Note to My Readers: A few times in the past I have shared with you a Midweek Missive to my son Ryan. Since you have been so kind with your loving thoughts as I returned from my recent six-week sojourn in Dallas; and since the sentiments expressed resonate in the family called Human; I decided that this would be one of the Missives that would be of value to share with you, who know my passion for education, and should understand that undergirding that particular passion is an abiding passion for life itself, for my family, and by extension those who dwell commonly on the globe.
November 16, 2017
My Beloved Ryan---
May the days of mid-November be good ones for you. I'll miss our recent tradition of celebrating Thanksgiving with you and others gathered at Na's apartment in Dallas, for multiple apparent reasons. But Barbara and I are very much looking forward to being in Burlington with you at the Yuletide this year. And I hope that these days leading up to Thanksgiving find you with much over which you feel gratitude, both grounded in the past and under the impetus of your current life and view of the future.
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I am living with a lot of gratitude these days, as I reflect on the bevy of amazing people whom I have had in my life, the experiences that I have had in life, and the evolution of my circumstances and thought across many topical spheres.
This is the two-month marker since Na's death as I tap this note out on 16 November, two months after this beloved maternal force breathed her last on 16 September 2017. I am filled with very specific gratitude as I reflect upon my life's journey with Mom, broadly and then over the course of this last decade and a half, and then again specifically over the course of the last months beginning with the two weeks in June 2017, the nine days at mid-July focused on the multiple birthday celebrations, and then the three weeks that we had together in August.
Throughout this time I was endeavoring to do everything I could to give Na a vision of living happily, surrounded by joyful, caring spirits, until at least 100 years of age. I thought that she had a real chance of living to that venerable age, as did her own remarkable mother. But I also knew that beneath her ferocious spirit and towering courage was a little frail body with a heart that ticked with the assistance of a pacemaker, an artificial valve, and a stint in her Left Anterior Descending Artery. Time was precious, I knew. And so it was: Time was precious and is ever more so upon my reflection.
We had such fun: long conversations about growing up in McKinney; life at North Texas University (actually North Texas State University in those days); experiences at Great Lakes during the war; life as a family, with all of the humor and mostly outrageous good fortune that triumphed over multifaceted challenges of personality and sorrow. And we would riff on all of the stories such as those I shared at Na's service, tales that linked our history as mother and son.
My last moments in Na's physical presence were so precious, as if written by Grace on a Divine Script. We ate our last lunch in the dining room at The Forum. The sun was shining brightly through the window by the table that had become our own. We reviewed our three weeks together and spoke of the future. I broached the matter of her coming to live with Barbara and me in Northfield, conveying to her that Barbara and I had both often in the past and especially recently talked about her doing so. Mom was so touched by Barbara's enthusiasm at the prospect of her living with us and expressed such love and gratitude for my own sincerity. With little hesitation, Na said, "Well, there may come a time when I should make that move." I said with a smile full of optimism and hope that the prospect of her making that move was all the greater since she was going to live to be 105. She replied with such a sweet expression of countenance and words, full of both hope and weariness: "Oh, that makes me tired." She clearly meant, "I'll make the effort, because though I be but little, I am fierce, and because you and the others with whom you have surrounded me give me reason to push on. But I am frail, and I am tired."
When we returned to her apartment, I did not rush my departure on that Tuesday, 12 September. She sat at her chair in the living room. I pulled up one of the dining room chairs that I preferred and sat very close, in the manner that we had for all of those wonderful conversations. We reviewed again the events of the summer---- those with the two of us, and those with you, Barbara, Gloria, Judy, Dennis, and Beth; and with Drew and Claire. We reviewed our most recent three weeks again, traded those standard lines that always drew smiles amidst our banter.
Then, after twenty-five minutes I sensed that if I were to depart that day, the spirit was peeking and prime for the parting words.
My last words to Mom from that perch were, "I love you so very much, Mom."
And hers to me were, "Oh, I love you so much, honey."
Our eyes met and we wordlessly said to each other, "I fully expect to see you again. But if this is our last moment together in this earthly realm, we could not have shared a better moment, or more love, or willingness and ability to tell each other how we felt."
I kissed Na on the forehead, walked over to hug Gloria, called out something about looking forward to seeing her at Thanksgiving and maybe before, dashed back for one more kiss on the forehead and a very gentle hug. I waved goodbye as Mom simply and wordlessly smiled forth her abiding sentiments: She would give life all that she had to give. But if this parting be our last, this was a moment to treasure with abundant gratitude.
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And so I am full of gratitude as Thanksgiving approaches this year: for all of the amazing people who have graced my life, all of those terrific experiences, and the spiritual and philosophical growth that I have felt rise within me over time with increasing recent force.
But my gratitude is most deeply felt at this juncture because of the way that Mom and I scripted a perfect parting. Tender mercies graced us again, with serendipity, for eternity.
I love you so very much, My Dear Son---
Gary
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