Her Spirit

My husband and I have  recently received one of "those calls," the kind you fear getting in the middle of the night but is more likely to come on an otherwise exquisite day when you are minding your own business. Drinking tea, perhaps, out of your favorite mug, the one you bought in Colonial Williamsburg, back when your father was still alive. Maybe you're "googling" vacation getaways or updating your Facebook page. 

True Confessions: I have a calendar problem. Okay, I really have an "office supply" problem, having been known to buy pens, crayons, and notebooks every fall as if I were still at Hattie Casey Elementary School. Highlighters and mechanical pencils? Don't get me started. Nothing much makes me happier than the new Levenger catalog. It's embarrassing, but at least it's legal.

The players: Mother, who is 88, and me, her 48-year-old baby.

The scene: Mother's apartment at the retirement "village" where she lives in Mississippi.

The situation: Getting dressed to go out for lunch.

Mother: "Can you help me with this zipper? I can't seem to get it all the way up on this dress."

Me: "Sure, no problem. There you go."

Mother: "I used to help you get dressed, you know."

“You’re too sensitive,” said my father years ago when I told him I was volunteering with Alive Hospice. “That’s exactly the reason I want to do it,” I responded.

That enriching experience led me to work for Alive as well, in the community relations department. Learning what hospice really is changed my life. It helped me fear death less, and to claim the reality of the live cycle with renewed energy.

I am not a hand-waver. I am an Episcopalian. The most active we get in worship is a kneel or two, topped off with an occasional crossing of one's self after communion. Last week, though, I spent three days with people from all over the country (and a few from outside the United States) who were, as a group, much more physical than I when it comes to matters of God. 

I spent many, many, many Valentine's Days all by my lonesome. One of the particular low points might have been when I was living in Washington, DC. I was in my thirties, unmarried, hadn't had a date in, well, a really long time.