The next part. Now we’re getting to the good stuff. I figured that this would be the right moment to write to you about some happy times. A nice way to make me smile – and maybe you, too.
If you don’t know the story, you should probably read Parts 1, 2 & 3 first. They’re dated October 12, October 20 and January 29. Come back here when you know what’s going on. Nothing worse than missing half the movie.
Of course, before you get to the good stuff, sometimes you have to go through some bad stuff again.
………
Once upon a time in a land far, far away … don’t all good fairy tales start this way?
Ok, things had been bad. Mind-numbing, wrist-slitting, wrap-it-all-up-and-call-it-a-day bad. And then they got better. There were babies and dogs prancing around, flowers in the garden, and people all around to give me what I needed. Mostly. Love mates came and went. Some lovers stayed around longer and became friends. My steely heart was locked away in a private box in the attic, wrapped in a black velvet ribbon with dust settled into the creases of the double knot. I’d given it away one too many times, so this time I wasn’t taking any chances.
Once upon a time in a land far, far away … we have to flash back to the very beginning, so you’ll understand.
I got married when I was very young. Good Italian girls don’t leave home until they’re either married or dead – at least that’s what they told me. They also said I couldn’t get married until I was 20 years old, and since I decided picking out a wedding dress seemed more fun than picking out a casket, I got married to my High School sweetheart. I was 20 years and 7 days old. It was a very hopeful choice. We were friends and lovers, and sweet on each other as only first loves can be. The damage we caused each other didn’t come until later. The first days were fresh like the scent of daisies tucked into my waist length hair, everything filmed in soft-focus. But of course when it’s time for young men to join the war parade, some of them have to go. Two months after our champagne toasts were over, his unit was shipped overseas. He taught me to play chess before he left so we could play long distance games from 6,944 miles apart. I went back home to my parents’ house, no better off than I was at 19, but I held the “Mrs.” in front of me like a talisman.
My High School Sweetheart Husband was sent on an un-accompanied tour to a security base. Sugar-sweet love letters were filled with longing and chess moves. Two months later I bought a one-way plane ticket, packed two very large suitcases and shipped a couple of boxes filled with important things like an electric frying pan, a hotplate and a couple of canisters of Johnson’s Baby Powder. (I was sure a security base where wives were uninvited wouldn’t stock up on Baby Powder. And a girl needs her Johnson’s Baby Powder in hot weather.) I told him I was on my way. I thought he might be happy about it.
When I arrived in the steamy summer, I climbed onto a rickety civilian bus already filled with people with straight black hair and whose language I didn’t speak. Suspicious eyes. A crate of chickens. We all bounced on wooden benches past mountains jutting up to the dazzling sun, past shanty houses made of torn down billboard signs and corrugated tin roofs. We bumped and waddled for thirty-five miles from the city and into the impoverished countryside. At the gated entrance to the security compound the bus squalled to a stop and spewed me out into the dust.
Up until that moment I’d felt pretty entitled by my American citizenship, Unlimited Entrance and Length of Stay Visa and “get-out-of-jail-free card” obtained by an uncle in the exalted echelons of the State Department. But being tall and fair with waist length, wavy hair, a pink mini skirt and high heels gives courage even to the frightened. So I strutted into the compound, a little more swagger in my step than I felt. I’m sure – even now – that it was the miniskirt and heels that gave me courage. Young men leaned out of their windows, whistling and howling as I swayed past the barracks and into the Captain’s office. “Hi! (Pale green eyes flutter black lashes, and the pink mouth turns up in a coy smile. An ever-so-slight soft Southern drawl.) You don’t know me, but I just flew in from the States. I’m married to your company clerk. I just thought I’d check in with you – since I know I’m your responsibility while I’m here. I’m going to live in the city, and I’d sure love to be able to live with my husband, but only if it’s ok with you that he has off-post living privileges, of course! If that’s something you can arrange, I’d feel so much safer. But if not, I completely understand. Anyway, I just wanted to check in with you. Nice to meet you! Any chance I can say hi to my husband while I’m here? I’ve traveled so very far. (Flutter. Smile.) (I should be forgiven. I was young and appealing, and knew well how to get what I wanted. My momma always told me to “use the gifts you’ve got.”)
That hug and kiss – even in the middle of the OD Green Battery B Field Office – felt like a sweet, soft-focused, daisy-haired dream. Of course the dazed Captain arranged for my soldier boy’s off-post privileges the next day. Every night my boy climbed on the bus and lurched home to our city apartment, and every morning he lurched back to base. But the sweetness was as delicate as cotton candy – delicious and ethereal. And like cotton candy, it quickly melted into faint, bittersweet nothing.
I’m tired now. I’ll write more later. Promise.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Monday, April 09, 2007
Laughter
I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge, myth is more potent than history, dreams are more powerful than facts, hope always triumphs over experience and laughter is the cure for grief. ~ Robert Fulghum
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Dianna
Dear Ones,
Sorry to disappear. I’ve been sad. The kind of sadness that creates chaos and commotion. But there’s no easy way to explain, so just settle in and be patient with me.
My friend died. Well, not my friend, really. My cousin. No, that’s not right either. My brother’s mother-in-law.
Well, here. I’ll explain.
Before she married my dad, my mom’s young first husband was killed on a battlefield by an exploding grenade. When a soldier dies, you hold his family close. The soldier’s niece, Dianna, was my mom’s favorite. Mom loved the curly-haired farm girl with the rosy apple cheeks. Dianna loved her Aunt Dorothy with the adoration of a star-struck child.
When my dad popped into the picture years later, he understood. My brother and I learned to love the fresh air and sunshine of their country farm and they learned to love our glittering, big-city east coast life. We were different but the same, and grew up as cousins, knowing we weren’t. Not really. But we knew we were family.
The generations were off kilter – my parents married un-fashionably late in life and had children even later. The farm where Dianna grew up seemed to encourage young marriages and plentiful babies. Dianna’s marriage (with my then six-year-old brother by her side, wide-eyed and nervous as he held the wedding rings in his sweaty fist) expanded the family with three beautiful daughters born in quick succession. Only 5 years separated the oldest of Dianna’s children from her Aunt Dorothy’s youngest.
As the years flickered past, Dorothy and Dianna dreamed – as mothers do – of how tidy it would be if Dianna’s oldest child, Tammy, married Dorothy’s youngest child, Stephen. A silly dream. Children rarely behave as you want them to.
Dianna and her girls came east, crying at the church as my brother married his high school sweetheart. But sometimes sweethearts can’t make things work, even when there’s a beloved baby between them. My brother’s marriage shattered. Not long after, my mom swiftly died after acute leukemia reared its ugly head. (Maybe we’ll talk about that later. For now just understand that it was hard. Still is.) And so Stephen and I flew west to the farm, seeking the shelter of the long-loved smiles of our farm family. I didn’t stay long – had other comforts waiting for me in the east. But my brother stayed, coddled and healed by the familiar warmth. “I’d like to introduce you to my cousin, Steve,” Tammy used to say. It didn’t take long for that to change to, “I’d like to introduce you to Steve.” A few months later, “I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Steve” was followed by Tammy’s bubbling giggle and shy smile.
Stephen and Tammy were married a few years later, with Stephen’s daughter, Stephanie, by his side, wide-eyed and nervous as she held the wedding rings in her sweaty fist. In the length of time is takes to say “I Do,” Dianna changed from “cousin” to mother-in-law.
From on top of her heavenly cloud, Mom kept orchestrating the lives of the children she loved. Later I’m sure she must have cheered as her family grew larger with the birth of Stephen and Tammy’s sons. They’re growing strong and true, basking in sunshine and hay.
Dianna died 2 weeks ago.
Too young to leave. Only 10 years older than I am. Diagnosed with cancer on Sunday and dead on Thursday. Death is a dagger left in the hearts of those left behind.
“Why did she have to go?” we cried on the shores as Dianna sailed away. I’m hopeful that Mom was on a far away shore crying, “Yay! Here she comes!”
Happy Easter.
Sorry to disappear. I’ve been sad. The kind of sadness that creates chaos and commotion. But there’s no easy way to explain, so just settle in and be patient with me.
My friend died. Well, not my friend, really. My cousin. No, that’s not right either. My brother’s mother-in-law.
Well, here. I’ll explain.
Before she married my dad, my mom’s young first husband was killed on a battlefield by an exploding grenade. When a soldier dies, you hold his family close. The soldier’s niece, Dianna, was my mom’s favorite. Mom loved the curly-haired farm girl with the rosy apple cheeks. Dianna loved her Aunt Dorothy with the adoration of a star-struck child.
When my dad popped into the picture years later, he understood. My brother and I learned to love the fresh air and sunshine of their country farm and they learned to love our glittering, big-city east coast life. We were different but the same, and grew up as cousins, knowing we weren’t. Not really. But we knew we were family.
The generations were off kilter – my parents married un-fashionably late in life and had children even later. The farm where Dianna grew up seemed to encourage young marriages and plentiful babies. Dianna’s marriage (with my then six-year-old brother by her side, wide-eyed and nervous as he held the wedding rings in his sweaty fist) expanded the family with three beautiful daughters born in quick succession. Only 5 years separated the oldest of Dianna’s children from her Aunt Dorothy’s youngest.
As the years flickered past, Dorothy and Dianna dreamed – as mothers do – of how tidy it would be if Dianna’s oldest child, Tammy, married Dorothy’s youngest child, Stephen. A silly dream. Children rarely behave as you want them to.
Dianna and her girls came east, crying at the church as my brother married his high school sweetheart. But sometimes sweethearts can’t make things work, even when there’s a beloved baby between them. My brother’s marriage shattered. Not long after, my mom swiftly died after acute leukemia reared its ugly head. (Maybe we’ll talk about that later. For now just understand that it was hard. Still is.) And so Stephen and I flew west to the farm, seeking the shelter of the long-loved smiles of our farm family. I didn’t stay long – had other comforts waiting for me in the east. But my brother stayed, coddled and healed by the familiar warmth. “I’d like to introduce you to my cousin, Steve,” Tammy used to say. It didn’t take long for that to change to, “I’d like to introduce you to Steve.” A few months later, “I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Steve” was followed by Tammy’s bubbling giggle and shy smile.
Stephen and Tammy were married a few years later, with Stephen’s daughter, Stephanie, by his side, wide-eyed and nervous as she held the wedding rings in her sweaty fist. In the length of time is takes to say “I Do,” Dianna changed from “cousin” to mother-in-law.
From on top of her heavenly cloud, Mom kept orchestrating the lives of the children she loved. Later I’m sure she must have cheered as her family grew larger with the birth of Stephen and Tammy’s sons. They’re growing strong and true, basking in sunshine and hay.
Dianna died 2 weeks ago.
Too young to leave. Only 10 years older than I am. Diagnosed with cancer on Sunday and dead on Thursday. Death is a dagger left in the hearts of those left behind.
“Why did she have to go?” we cried on the shores as Dianna sailed away. I’m hopeful that Mom was on a far away shore crying, “Yay! Here she comes!”
Happy Easter.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
