Splendor in the Grass

This Feb 19th was the 23rd anniversary of the day I was told that the young man I loved had committed suicide. It is always a hard time of year for me to get through without waxing melancholic. I cannot help but wonder about how different life would have been; not just for myself but for all the other people who loved him, and whose lives he tenderly touched, as well; similar to Jimmy's Stewart's movie, "It's a Wonderful Life." One cannot help but have a deep sense of loss, even after all these many years, for all the gifts and talents he possessed which have been forever lost to us all. Such a sad, sad waste of such a beautiful and deeply precious life. So much more died that day, than a precious and deeply loved young man. My innocence and naivety also died---for the mask of life was torn off, and I was left to gaze in horror upon its ugly underside. Suicide was something that was supposed to happen to other people with no real purpose or potential; or so I'd thought. How could God have allowed someone with so very much to offer His world, to be simply wiped out and (by far too many, but never by me) forgotten? Many dreams I'd had of a home full of children with this man died as well. I had to find /develop new dreams, a new reason to go on in life. It was not easy. Very very few ever knew how hard a time I had of it. Most of the time, I was not even aware myself, as I threw myself into work, and avoided dealing with the heartache by remaining extremely busy. Gradually over the years, I've finally allowed myself to do the grieving he was so worthy of. I had been too afraid to let myself feel the pain, or deal with the grief much initially, out of fear it would incapacitate me. I had to keep moving......Life had become all the more precious to me, and I was desperate to now make my own count for something. To NOT be forgotten when my own time came to die....Still-- every February, I go back in my heart to a time of singing youth, when life was vibrant, and love was pure and solidly true...to a young man named John with a hearty laugh and a handsome grin; who could make me seasick just by standing near me; and made my heart sing in a way it had never known before--all without knowing it, or trying... Back to the strong bodied man with the heart and innocence of a tender child...To a radiance of love lost at the end of a noose, alone in a shed....

The feelings I go through each February were movingly captured for me in the movie Titanic a few years ago. Only those who have lost love so young, can understand, as the old woman in the movie did, how the heart goes back in one's dreams to that place of radiance, over and over, looking to reconnect with the love that was lost. The movie's theme song ("My heart will go on" ~see below~) caught me totally off guard when I heard it, striking deep into that place of my most private heart wounds. When I heard it, I almost couldn't breathe, and found myself unexpectedly sobbing like a child in the movie theatre. I was not able to control it; the grief simply welled up, and demanded to finally be voiced once and for all. I turned my face to the wall, and surrendered to its overflowing Niagara force... and it felt SO VERY GOOD. I soon didn't care that I was in public. I didn't care that others might hear me. I was able to finally feel what I had denied my heart for so long, and there was such a release in that. I am grateful for that moment of grace from the Lord..... After that evening, I slowly began to heal and find new meaning for my life. Life is still good. I am so very sorry you gave up on it John, and that I was not able to make you want to continue living it. I will never, ever forget you, or stop loving you.... You were indeed worthy of that....however, "my heart will go on...." "...What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind... "

~William Wordsworth ~ Ode: Imitations of Immortality

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(Love Theme from Titanic ~ My Heart Will Go On~) can be listened to (with lyrics) at  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IAuRoAUV19o

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A Tribute to my Mother

My mother turned 86 yesterday. Those who have known her at all, know just how amazing that truely is. From the time I was 3 years old, until my 38th birthday, my mother had a drinking problem. So for my entire life, she was defined in my mind according to that all-controlling addiction. She had a stroke on my 38th birthday which kept her confined in the hospital long enough to help her get the alcohol out of her system and make a lasting change.
I have thought of her alot yesterday and today-----realizing I need to redefine her in my mind. She is so much more than a woman with a drinking problem--and always has been, though I didn't always see it. So, I want to write this blog tonight to tell you about my mother, the woman; and the things I have learned from her which have shaped who I am now, as well.
When I think of my mother, I immediately think of strength. She has always been amazingly strong spirited. Her stubborness never allowed her to give in or give up easily--(or at ALL) This is a woman whose first fiance was killed in WWII, but did not allow herself to give up on life....going on to meet and marry my dad, bearing him 9 children. This example helped me go on in my own life when the young man I loved committed suicide when I was 29. I knew life could still be good.
Mom taught us about the value of every human life. Her greatest gift she ever gave to myself & my siblings, was each other. We never had alot materially, as money was tight, but we are an extremely loving and affectionate family. I wouldn't change even one of my brothers or sisters if you were to offer me ANYTHING else in all the world in exchange for them. They are each that precious, and offer their own unique flavor to our family mix. I love them dearly, and count them as my life's greatest treasures. Though we didn't have alot, we never went hungry, since she was so resourceful, able to make the most delicious homemade soups out of ham bones, chicken carcasses, etc. I owe my mother everything for instilling in me my deep love of reading. It was cuddling close on her lap as she read to me, that I learned the value of books and their ability to open up the entire world of knowledge to me through mere words. Mom taught me the importance of telling the truth, even if it meant getting in trouble. She told me that Jesus is the Truth, and if I push the truth away, I was pushing Jesus away. But if I embraced the truth, I'd be embracing Jesus, and He would defend me. I never forgot that. She taught me the importance of valuing everyone's work, even the most humble person and never looking down on someone else who was willing to put in an honest days work, even if it didn't pay them much. When my dad came home at night, my mother would always take the time to clean herself up before he arrived --and always encouraged us kids to greet him warmly--we would race to the truck to welcome him home. One night when he'd had a very bad day at work and had really been looking forward to our greetings and hugs, for some reason, we kids were distracted and were not there for him. Mom came to us after finding Dad crying, and she gave us the lecture of our life....she made us take everything out of all the cupboards in the kitchen, and also everything out of our bedoom closets etc and take an assessment of how much our father had provided for us. She told us of how hard he worked to provide for us (he never even once took a vacation) and that the least we could do for him was to lovingly greet him when he returned home each night. I don't think we ever missed greeting him again...Mom was the one to make sure we went to church and catechism classes; even when she didn't always go herself. It was she who taught me to say prayers at night, and patiently worked with me until I could recite my bedtime prayers by heart. Mom was the one who was the strict disciplinarian, and kept us in line and out of trouble. I also inherited my love of writing from my mother. I believe if she hadn't drank she could have been a writer. She wrote a children's story called Santa's Christmas Cold which we all took turns taking to school to read to our classes. She also wrote an article on the 'Grand Old Griswold' Hotel that Yankee magazine picked up on and published. Mom shaped my thinking during the civil rights movement of the 1960's telling us--"don't you dare think you are better than them (black people)--they bleed the same way you do...I don't ever want to hear of any of my children being prejudiced..." When one of my sisters later tested the sincerity of her beliefs, by announcing her desire to marry a black man; though it was a difficult thing during those days, my mom supported her--and later helped to raise her children when the marriage failed--taking the grandchildren in and loving them dearly so that some of their fondest memories today are of those early days in Grandma & Grandpa's house.
There was much that was bad about the example my mother set for me. But there was also much good. My problem in not being able to see it was that I was blinded to her good points by the pain that the drinking caused myself and our family. It has taken me many years to get here, but I can see today that God has indeed used it all to my good, and I am glad God gave me the mother that He did, in His wisdom. May I prove worthy of the legacy she's given me.