Six
Monday, August 23, 2004 --  1:41pm
Posted by Bar


When I was six, I had just started first grade with Mrs.  McManus at the
Penn Valley Elementary School.  I don't have too many specific memories of
that time in my life, but I do remember loving that teacher and generally
being excited about the full day that I was spending at school.  Forrest
would be six today.  He would be getting ready for first grade right about
now.  It's an incredibly beautiful day.  The sort of day that makes living
in the Catskills worth it despite the long winters.  I can see out over
the Hudson Valley towards the Hudson River from where I am sitting.  It
doesn't get much better than this.  Peter has gone to work.  He didn't
really feel like it, but what else was he going to do?

It's a strange day.  There's no real reason to be sad any more than any
other day in the last two and a half years.  In many ways, there are
compelling reasons for celebration, and yet that seems contrived somehow.
So, we wait it out.  We do things that we might not have thought to do on
another day just to pass the time.  Peter had not scheduled work, but when
a customer called, he decided he might as well earn a living.  As for me,
I've done laundry and hung it out to dry, I cleaned the silicone off of
our exterior basement door- a job that should have been done years ago and
could have waited longer.  I've done a lot of dishes and I've straightened
up a few things.  Then I thought of all of you and wondered if you'd
thought I'd fallen off the planet or something so I figured I'd drop you a
line.  It still gives me a lot of comfort to know you're there, and I
still need more than my share of comfort, so thank you for being there.

Sometimes I try to put myself in your shoes and imagine what you might
wonder about my state of mind.  Sometimes I wonder if you think I'm too
strong or not strong enough, or I wonder if you think I'm done grieving,
or numb, or better, or worse, or too thin or too fat or too wrinkly or
maybe you think this whole thing about having a child die is too much to
imagine or not really that big a deal.  For me, I still feel like a woman
whose son just died and I'm still very mushy and fragile and confused and
frankly, sometimes I think I'm still in shock over having a kid with
cancer let alone having a kid who actually died.  It's still unbelievable.
I still feel as though at some point I'll see Forrest again.  And maybe I
will.  Maybe in the heavens.  I hope that's true - wherever heaven might
be.

One night I visited the graveyard.  It was a beautiful day around dusk and
I was very much alone there.  I tried to imagine what it would feel like
to meet Forrest again.  I really put myself there and envisioned the
actual reunion (presumably at the time of my own death).  The emotion that
came over me was so intense that it was truly unbearable.  I cried so
deeply from the joy of that possibility that it hurt more than my sadness.
So strange.  What I felt was that IF he and I met again and IF we did
recognize one another, then it seemed logical to assume that eventually,
maybe even immediately, we would have to say good-bye again.  What I felt
in that moment was the complete separation of him and me.  We were and are
totally separate and that goes counter to everything I want.  Is it
possible that he and I (and you and everybody else) are forever coming in
and out of relationship with the people that we love?  If you're like me,
you might also believe that ultimately we are all part of one whole -
another way of saying God.  That belief gives me great comfort on one
level, but when it comes down to Forrest, I want more.  I want to be with
him forever - no ifs, sort ofs or maybes depending on my belief system.
The idea that we are and might always be separate from one another tore me
apart.  I got to a place where I thought it would be best if I never saw
him again so that I would not have to say good-bye again.  At least now I
have worked through the really, really painful stuff - the stuff that made
me feel like I couldn't breathe.  Now it's just an issue of living with
whatever each day brings.  It's simply a case of getting used to a new way
of being and I am well on my way to doing that.  Why would I want to risk
the pain by starting over?

(That's a question which I ask again and again and on good days I answer:
it's great to start over because each time I do, it's an opportunity to
love, and each time I love, I am able to love more deeply and THAT is a
great reason for seeing Forrest again.)

There are still a ton of questions.  None of them are answerable which
brings me back to faith and faith is really about believing that all is
well.  I love the mystery more than I love the idea of knowing all of the
answers.  What would life be like if I knew for certain that I would see
Forrest after a while, or if I knew that my own death would look a certain
way or that God is something absolute or definable.  It gives me much
greater comfort to know that everything is as it should be, and that it
all makes sense even when I can't possibly understand it.

And so we celebrate today.  Six years since we met Forrest.  Six years
since we fell in love with him and began what turned out to be an
intensely powerful period of our lives.  We are better for it all.  We
would not turn back the clocks.  Sometimes, I confess, we are hurting
enough to want to push the clocks forward a bit, but mostly we just live.
Peter is busy.  His customers admire his work and are grateful for his
careful attention to detail.  I am singing a lot and will be teaching more
this fall which I am very excited about.  We are building two studios:
one for Peter and one for me.  Hopefully we'll be working in them by the
end of the year.  And Forrest?  Who knows, but I think about it all the
time.

On a more mundane level, I apologize to anyone who may have tried to
e-mail me this summer.  My Internet and e-mail connections have been a
mess and continue to be.  If it's not straightened-out fairly soon, I'll
be changing my address and will let you know.  In the meantime, I learn
patience.

Thank you all.  I hope that this summer has been great for you.  All the
best for the coming fall.

Much love,
Bar