My surviving child calls me because it's my birthday. She wants to know I am working at having a reasonably good day; that I am meaningfully engaged and feeling something approaching happiness. I put on a shiny voice for her. She has enough stress in her life. She doesn't need to worry about me. But the truth is, more than anything else, today just feels like another marker of misery in my failed, sorry life. The truth is, I am tired of this, and just want it to be over. Still, I do my best impression of a content and centered person. If nothing else, I succeed at relaying how much I care about her, and the things going on in her life. Of all my affectations, this is the one that is true. I tell her I have to run because my landline is ringing with a potential job prospect. That is kind of true. But she's a smart girl, always has been. She calls me back a half hour later because she doesn't trust my disposition is as sunny as I pretend. She doesn't tell me that's the reason she called back, and we both pretend we don't know that it is.
Just the same, something odd happens to me during the course of this second phone call. She starts talking about her 3 year old son (my grandson) Vaughn. He's a fascination to her, and seeing his spirit and intellect evolve and grow is a revelation. She sucks me in with this conversation, because he's a revelation to me too; an amazingly complex, beautiful puzzle assembling itself in front of our eyes. And while I realize she's a very astute and accomplished young woman all on her own, I remember I taught her to look at life this way; as an intriguing puzzle to figure out, give language to, and do "sense making" around. I realize this intellectual habit is enriching her spirit; enriching the enjoyment of watching her baby boy grow. And in that moment, I feel engaged and grateful more than detached, empty, and regretful. We chat this way until she has to go, suggesting she and Vaughn Skype with me later. And as I hang up the phone, I hope against hope this engaged, grateful feeling lingers a bit, until I put my shiny face on with them again later this evening. It took her some effort, but if I'm honest, I must admit her conversation hurled a shaft of sunlight through my stormy, cloud covered spirit. And as birthday presents go, that's as good as it gets these days.
Ann, Forever Justin's Mom
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