the car and walked, farther than we remembered having to walk before (and Molly six months great with child). And as we stepped onto the celestial white sand, it became instantly obvious that, in the three years since our previous visit, the college students had discovered Siesta Key.
The beach was crammed, virtually wall to wall (if beaches can be said to have walls) with college kids, in various states of drunkenness, and various states of, um, undress. As we walked across the sand, trying to scope out a place where we could put our blanket down, at one point we were walking behind a young woman in a very, um, skimpy thong bikini (the kind that Molly refers to as ‘butt floss’; and actually, ‘skimpy’ vastly overstates the amount of actual cover the suit was providing for her). 2F, who was not quite seven at the time, turned to me and asked, in that innocent six-year-old manner, “Dad, how come that girl’s butt is hanging out?”
“I don’t know, dear,” I replied. “I wonder if her mother knows.”
The girl briefly sort-of half-turned her head and cast a quick sneer in my direction, and those pleasantries having been taken care of, we all continued on our way.
And with every passing minute, Molly was getting more and more steamed, her rotund self, great with child, juxtaposed most unfavorably (at least in her own mind) with the nubile young ladies on display all around her (and ‘on display’ does not begin to do justice to the situation). To be fair, a spring-break beach full of scantily-clad college girls is not a happy situation for a six-months pregnant mother, with four kids in tow. I practiced as much ‘ocular self-discipline’ as I could muster, and reassured her repeatedly that, as far as I was concerned, she was more woman than any of these girls would ever be, but her embarrassment could not be assuaged. And I knew that this was not going to redound to my benefit. I took a few minutes to let the kids get wet, and we hightailed it out of there. And the whole way back to my aunt’s house, Molly fumed at me, for taking her out in public looking like a whale, to be embarrassed by all the Sweet Young Things on display, etc, etc, etc. I have mostly lived it down by now, but I know better than to bring it up. . .
We had a good visit with my birth-father, and his two daughters, my half-sisters, and once again headed back home.
I don’t think I’d want to live in Florida (I’m told August there is pretty brutal), but the two times we’ve visited have been interesting, and a lot of fun. . .
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Weeping With Those Who Weep. . .
“Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.”
(Epistle of St. Paul to the Romans, Chapter 12, verse 15)
Recently, I was thinking about our friend Taja, and praying for her and Brady, and their struggles with conceiving and bearing a long-hoped-for child, and I was reminded of a 'minor adventure' Molly and I had last fall, while driving home from the Great Midwestern Blogger Get-Together; I alluded to it in passing at the time, and suggested that I might blog about it someday. Well, friends - today is that day. . .
We were driving along, northbound on I-69 (no, really - that’s the freeway that goes from the Gathering Host-City up to Michigan; it’s not a bad erotic pun) (really; I promise; you can look it up on a map), talking about the weekend and the folks we’d met there – FTN’s goiter and third nipple, stuff like that – when Molly’s cell phone rang. It was one of our neighbors from back in OurTown, who was a bit surprised to hear Molly answer her call, as she’d intended to call someone else, but dialed Molly’s number by mistake. Oh, no matter, she said, I can tell you, too.
She went on to tell Molly that a mutual friend (we’ll call her Leah), married to a former member of our community (we’ll call him Todd), who had been trying for several years to conceive a child, and had recently succeeded in getting pregnant for the first time, had miscarried a day or two previously, and to solicit Molly’s prayers for her.
At the same time that Molly’s phone rang (and before I knew what the call was about), we passed a sign announcing that the city of Huntington, Indiana was 25 miles away. “Hmm,” I thought, “that’s where Todd and Leah live. I wonder if we could drop in on them, since we’ll be so close by.” And as I heard the phone call, it started to seem as though that might be just what we ought to do, in ways I had no way of anticipating.
Molly finished her call, and told me what had happened. And I told her how close we were to their home, and my ‘spontaneous’ thought of dropping in on them. Molly thought for a moment, and thought that it might be a good thing, or they might not quite be up to receiving company just yet. Wondering what we should do (and not having Todd and Leah’s phone number saved in her cell phone), Molly hurriedly placed a few calls to folks in OurTown, to get their advice, and maybe Leah’s phone number. No-one had their phone number immediately handy, but one friend suggested that we call Todd and Leah, and ask them if they were up to seeing us.
The exit for Huntington was upon us, so we got off the freeway, and seeing a gas-station/mini-mart with a pay phone, we pulled in, found the phone number, and called our friends. Molly told them the story of the past half-hour, and asked if they’d like us to drop in, or were they maybe not up to receiving company? And they said that they would very much welcome a visit from us. So they gave us directions to their house, and we stopped in to visit.
It would be hard to explain the ‘blessedness’ of our visit. Leah and Molly had gotten to know each other over the past five years or so, mostly by running into each other at a couple retreat weekends each year that they both went to. Somehow, they had forged a close friendship, and Leah had poured out her heart to Molly - all her sorrow and frustration over having been unable to conceive. Which was all the more poignant for Molly, the mother of eight.
So that, when we arrived at their house, it was actually a while before any words were spoken; tears and hugs were the first order of business. Finally, we sat down, and Leah poured out her heart once again – her elation at finally, finally, conceiving a child, and having it grow in her belly for ten weeks. The joyful, hopeful anticipation that the two of them were finally going to be parents together. Then, the first hints that something ‘wasn’t quite right’, and the ghastly process of expelling her baby’s corpse from her womb. The long frustration, turned to joy, turned back again to crushing sorrow.
And even amid all that, a ray of hope. That, even though their hopes had been dashed, even cruelly, still – they had conceived. Up to that point, they hadn’t even done that, and Leah was wondering if she even could. But now, at least, they knew that it was possible – her body was capable of becoming pregnant.
Molly and I had precious little wisdom to offer. Todd and Leah are both strong, mature Christians, and much as they wondered why – what could God’s purpose possibly be in what seemed to be a cruel taunt? – they remained firm in their conviction of His goodness. Which, given the circumstances, was pretty impressive.
“Even though He slay me, yet will I hope in Him.” (Job 13:15)
Or, as St. Peter said to Jesus,
“Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of everlasting life.” (John 6:68)
Which, in times like those, can be a hard realization to come to. . .
It was a heart-breaking visit, but heart-warming at the same time. Looking back, it seems all the clearer, given how the circumstances all came together, that we were given this little adventure from God, to comfort our friends, who were in serious need of some comfort. And it deepened our friendship, in the process. A blessed time, indeed.
-------------------------
This whole adventure came rushing back to me when I saw Todd on a retreat weekend a couple weeks ago, and he told me that Leah was pregnant again. Coming home from the retreat, I told Molly, and she was guardedly excited for Leah, once again. The other day, I asked Molly if she’d heard anything from Leah recently, and she said she had – that Leah had miscarried again, this time at six weeks.
I cannot give easy answers to the question of why some of us suffer so. And why Leah, specifically – who, with Todd, would be wonderful parents – is suffering so acutely, and so cruelly, with infertility, while Molly and I struggle with the challenges of having more children than it sometimes (even often) feels like we can manage.
“How unsearchable are [God’s] judgments, and how inscrutable His ways.” (Romans 11:33)
True that, for sure. . .
(Epistle of St. Paul to the Romans, Chapter 12, verse 15)
Recently, I was thinking about our friend Taja, and praying for her and Brady, and their struggles with conceiving and bearing a long-hoped-for child, and I was reminded of a 'minor adventure' Molly and I had last fall, while driving home from the Great Midwestern Blogger Get-Together; I alluded to it in passing at the time, and suggested that I might blog about it someday. Well, friends - today is that day. . .
We were driving along, northbound on I-69 (no, really - that’s the freeway that goes from the Gathering Host-City up to Michigan; it’s not a bad erotic pun) (really; I promise; you can look it up on a map), talking about the weekend and the folks we’d met there – FTN’s goiter and third nipple, stuff like that – when Molly’s cell phone rang. It was one of our neighbors from back in OurTown, who was a bit surprised to hear Molly answer her call, as she’d intended to call someone else, but dialed Molly’s number by mistake. Oh, no matter, she said, I can tell you, too.
She went on to tell Molly that a mutual friend (we’ll call her Leah), married to a former member of our community (we’ll call him Todd), who had been trying for several years to conceive a child, and had recently succeeded in getting pregnant for the first time, had miscarried a day or two previously, and to solicit Molly’s prayers for her.
At the same time that Molly’s phone rang (and before I knew what the call was about), we passed a sign announcing that the city of Huntington, Indiana was 25 miles away. “Hmm,” I thought, “that’s where Todd and Leah live. I wonder if we could drop in on them, since we’ll be so close by.” And as I heard the phone call, it started to seem as though that might be just what we ought to do, in ways I had no way of anticipating.
Molly finished her call, and told me what had happened. And I told her how close we were to their home, and my ‘spontaneous’ thought of dropping in on them. Molly thought for a moment, and thought that it might be a good thing, or they might not quite be up to receiving company just yet. Wondering what we should do (and not having Todd and Leah’s phone number saved in her cell phone), Molly hurriedly placed a few calls to folks in OurTown, to get their advice, and maybe Leah’s phone number. No-one had their phone number immediately handy, but one friend suggested that we call Todd and Leah, and ask them if they were up to seeing us.
The exit for Huntington was upon us, so we got off the freeway, and seeing a gas-station/mini-mart with a pay phone, we pulled in, found the phone number, and called our friends. Molly told them the story of the past half-hour, and asked if they’d like us to drop in, or were they maybe not up to receiving company? And they said that they would very much welcome a visit from us. So they gave us directions to their house, and we stopped in to visit.
It would be hard to explain the ‘blessedness’ of our visit. Leah and Molly had gotten to know each other over the past five years or so, mostly by running into each other at a couple retreat weekends each year that they both went to. Somehow, they had forged a close friendship, and Leah had poured out her heart to Molly - all her sorrow and frustration over having been unable to conceive. Which was all the more poignant for Molly, the mother of eight.
So that, when we arrived at their house, it was actually a while before any words were spoken; tears and hugs were the first order of business. Finally, we sat down, and Leah poured out her heart once again – her elation at finally, finally, conceiving a child, and having it grow in her belly for ten weeks. The joyful, hopeful anticipation that the two of them were finally going to be parents together. Then, the first hints that something ‘wasn’t quite right’, and the ghastly process of expelling her baby’s corpse from her womb. The long frustration, turned to joy, turned back again to crushing sorrow.
And even amid all that, a ray of hope. That, even though their hopes had been dashed, even cruelly, still – they had conceived. Up to that point, they hadn’t even done that, and Leah was wondering if she even could. But now, at least, they knew that it was possible – her body was capable of becoming pregnant.
Molly and I had precious little wisdom to offer. Todd and Leah are both strong, mature Christians, and much as they wondered why – what could God’s purpose possibly be in what seemed to be a cruel taunt? – they remained firm in their conviction of His goodness. Which, given the circumstances, was pretty impressive.
“Even though He slay me, yet will I hope in Him.” (Job 13:15)
Or, as St. Peter said to Jesus,
“Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of everlasting life.” (John 6:68)
Which, in times like those, can be a hard realization to come to. . .
It was a heart-breaking visit, but heart-warming at the same time. Looking back, it seems all the clearer, given how the circumstances all came together, that we were given this little adventure from God, to comfort our friends, who were in serious need of some comfort. And it deepened our friendship, in the process. A blessed time, indeed.
-------------------------
This whole adventure came rushing back to me when I saw Todd on a retreat weekend a couple weeks ago, and he told me that Leah was pregnant again. Coming home from the retreat, I told Molly, and she was guardedly excited for Leah, once again. The other day, I asked Molly if she’d heard anything from Leah recently, and she said she had – that Leah had miscarried again, this time at six weeks.
I cannot give easy answers to the question of why some of us suffer so. And why Leah, specifically – who, with Todd, would be wonderful parents – is suffering so acutely, and so cruelly, with infertility, while Molly and I struggle with the challenges of having more children than it sometimes (even often) feels like we can manage.
“How unsearchable are [God’s] judgments, and how inscrutable His ways.” (Romans 11:33)
True that, for sure. . .
Monday, March 16, 2009
Friends
A while back, my friend Sailor tagged me with a Friends Award. Of course, I am honored, and touched that he counts me as such. Dave is himself a very good friend, and any of you who haven't yet met him, I encourage you to at least wander by his place and say Hello.
Of course, these 'Tag awards' invariably come with a string or two attached, and this one is no exception. Forthwith, the obligatory explanatory paragraph:
“These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.”
Now, I've not often been accused of being 'charming', but I won't press the issue. As I said, I'm honored; and one oughtn't make a habit of quibbling with those who would honor one.
The award asks me (in point of actual fact, it doesn't 'ask', but I'll pass over the petty rudeness, and assume that that's what it means) to name eight friends of my own, and 'spread the love around'. I should note (well, I'm not sure that it's quite so 'should-ish' as all that) that, as a general rule, I don't do 'tags'; but this is an opportunity for me to introduce a few of my friends, who might not know each other very well, to each other.
Besides me, Sailor also tagged Tam and Redheadededitor, whom I have not previously met (but on Sailor's recommendation, I'll drop in on them), as well as Therese and different kind of girl, who are regulars here in the Yard, and they've been friends of mine for years. I would encourage any of my readers who haven't yet gotten to know them, to stop by and give them a nod. And also Sailor himself, who is the very personification of a blog-friend.
In addition, I'll tag:
Lime; I was introduced to her about a year ago by Bunny (back when Bunny was still a fellow-Michgander; but always a fellow-Spartan), who astutely pointed out that we were both adoptees, and might share some common ground. In the meantime, I've gotten to know Lime as a woman of real substance. Hers is a 'slice-of-life' blog, and her sense of humor is absolutely sideways. . . (Can I take just a minute to take Lime and faDKoG (the acronymic form of 'for a Different Kind of Girl') aside and introduce the two of you to each other? Lime, faDKoG; faDKoG, Lime. I think you'd really like each other; OK, now let's get back to the group.)
Xavier; his blog has gone thru almost as much 'now-you-see-it-now-you-don't' churning as mine has (I more-or-less gave him his current blog-moniker; he started his blogging life as XI Summit). But since I've known him, he's proven himself to be a wise and generous friend.
Flutterby; a real Sweetheart from Saskatchewan. I must have some kind of affinity for folks whose blogs seem to arrive and leave, and re-appear in a new form. Not that I'd ever do that. Another blogger who turns out to be a good deal more substantial than meets the eye.
I know the Terms of the Award tell me I'm supposed to tag eight others, but my tendency has always been to have a few close friends, rather than lots of surface-y ones, so I'll leave it at three (although if you count the shout-outs to Sailor's original tags, and Sailor himself, you can get to eight; but that seems like cheating, doesn't it?) Those of you whom I've tagged can do with the award as you deem best. . .
Thanks again, Dave; I really am honored, and touched, and all that. . .
Of course, these 'Tag awards' invariably come with a string or two attached, and this one is no exception. Forthwith, the obligatory explanatory paragraph:
“These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.”
Now, I've not often been accused of being 'charming', but I won't press the issue. As I said, I'm honored; and one oughtn't make a habit of quibbling with those who would honor one.
The award asks me (in point of actual fact, it doesn't 'ask', but I'll pass over the petty rudeness, and assume that that's what it means) to name eight friends of my own, and 'spread the love around'. I should note (well, I'm not sure that it's quite so 'should-ish' as all that) that, as a general rule, I don't do 'tags'; but this is an opportunity for me to introduce a few of my friends, who might not know each other very well, to each other.
Besides me, Sailor also tagged Tam and Redheadededitor, whom I have not previously met (but on Sailor's recommendation, I'll drop in on them), as well as Therese and different kind of girl, who are regulars here in the Yard, and they've been friends of mine for years. I would encourage any of my readers who haven't yet gotten to know them, to stop by and give them a nod. And also Sailor himself, who is the very personification of a blog-friend.
In addition, I'll tag:
Lime; I was introduced to her about a year ago by Bunny (back when Bunny was still a fellow-Michgander; but always a fellow-Spartan), who astutely pointed out that we were both adoptees, and might share some common ground. In the meantime, I've gotten to know Lime as a woman of real substance. Hers is a 'slice-of-life' blog, and her sense of humor is absolutely sideways. . . (Can I take just a minute to take Lime and faDKoG (the acronymic form of 'for a Different Kind of Girl') aside and introduce the two of you to each other? Lime, faDKoG; faDKoG, Lime. I think you'd really like each other; OK, now let's get back to the group.)
Xavier; his blog has gone thru almost as much 'now-you-see-it-now-you-don't' churning as mine has (I more-or-less gave him his current blog-moniker; he started his blogging life as XI Summit). But since I've known him, he's proven himself to be a wise and generous friend.
Flutterby; a real Sweetheart from Saskatchewan. I must have some kind of affinity for folks whose blogs seem to arrive and leave, and re-appear in a new form. Not that I'd ever do that. Another blogger who turns out to be a good deal more substantial than meets the eye.
I know the Terms of the Award tell me I'm supposed to tag eight others, but my tendency has always been to have a few close friends, rather than lots of surface-y ones, so I'll leave it at three (although if you count the shout-outs to Sailor's original tags, and Sailor himself, you can get to eight; but that seems like cheating, doesn't it?) Those of you whom I've tagged can do with the award as you deem best. . .
Thanks again, Dave; I really am honored, and touched, and all that. . .
Friday, March 6, 2009
You Say It's Your Birthday
Yesterday was 3M's 21st birthday (and just between you and me - when did I become old enough to have three of my children be over 21?). To celebrate the occasion, his godfather and I will join him tonight for his first alcoholic beverage. At least, his first legal one. (*sigh*) The number of times we’ve run into each other at the liquor store reminds me not to lay more significance on the event than it deserves. . .
We’ve always had a bit of fun with the fact that my first son’s birthday is two days after mine. On occasion, we’ve even had our birthday observances combined.
What’s more, both of us were born in leap years, so we both missed, by a matter of days, being born on ‘Leap Day’, February 29th. Being the odd ducks that we are, Molly and I always harbored a secret hope that among our children would be red-haired, left-handed twins; a February 29th birthday would be icing on the cake. We do have some left-handedness among our kids – 4M writes left-handed, but throws right-handed (given that degree of ambidexterity, I insisted that he hit lefty in baseball); and 8M is still pretty ambidextrous. But, alas, no redheads (and given the red highlights in my beard - at least before it went gray - we had some hopes). And no twins. At least, not yet. ;)
I did know a girl in college whose birthday was February 29th. So every year, we would gather at her room at 11:59 PM on February 28th to sing Happy Birthday to her, ending just after midnight on March 1st, figuring that somewhere in there was her birthday. (The same girl told us how, when she was in high school, she counted the time from her parents’ wedding anniversary to her birthday. Counting only 8½ months, she confronted her mother with the damning evidence; her mom responded, “Do you think you could maybe give us the benefit of the doubt for two weeks?”)
Anyway, when Molly’s due date with 3M was in early March, we instantly began hoping that he’d be a few days early, and come on the 29th (save on birthday parties that way, dontcha know). As the calendar passed into late February, we began to wonder if there was anything we could do to bring the baby into the world on the desired day. We talked about going for a drive on back-country gravel roads. As the weather warmed up, we even talked about going for a bike ride. We never did any of those things, but they were at least fun to talk about.
February 29th came and went, without so much as a false-labor contraction, nor any dilation. So we moved our focus on to the possibility that our baby would be born on my birthday (which was my 32nd that year).
My younger sister and I actually share our birthday (technically, I suppose she’s my step-sister – my mom’s daughter from her first marriage – but I’ve only ever called her my sister), which was the occasion of some teasing between us over the years. When our folks were first married, and our new family was very new, I used to tease her that it couldn’t be her birthday, because I had it first (she’s two years younger than me). But every year, Mom would make two birthday cakes. I don’t remember how the birthday parties went most years, but I do recall one year, my sister and her friends had a birthday party upstairs, while my friends and I had one in the basement, at the same time. God bless my mom for that. . .
Anyway, returning to the main story, my birthday, too, came and went without event. So at that point, the pressure was off; none of the subsequent days carried any special significance, and 3M was born two days after my birthday. Which, as it turned out, was his exact due date. And having a boy after two girls was nice, in its own way.
Of course, the birth of a child invokes all manner of hopes for the future, and wondering who the new little person will turn out to be. And, over the subsequent 21 years, his life, and ours, have gone places that we never would have imagined (much less hoped for). And that is just part of the richness of being human, isn’t it?
We’ve always had a bit of fun with the fact that my first son’s birthday is two days after mine. On occasion, we’ve even had our birthday observances combined.
What’s more, both of us were born in leap years, so we both missed, by a matter of days, being born on ‘Leap Day’, February 29th. Being the odd ducks that we are, Molly and I always harbored a secret hope that among our children would be red-haired, left-handed twins; a February 29th birthday would be icing on the cake. We do have some left-handedness among our kids – 4M writes left-handed, but throws right-handed (given that degree of ambidexterity, I insisted that he hit lefty in baseball); and 8M is still pretty ambidextrous. But, alas, no redheads (and given the red highlights in my beard - at least before it went gray - we had some hopes). And no twins. At least, not yet. ;)
I did know a girl in college whose birthday was February 29th. So every year, we would gather at her room at 11:59 PM on February 28th to sing Happy Birthday to her, ending just after midnight on March 1st, figuring that somewhere in there was her birthday. (The same girl told us how, when she was in high school, she counted the time from her parents’ wedding anniversary to her birthday. Counting only 8½ months, she confronted her mother with the damning evidence; her mom responded, “Do you think you could maybe give us the benefit of the doubt for two weeks?”)
Anyway, when Molly’s due date with 3M was in early March, we instantly began hoping that he’d be a few days early, and come on the 29th (save on birthday parties that way, dontcha know). As the calendar passed into late February, we began to wonder if there was anything we could do to bring the baby into the world on the desired day. We talked about going for a drive on back-country gravel roads. As the weather warmed up, we even talked about going for a bike ride. We never did any of those things, but they were at least fun to talk about.
February 29th came and went, without so much as a false-labor contraction, nor any dilation. So we moved our focus on to the possibility that our baby would be born on my birthday (which was my 32nd that year).
My younger sister and I actually share our birthday (technically, I suppose she’s my step-sister – my mom’s daughter from her first marriage – but I’ve only ever called her my sister), which was the occasion of some teasing between us over the years. When our folks were first married, and our new family was very new, I used to tease her that it couldn’t be her birthday, because I had it first (she’s two years younger than me). But every year, Mom would make two birthday cakes. I don’t remember how the birthday parties went most years, but I do recall one year, my sister and her friends had a birthday party upstairs, while my friends and I had one in the basement, at the same time. God bless my mom for that. . .
Anyway, returning to the main story, my birthday, too, came and went without event. So at that point, the pressure was off; none of the subsequent days carried any special significance, and 3M was born two days after my birthday. Which, as it turned out, was his exact due date. And having a boy after two girls was nice, in its own way.
Of course, the birth of a child invokes all manner of hopes for the future, and wondering who the new little person will turn out to be. And, over the subsequent 21 years, his life, and ours, have gone places that we never would have imagined (much less hoped for). And that is just part of the richness of being human, isn’t it?
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Down One
It has been an ongoing bit of light humor in my life that I have three mothers (and Molly has three mothers-in-law) - that, when someone asks me about my mother, I first have to clarify, "Which one?" There is the mother who bore me and gave me birth, the mother who adopted me, and formed the first nine years of my life, and the mother in whose family I lived and thrived from the age of ten to the present day.
But now, as of last night at 10:10 PM, that number is one smaller. At least in terms of those living in this world. My 'first mother' - my dad's first wife, who adopted me (and my brother, a year-and-a-half later), and raised me through the fourth grade - died last night. She had only recently moved back up to Michigan, having lived in Florida for the past 30+ years. Last Friday, she was hospitalized with a blood infection, with some related complications. It didn't seem like anything major at the time, but she just kept sliding downhill (there are no 'minor' illnesses when you're 88 years old), and the end came last night. I am so glad we got to visit her on Sunday.
-------------------------
Her death provokes an odd, and somewhat conflicted, set of responses in me. First, and most fundamentally, I am sadddened. She was, obviously enough, a major player in my life, in forming me into the person I am today. She pushed me into my earliest musical training, and such joy as I am able to take today from playing various instruments, and singing, can be largely credited to her early influence on my life. In fact, I first pursued searching for her when our eldest daughter showed precocious musical aptitude, and we started her on piano lessons. And I remembered the woman who had given that to me. . .
I was glad to have her back in my life, and in the life of our family. It enriched the lives of our children to know her, and hear her stories of growing up in Germany (under the Nazis from the age of 12). We went to visit her and her (second) husband in Florida twice, and they visited us on several other occasions. Her husband died in 1998, and after that, she didn't travel much.
But there was always the background 'irritant' that she had left us. She spoke with me a couple times about my dad, and how stubborn he was, and how hard he was to live with. And I, by that time having lived with him longer than she had, could acknowledge the justice of everything she said.
But she never really acknowledged that, in leaving our dad, she was leaving my brother and me in the process. Or that, however justified she might have been in leaving dad, she might still have wronged my brother and me. I didn't hold a grudge over it - please be very clear, I was unambiguously happy to have her back in my life - but a simple apology would have been very healing, probably for both of us.
But, in the ensuing years since she left, I've come to understand that adoptive motherhood comes with a whole set of baggage relating to the mothers' own infertility, and she seems to have had it gilt-edged and embroidered. Some years ago, in the course of documenting something for my family history, I got hold of the paperwork from when we enrolled in our new school when we moved Up North. She had taken us to the school, and all the signatures on the papers were hers. And on the line labeled 'Relationship to Student', she put 'stepmother'. And, even 30 years later, that just floored me. Even having had me in her family for seven years, she didn't think of herself as my 'mother'; just someone filling in, in lieu of the 'real thing'.
She was a very sensitive person, sometimes spilling over into 'insecure'. And, combined with my dad's farm-boy bluntness, I can easily understand how they were a bit of a mismatch. But, even having long since 'moved on', I can't quite bring myself to 'accept' their divorce. It still seems to me to be a tragedy that, at bottom, didn't have to happen. It happened, and it is what it is, and my life has been what it's been, and I'm OK. But, if between the two of them, they could have mustered up a bit more love and determination, it didn't have to happen. In my mind, I have tended to lay more resonsibility on her for having been the one who left, but I am well aware that my dad could've pursued reconciliation with a bit more interest than what he did. . .
When she left, she effectively walked out of our lives completely. Dad remarried within a year (basically as soon as the divorce was final), and we immediately moved on to life with our new family. I remember getting a few phone calls from her, which always felt awkward, sort of like one of those 'what doesn't belong?' panels from the kids' magazines. She sent my brother and me birthday cards for a few years afterwards - I remember the last one I got was when I was 13.
And then nothing, until we got back in touch 20-some years later.
-------------------------
When we got back together (fall of '88; we first visited them in spring '89), we had a warm - if somewhat nervous - reunion. Her new husband was a great guy, and welcomed us warmly himself. She was his second wife, his first having died after 17 years of marriage, with no children. They met each other, funnily enough, in the swirl of the celebration after the Tigers won the '68 World Series, and married within six months.
And we learned that, until I got in contact with her, she had never told her new husband that she'd had kids - when I showed up, she had some 'splainin' to do. And it occurred to me that they were married shortly after my 13th birthday, after which I didn't hear from her.
We discussed what to have our kids call her husband; we thought of having them call him 'uncle', after the fashion of those 'friend-of-the-family uncles' that many families have, who are 'uncle', even if they aren't really 'related'. But he nixed that - having had no children from either of his wives, he was very close to his brother's sons, and 'uncle' was, for him, far more than a mere 'term of endearment'. Not something he was prepared to hear from kids who'd only just showed up on his doorstep. So, we ended up at 'Mister', which seemed way too 'formal' and 'arms-length', especially in light of the warm relationship we eventually built with him. 3M, especially, seemed to have a special 'resonance' with him. He fell and broke his hip in '96, and his health steadily declined until his death in '98.
-------------------------
As I said, she and her husband were very close with their nephews, and for their part, the nephews embraced her as their own. Especially after their own mother died, they looked after her as if she was their own mother. When she started having some difficulty last fall, it was her nephews who looked after getting her the care she needed, and oversaw bringing her back to Michigan, where they could be in immediate touch with her.
It was a little nervous for us to contact them. Their uncle, after all, had been a bit slow to 'bring us in', and who were we to insinuate ourselves into their family matters? But I needn't have worried - we could not have gotten a more gracious welcome. It's funny - we aren't really 'family' to each other, but we are most definitely 'connected' through the person of my mother, their aunt. And, between the five of them, and my brother and me, we are the sum total of her family left to mourn her passing. We'll have the funeral this weekend, and at some point in the not-too-distant future, we'll sit down and get to know each other better. Something that probably should have happened long ago, but sometimes the obvious things can elude our attention. . .
-------------------------
So, my 'first mother' is dead. Not, I am given to hope, in the 'eternal' sense, but she's not here for me to speak to anymore. The phone calls that were never as frequent as they should have been, won't be happening any more. And the joys and conflicts that bubbled around inside me, relative to her, and our relationship, will be left to bubble around without any further input from her.
I was glad to know her. I am sorry that she's gone. I will miss her.
Requiescat In Pace, Mutter.
But now, as of last night at 10:10 PM, that number is one smaller. At least in terms of those living in this world. My 'first mother' - my dad's first wife, who adopted me (and my brother, a year-and-a-half later), and raised me through the fourth grade - died last night. She had only recently moved back up to Michigan, having lived in Florida for the past 30+ years. Last Friday, she was hospitalized with a blood infection, with some related complications. It didn't seem like anything major at the time, but she just kept sliding downhill (there are no 'minor' illnesses when you're 88 years old), and the end came last night. I am so glad we got to visit her on Sunday.
-------------------------
Her death provokes an odd, and somewhat conflicted, set of responses in me. First, and most fundamentally, I am sadddened. She was, obviously enough, a major player in my life, in forming me into the person I am today. She pushed me into my earliest musical training, and such joy as I am able to take today from playing various instruments, and singing, can be largely credited to her early influence on my life. In fact, I first pursued searching for her when our eldest daughter showed precocious musical aptitude, and we started her on piano lessons. And I remembered the woman who had given that to me. . .
I was glad to have her back in my life, and in the life of our family. It enriched the lives of our children to know her, and hear her stories of growing up in Germany (under the Nazis from the age of 12). We went to visit her and her (second) husband in Florida twice, and they visited us on several other occasions. Her husband died in 1998, and after that, she didn't travel much.
But there was always the background 'irritant' that she had left us. She spoke with me a couple times about my dad, and how stubborn he was, and how hard he was to live with. And I, by that time having lived with him longer than she had, could acknowledge the justice of everything she said.
But she never really acknowledged that, in leaving our dad, she was leaving my brother and me in the process. Or that, however justified she might have been in leaving dad, she might still have wronged my brother and me. I didn't hold a grudge over it - please be very clear, I was unambiguously happy to have her back in my life - but a simple apology would have been very healing, probably for both of us.
But, in the ensuing years since she left, I've come to understand that adoptive motherhood comes with a whole set of baggage relating to the mothers' own infertility, and she seems to have had it gilt-edged and embroidered. Some years ago, in the course of documenting something for my family history, I got hold of the paperwork from when we enrolled in our new school when we moved Up North. She had taken us to the school, and all the signatures on the papers were hers. And on the line labeled 'Relationship to Student', she put 'stepmother'. And, even 30 years later, that just floored me. Even having had me in her family for seven years, she didn't think of herself as my 'mother'; just someone filling in, in lieu of the 'real thing'.
She was a very sensitive person, sometimes spilling over into 'insecure'. And, combined with my dad's farm-boy bluntness, I can easily understand how they were a bit of a mismatch. But, even having long since 'moved on', I can't quite bring myself to 'accept' their divorce. It still seems to me to be a tragedy that, at bottom, didn't have to happen. It happened, and it is what it is, and my life has been what it's been, and I'm OK. But, if between the two of them, they could have mustered up a bit more love and determination, it didn't have to happen. In my mind, I have tended to lay more resonsibility on her for having been the one who left, but I am well aware that my dad could've pursued reconciliation with a bit more interest than what he did. . .
When she left, she effectively walked out of our lives completely. Dad remarried within a year (basically as soon as the divorce was final), and we immediately moved on to life with our new family. I remember getting a few phone calls from her, which always felt awkward, sort of like one of those 'what doesn't belong?' panels from the kids' magazines. She sent my brother and me birthday cards for a few years afterwards - I remember the last one I got was when I was 13.
And then nothing, until we got back in touch 20-some years later.
-------------------------
When we got back together (fall of '88; we first visited them in spring '89), we had a warm - if somewhat nervous - reunion. Her new husband was a great guy, and welcomed us warmly himself. She was his second wife, his first having died after 17 years of marriage, with no children. They met each other, funnily enough, in the swirl of the celebration after the Tigers won the '68 World Series, and married within six months.
And we learned that, until I got in contact with her, she had never told her new husband that she'd had kids - when I showed up, she had some 'splainin' to do. And it occurred to me that they were married shortly after my 13th birthday, after which I didn't hear from her.
We discussed what to have our kids call her husband; we thought of having them call him 'uncle', after the fashion of those 'friend-of-the-family uncles' that many families have, who are 'uncle', even if they aren't really 'related'. But he nixed that - having had no children from either of his wives, he was very close to his brother's sons, and 'uncle' was, for him, far more than a mere 'term of endearment'. Not something he was prepared to hear from kids who'd only just showed up on his doorstep. So, we ended up at 'Mister', which seemed way too 'formal' and 'arms-length', especially in light of the warm relationship we eventually built with him. 3M, especially, seemed to have a special 'resonance' with him. He fell and broke his hip in '96, and his health steadily declined until his death in '98.
-------------------------
As I said, she and her husband were very close with their nephews, and for their part, the nephews embraced her as their own. Especially after their own mother died, they looked after her as if she was their own mother. When she started having some difficulty last fall, it was her nephews who looked after getting her the care she needed, and oversaw bringing her back to Michigan, where they could be in immediate touch with her.
It was a little nervous for us to contact them. Their uncle, after all, had been a bit slow to 'bring us in', and who were we to insinuate ourselves into their family matters? But I needn't have worried - we could not have gotten a more gracious welcome. It's funny - we aren't really 'family' to each other, but we are most definitely 'connected' through the person of my mother, their aunt. And, between the five of them, and my brother and me, we are the sum total of her family left to mourn her passing. We'll have the funeral this weekend, and at some point in the not-too-distant future, we'll sit down and get to know each other better. Something that probably should have happened long ago, but sometimes the obvious things can elude our attention. . .
-------------------------
So, my 'first mother' is dead. Not, I am given to hope, in the 'eternal' sense, but she's not here for me to speak to anymore. The phone calls that were never as frequent as they should have been, won't be happening any more. And the joys and conflicts that bubbled around inside me, relative to her, and our relationship, will be left to bubble around without any further input from her.
I was glad to know her. I am sorry that she's gone. I will miss her.
Requiescat In Pace, Mutter.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Angels Watching Over Me. . .
A couple months ago, I wrote about my 'first mother', and the recent downturn in her health. Just recently, she had moved back to Michigan, so she could be closer to family members who could look after her much more easily than when she lived 1000 miles away.
Last week, we got a call from one of her nephews, inviting us to a surprise 88th birthday party for her, scheduled for yesterday (her actual birthday is today). Which we were really looking forward to, never having met any of her nephews, and of course, we haven't seen her for a few years, either. But then we got another call on Friday, saying that she'd taken ill and gone to the hospital. It seemed like no big deal, but the birthday party was called off.
Then yesterday, we got another call, saying that her health had deteriorated significantly, that she was in a 'critical zone', and within the next 24-48 hours, we would have some idea as to whether or not we might be planning a funeral later this week. The speed with which things had gotten to that point was a bit shocking. So, we decided we needed to drive down to see her, since it could possibly be for the last time.
Our four oldest kids all had personal memories of her, and wanted to come with us to see her, so we borrowed a minivan from friends of ours, so we could all travel together, since our cars are all small, and could only carry five people at most (and not very comfortably, if all five are adults).
We were finally ready to leave around mid-afternoon, and we all piled into the minivan and hit the road. We hadn't even gotten outside the city limits of OurTown, and I was still 'getting the feel' of the unfamiliar vehicle, driving in the left lane, when the vehicle in front of us (a black Avalanche, if anyone cares) suddenly put on its brakes. Hard. I stepped on the brake pedal, and it was instantly apparent that I wasn't going to be able to stop before rear-ending the Avalanche, so I veered left, onto the paved shoulder of the freeway, to miss him.
When I got onto the shoulder, I suddenly saw what had caused the Avalanche to brake - a red Honda Civic in front of the Avalanche had braked suddenly, and was turning into an emergency turnaround, so as to head back in the opposite direction. So, when I veered onto the shoulder, the Civic was also on the shoulder, a couple car-lengths in front of us - still not enough room for me to bring the minivan to a stop before I hit the Civic. So, leaving the pavement, I took the minivan onto the freeway median.
At this point, I was mainly trying just to hit the Civic at an angle, with a 'glancing' impact, rather than T-boning directly into the driver-side door (even though the idiot probably had it coming). It was a foregone conclusion that there was going to be a collision; I was just trying to make it as non-catastrophic as possible. A road sign announcing that the cut-through was for 'Emergency Vehicles Only' passed within inches of my window as we dipped down onto the median, then up-and-over the turnaround lane. Evidently, the driver of the Civic saw enough of what was happening that he stopped before turning fully into the cut-through, so we found ourselves back down on the median, on the far side of the cut-through, having somehow missed the Civic completely.
We were still going somewhere around 50 mph, and fortunately, the weather was cold enough that the median was frozen, and not a mud bog, so I was able to angle back over, and popping over the snowbank (it was not at all clear that we wouldn't roll the minivan in the course of attempting to pop over the bank), we got back onto the freeway, virtually as if nothing had happened. For several seconds, the six of us sort of looked around at each other, as if to say, "What just happened here?" And when the realization set in that we were all okay, and the minivan was okay, and we were still on our way to Detroit, suddenly everyone was talking at once, in high-pitched, excited voices.
Behind me, I heard two 'clicks' - 3M and 4M hadn't had their seat belts buckled. 3M was sitting in the middle seat, directly aligned behind the 'gap' between the two front seats, occupied by Molly and me. If we'd had a collision, he'd have been catapulted directly into (and possibly through) the windshield. 4M was seated behind me - he'd have been slammed into the back of the driver's seat (where I was sitting), possibly breaking my neck as he flew into me. And somewhere along the line, it occurred to us that our four youngest kids came very close to being orphans in those few seconds. . .
But somehow, miraculously, we completely avoided a collision. The entire episode might have taken 3-4 seconds, and we were back on the road as if nothing had happened. Our guardian angels earned their pay in those 3-4 seconds. . .
-------------------------
We did get to the hospital safely. My mother was heavily sedated and sleeping when we got there. We got to sit by her bedside for a while, speaking into ears that couldn't hear us, but still we said things that we needed to say to her - 'Thank you', mostly, and 'I love you'. It is, of course, sad to see someone whom you've only ever known to be in robust good health, suddenly clinging to life, with various tubes passing in and out of her. I don't know if she could hear us; but I can hope that, in whatever deep and hidden way, I was able to speak to her one more time; perhaps the last one.
It was very gratifying to meet her nephews - her late second husband's brother's sons (four of the five of them were present together, and two of their wives), and to trade stories of how we'd known her. They mostly knew nothing of her life in the years before she'd married their uncle, and so were glad to hear me tell them what I could about those years of her life, and they had some fun stories from the years in between when she'd left my dad, to when we were reunited, more than 20 years later. It was a warmly friendly time, and I am so grateful that we could meet (although, as is always said of such things, it might have been nice if we could've met in more pleasant circumstances; but then, why would we?)
So, perhaps my 'first mother's' time in this life will be coming to and end soon. But even if so, I'm at least glad that I could see her one more time before she leaves.
-------------------------
As bizarre as it might seem, yesterday was actually the second time our family had a vehicular near-miss while traveling to meet my 'first mother'. Seventeen years ago, in the spring of 1992, Molly and I and the four children we had at the time (along with 5M 'in the oven') drove down to stay with her and her husband for a part of spring break. We were traveling southbound somewhere on I-95; traffic was heavy, and flying - thousands of northern college students had similar ideas to ours of heading to the warm weather for spring break.
At one point, while we were driving in the left lane, in the course of doing a regular scan of my mirrors, I noticed that there was a small gap in the traffic just behind us, in the right lane; I remember thinking to myself that it was a possible 'escape route' if I needed one.
And almost instantly, I did. The vehicle right in front of us (I don't remember what it was, but it was a gold-colored compact) suddenly did a nose-down panic stop. There was absolutely no time, nor space, to bring our car (our old minivan) to a stop before rear-ending the car ahead of us. So, hoping that the 'gap' that I'd just recently noted in the other lane was still there, I cranked hard on the steering wheel, hoping that (a) I'd miss the car in front of us, and (b) some other car hadn't filled the 'gap' in the last few seconds.
I don't know how it happened, but we missed that collision, probably even more narrowly than the one we missed yesterday. Molly and I both had the same reaction - in our minds, we 'heard' the collision, so convinced were we that we were going to crash.
But we didn't crash, and I think between the two of us, and the occupants of the car we'd just narrowly missed, there could hardly have been any people in the eastern United States more surprised to find themselves still moving down I-95 at 75 mph. Driving side-by-side now, we looked at each other with identical 'what just happened?' expressions.
Of course, there remained the question of what had precipitated the whole thing in the first place. As I pulled alongside the gold car, I saw the car that had been in front of him, peeling across the wide median, throwing a rooster-tail of dirt 15-20 feet in the air, trying like mad to get over to the northbound lanes. I wondered what had provoked such a precipitous response from him, until I saw a state trooper sitting on the median-shoulder of the freeway, about a quarter-mile further on. Apparently our hero was eager not to be seen by the police. I'm not sure that peeling out across the median, throwing up a huge dirt rooster-tail behind himself, was the most effective strategy in that regard, but he certainly gave it his best shot.
-------------------------
I'm not sure what connection there could possibly be between going to see my 'first mother' and vehicular near-misses, but it is at least amazingly coincidental that we've had two incredible close calls (and with the same six people in a minivan both times), both while on the way to see her.
And we've apparently got some very capable guardian angels. . .
Last week, we got a call from one of her nephews, inviting us to a surprise 88th birthday party for her, scheduled for yesterday (her actual birthday is today). Which we were really looking forward to, never having met any of her nephews, and of course, we haven't seen her for a few years, either. But then we got another call on Friday, saying that she'd taken ill and gone to the hospital. It seemed like no big deal, but the birthday party was called off.
Then yesterday, we got another call, saying that her health had deteriorated significantly, that she was in a 'critical zone', and within the next 24-48 hours, we would have some idea as to whether or not we might be planning a funeral later this week. The speed with which things had gotten to that point was a bit shocking. So, we decided we needed to drive down to see her, since it could possibly be for the last time.
Our four oldest kids all had personal memories of her, and wanted to come with us to see her, so we borrowed a minivan from friends of ours, so we could all travel together, since our cars are all small, and could only carry five people at most (and not very comfortably, if all five are adults).
We were finally ready to leave around mid-afternoon, and we all piled into the minivan and hit the road. We hadn't even gotten outside the city limits of OurTown, and I was still 'getting the feel' of the unfamiliar vehicle, driving in the left lane, when the vehicle in front of us (a black Avalanche, if anyone cares) suddenly put on its brakes. Hard. I stepped on the brake pedal, and it was instantly apparent that I wasn't going to be able to stop before rear-ending the Avalanche, so I veered left, onto the paved shoulder of the freeway, to miss him.
When I got onto the shoulder, I suddenly saw what had caused the Avalanche to brake - a red Honda Civic in front of the Avalanche had braked suddenly, and was turning into an emergency turnaround, so as to head back in the opposite direction. So, when I veered onto the shoulder, the Civic was also on the shoulder, a couple car-lengths in front of us - still not enough room for me to bring the minivan to a stop before I hit the Civic. So, leaving the pavement, I took the minivan onto the freeway median.
At this point, I was mainly trying just to hit the Civic at an angle, with a 'glancing' impact, rather than T-boning directly into the driver-side door (even though the idiot probably had it coming). It was a foregone conclusion that there was going to be a collision; I was just trying to make it as non-catastrophic as possible. A road sign announcing that the cut-through was for 'Emergency Vehicles Only' passed within inches of my window as we dipped down onto the median, then up-and-over the turnaround lane. Evidently, the driver of the Civic saw enough of what was happening that he stopped before turning fully into the cut-through, so we found ourselves back down on the median, on the far side of the cut-through, having somehow missed the Civic completely.
We were still going somewhere around 50 mph, and fortunately, the weather was cold enough that the median was frozen, and not a mud bog, so I was able to angle back over, and popping over the snowbank (it was not at all clear that we wouldn't roll the minivan in the course of attempting to pop over the bank), we got back onto the freeway, virtually as if nothing had happened. For several seconds, the six of us sort of looked around at each other, as if to say, "What just happened here?" And when the realization set in that we were all okay, and the minivan was okay, and we were still on our way to Detroit, suddenly everyone was talking at once, in high-pitched, excited voices.
Behind me, I heard two 'clicks' - 3M and 4M hadn't had their seat belts buckled. 3M was sitting in the middle seat, directly aligned behind the 'gap' between the two front seats, occupied by Molly and me. If we'd had a collision, he'd have been catapulted directly into (and possibly through) the windshield. 4M was seated behind me - he'd have been slammed into the back of the driver's seat (where I was sitting), possibly breaking my neck as he flew into me. And somewhere along the line, it occurred to us that our four youngest kids came very close to being orphans in those few seconds. . .
But somehow, miraculously, we completely avoided a collision. The entire episode might have taken 3-4 seconds, and we were back on the road as if nothing had happened. Our guardian angels earned their pay in those 3-4 seconds. . .
-------------------------
We did get to the hospital safely. My mother was heavily sedated and sleeping when we got there. We got to sit by her bedside for a while, speaking into ears that couldn't hear us, but still we said things that we needed to say to her - 'Thank you', mostly, and 'I love you'. It is, of course, sad to see someone whom you've only ever known to be in robust good health, suddenly clinging to life, with various tubes passing in and out of her. I don't know if she could hear us; but I can hope that, in whatever deep and hidden way, I was able to speak to her one more time; perhaps the last one.
It was very gratifying to meet her nephews - her late second husband's brother's sons (four of the five of them were present together, and two of their wives), and to trade stories of how we'd known her. They mostly knew nothing of her life in the years before she'd married their uncle, and so were glad to hear me tell them what I could about those years of her life, and they had some fun stories from the years in between when she'd left my dad, to when we were reunited, more than 20 years later. It was a warmly friendly time, and I am so grateful that we could meet (although, as is always said of such things, it might have been nice if we could've met in more pleasant circumstances; but then, why would we?)
So, perhaps my 'first mother's' time in this life will be coming to and end soon. But even if so, I'm at least glad that I could see her one more time before she leaves.
-------------------------
As bizarre as it might seem, yesterday was actually the second time our family had a vehicular near-miss while traveling to meet my 'first mother'. Seventeen years ago, in the spring of 1992, Molly and I and the four children we had at the time (along with 5M 'in the oven') drove down to stay with her and her husband for a part of spring break. We were traveling southbound somewhere on I-95; traffic was heavy, and flying - thousands of northern college students had similar ideas to ours of heading to the warm weather for spring break.
At one point, while we were driving in the left lane, in the course of doing a regular scan of my mirrors, I noticed that there was a small gap in the traffic just behind us, in the right lane; I remember thinking to myself that it was a possible 'escape route' if I needed one.
And almost instantly, I did. The vehicle right in front of us (I don't remember what it was, but it was a gold-colored compact) suddenly did a nose-down panic stop. There was absolutely no time, nor space, to bring our car (our old minivan) to a stop before rear-ending the car ahead of us. So, hoping that the 'gap' that I'd just recently noted in the other lane was still there, I cranked hard on the steering wheel, hoping that (a) I'd miss the car in front of us, and (b) some other car hadn't filled the 'gap' in the last few seconds.
I don't know how it happened, but we missed that collision, probably even more narrowly than the one we missed yesterday. Molly and I both had the same reaction - in our minds, we 'heard' the collision, so convinced were we that we were going to crash.
But we didn't crash, and I think between the two of us, and the occupants of the car we'd just narrowly missed, there could hardly have been any people in the eastern United States more surprised to find themselves still moving down I-95 at 75 mph. Driving side-by-side now, we looked at each other with identical 'what just happened?' expressions.
Of course, there remained the question of what had precipitated the whole thing in the first place. As I pulled alongside the gold car, I saw the car that had been in front of him, peeling across the wide median, throwing a rooster-tail of dirt 15-20 feet in the air, trying like mad to get over to the northbound lanes. I wondered what had provoked such a precipitous response from him, until I saw a state trooper sitting on the median-shoulder of the freeway, about a quarter-mile further on. Apparently our hero was eager not to be seen by the police. I'm not sure that peeling out across the median, throwing up a huge dirt rooster-tail behind himself, was the most effective strategy in that regard, but he certainly gave it his best shot.
-------------------------
I'm not sure what connection there could possibly be between going to see my 'first mother' and vehicular near-misses, but it is at least amazingly coincidental that we've had two incredible close calls (and with the same six people in a minivan both times), both while on the way to see her.
And we've apparently got some very capable guardian angels. . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)