Stop Whining!

No, I’m not talking about bereavement. I will be bereft of our son, David, until I die and meet him again.

I’m talking about some other whining in my life, specifically having to do with the side effects of taking manic depression medications. (For another post: why I hate the term ‘bipolar’.)

It has to do with subscribing to audible.com, after months or years of another son recommending it to me. I recently finished my third audiobook, A Town Like Alice by Nevil Shute. I saw a PBS miniseries back in my late teens and later read the book. I thoroughly enjoyed revisiting it. Listening to it brought me in touch with Mary Hazen. The one who wasn’t afraid of mania or depression, who didn’t have to worry about drug side effects.

What would she think of my whining? She would have no tolerance for it. So why should I? Habits are hard to break, but I’m ready to live onward without this one.

Wish me luck! I’ll let you know more about it next week.

Patriots' Day 2018

Yesterday, the third Monday in April, Massachusetts and Maine celebrated Patriots' Day. The Lexington Minutemen held their annual reenactment of the Battle of Lexington.

As has been our tradition since 2003, Jim and I invited people to park on our property. Our yard is the perfect place to park and walk to the Battle Green, where colonists gathered and awaited the arrival of the red-coated army early in the morning of April 19, 1775. Our Sunday night was very cold and full of sleet. By 4:00 a.m. it had changed to heavy rain and, as expected, we had a small  turnout: 30 cars. (We have the capacity to park 65.) 

At 3:30 a.m. I was in the kitchen, making 2 gallons of hot cocoa and preparing for our breakfast guests. The reenactment takes place at 5:30 a.m., as did the actual battle. However,as a concession to the modern American custom, we now celebrate Patriots’ Day as a Monday holiday.

Despite the rain, about 100 people came for breakfast. They carefully wiped their shoes, so the floors hardly got wet at all.

I’ve been thinking of our history with David. By Patriots’ Day in 2014, David had been at Walter Reed Military Medical Center for 27 days. He didn't tell us not to go, so we returned home for Patriots' Day. Jim posted a picture in the living room of David, smiling and sitting up in his hospital bed.

By 2015, David was living at home and very sick. The stem cell transplant had failed over 10 months before. We went ahead with the breakfast. In 2016, we had the first Patriots’ Day without him. Matt ran the Boston Marathon later that day, raising money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Since 1897, the Boston Marathon has been held on Patriots' Day. (The first modern marathon was run in Greece just the year before.) Last year, R'el ran for LLS.

It's a relief to have the Patriots’ Day breakfast over. I enjoyed it, but the preparation and execution takes a lot of time and energy. It’s pleasant to be one of the ‘old-timers’, sharing a bit of town and national history with people who are interested enough to arrive at our yard between 4:00 and 5:00 a.m. It’s also pleasant to take a nap in the afternoon and then savor a full night’s sleep.

The Gift

The Cambridge Stake choir and orchestra presented their audiences with a gift this past weekend: Rob Gardner's oratorio: Lamb of God. With practice, prayer, and the wisdom I wrote about on March 20th, I sang in the choir with just a few tears. When emotion would start to well up, I’d stare at the back wall, focus on supporting my sound, and concentrate on the gift.

The copyright arrangement included permission to stream the performances live on Facebook and leave the video up until 11:59 p.m. on Monday night.

Monday morning, I spent an embarrassingly long time identifying the timestamps of my appearances for my family. My silver hair and face were occasionally on camera, hovering behind the pewter-grey post of a floor lamp.

Early in the evening, I listened to the entire piece with Jim, then spent the rest of the evening working on my computer while listening to my favorite parts for hours on end, knowing that the next day the video would be gone. As I listened, I let the beauty of the music and message wash over me and my pent-up emotion flow out in tears. It was my turn to be moved and gratefully accept the gift.

One of the disadvantages of performing is that you don’t get to hear the production. At my skill level, I'm absorbed with technique: counting, coming in at the right time, singing the right notes and words, attending to dynamics and phrasing. What a luxury to spend the evening opening the gift, over and over again.

Oratorio Next Weekend!

April 7 & 8, 2018, I will be singing in the choir of Lamb of God, an oratorio by Rob Gardner. I blogged about it two weeks ago.

If you can't make it to 65 Binney St. in Cambridge, Massachusetts (near MIT and the Red Line Kendall Square stop), watch it live here:

http://bit.ly/LambofGodCambridge

Easter Sunday 2018

I remember our first Easter after David had died. A sweet friend of mine remarked that the day must be especially wonderful and meaningful for me. She meant that the Easter message of hope and resurrection must be resonating deeply in me.

I was not feeling joyful; I was missing David painfully and feeling the loss to him of all the experiences mortality has to offer a young man in his late twenties. I smiled and thanked her: I would never want her to know she added to my misery. I didn’t have the self-possession to talk about my deep feelings.

This year is different. I still miss David and mourn the loss of him and to him. Random experiences bring tears to my eyes and emptiness to my heart. But they are fewer, further between, and shorter in duration. I sang “Christ, the Lord, Is Risen Today” with our ward choir with no pang of sorrow, no uncontrollable tears.

Last night, at bedtime, Jim really wanted to watch a movie. We are on a Fred Astaire kick (sorry, couldn’t resist. No, I could have, but I didn’t.) For Christmas, Jim gave me Fred Astaire’s autobiography, along with a book about his early career with his sister, Adele, and an over-sized, comprehensive book about each of his many films, with hundreds of screen shots from the dances. We’ve been working our way through the Astaire/Rogers movies (all of which we own), while dipping into this comprehensive tome.

Spoiler Alert!

Next in the chronological queue was The Vernon and Irene Castle Story. I remember vividly the first time we watched it, sometime after David died. As the final credits rolled we sat silently, stunned and frozen. We had trusted Fred Astaire to deliver a light-hearted confection. But suddenly, Vernon Castle is killed during a routine military plane exercise, hours before a long-anticipated reunion with his wife. I looked him up today: he was 31. David was 27.

We didn’t finish the movie last night, not out of sorrow but sleepiness. I probably will cry at the end: I usually do. But it won’t be devastating; I won’t feel abandoned by Fred Astaire.