• Joy sink

    “Grandma’s coming home tomorrow right? I can’t wait!”

    That was Beth Wednesday night, talking to me and our pastor on the first night of confirmation class this (school) year.

    “So when will she be coming HOME home?”

    That was when Beth realized home can be a relative term.

    “Oh,” she replied, crestfallen.

    That was when I told her the truth, unvarnished, like I usually do.

    Trust is a precious commodity. Cliche, I know – but for good reason. I don’t like being a kill-joy, but I want her to believe me when anxiety has its grip on her, and I tell her why everything will be ok. She’s old enough to remember the times I told her everything wasn’t, that I don’t shy away from inconvenient, uncomfortable, or unsettling truths. I hope she remembers those moments of candor when the truth doesn’t hurt.

    Although folks say I’m too skinny these days, there’s a big but in the room.

    I realize there’s still a need for comfort; that there’s a way to discuss disappointment in a way which doesn’t flatten wide swaths of hope. I suppose I’m like a lot of parents when I say I wish I was better at it.

    Maybe this is one of those times I should let myself off the hook. Words can’t solve every problem, sooth every ill. Many lessons are learned best through experience, and she’ll see things are much better, even if they don’t live up to her original expectations.

    The good news is she’ll get to see this weekend, along with the rest of us.

  • Me mom

    My parent’s 40th wedding anniversary is coming up next week, so I assumed I’d be making the drive up to Chattahoochee this weekend with my dad.

    But I’m not.

    My mother is being released to a local assisted living facility on Thursday. I’ll see her right here in good ‘ole Pinellas County on Friday.

    The place looks really nice – about as different from a state institution as you can imagine. It’s certified to care for people like my mom and it’s close.

    It’s been about two years. My mother is finally coming home. Several things in my life are gauged by my little dance with cancer, not that I think about it all the time. What strikes me is: my mother’s hospital stays started before I was diagnosed.

    It was a different life… not half as striking, but sort of like life before and after having kids.

    She still won’t be home exactly, but she’ll be here – she’ll be around. Part of that old life, before cancer created a new reference point, is falling back into the right spot.

  • Just passing through

    People come and go in my life, like passengers on a subway. We share a small piece of our lives until opportunity, circumstance, or chance steers us to another train. I’m used to it, and I’m not. I know it happens, then it does, and I get over it.

    I’ve been really lucky. It’s been a pleasure to share my ride with most of the people I’ve bumped into along the way.

    Pat was one of those people. She was an old hand when I started my career in state government. She was gracious answering questions. She was understanding when I needed to vent. She was my friend.

    She was my audience when I needed reassurance before delivering a best man’s toast. She was my accomplice when stress and/or a pizza jones struck. She was there with me that day in court when it was an effort to move, listening to second and third hand reports as the country pressed pause to deal with shock and horror.

    She retired years ago and we haven’t spoken since. The closest we’ve come is Christmas cards crossing in the mail. Many people have come and gone since, and I don’t think about her much any more, besides the brief updates around the holidays. But I am today, having learned she passed away on Tuesday.

    Its hard to say what I feel. She was one of the people who left an impression, even though we shared a ride for a brief time. But it’s not loss I feel. It’s not regret either. Life takes people in different directions. Friends come and go, even if it’s easier for me to count them all than some.

    Although I feel sad for the family I never met (it just seemed like I had), I feel thankful. I had a friend when I needed one. I feel hopeful. Every day is an opportunity to enrich someone’s life, no matter how brief the opportunity.