Surprise birthday gift for my mother
Just returned from a surprise visit to Vermont in order to celebrate my mother's 70th birthday with her -- in person.
It was not a lengthy trip, just a well-timed one.
I flew out on the red-eye Monday night, Los Angeles to Manchester, N.H. and drove straight there so that by high noon on her birthday I could walk up to my parents back door, tap on the window and to prove I had not forgotten that this was "a biggie."
To let her know I was really there. Which is precisely what I did.
I peered in the window by their back door and could see my mother sitting at the dining room table speaking with someone on the phone, she glanced up at me stared at my shadow at the window. The only indication I had that she recognized was when she dropped her jaw in a familiar, exaggerated manner which I knew meant she realized it was really me out there.
I couldn't hear what she was saying on the phone, but watched as she scrambled to find an excuse to hang up as politely as she could, then quickly open the back door to greet me. There was no doubt how happy she was having me there for her birthday.
Later, I walked into my parents living room to find my father asleep in his Lazy-Boy. As I looked down at him sleeping he opened his eyes and then his jaw dropped, too, and he said nothing while he struggled to get up from the chair to hug me. If you know my father, silence is a fairly rare occurrence.
We settled down at the dining room table where I proceeded to give my mother a huge photo album of my family's snapshots from the past year to now. And some artwork the children made and a few wrapped articles of clothing which my mother actually ended up liking, which may be the first time this has ever happened.
I stayed overnight with very close friends of my family (with a wonderful English teacher and his wife I knew growing up. The same lovely man who directed several plays I did while growing up.) The were the only people.
So, the brief 48 hours I just spent back home in Brattleboro (Okay, Guilford) Vermont flew by quickly, clearly it was time well spent. One can spend weeks "visiting" people, yet not feel like they were there at all. This time while visiting home, we all knew I was there. Which, is something of a milestone, I think.
True, at times I felt like I was only there spiritually, yet not physically. As if I were there purely in a dream, not in flesh and blood.
Perhaps my parents and I have made some unspoken bargain that we can only exist around each other while engaging in an out-of-body state. Perhaps having something to do with too much vibratory sound not being conducive to the act of hearing one another. Apparently now we pace our radio waves accordingly, to a kinder, gentler wavelength. This is one of the rare gifts time bestows.
Perhaps the distance we display at these times may appear uncharacteristically chilly or subdued for the three of us, however, to those who know us very well, they know the truth. That we love each other very much, but still find the simplest of real conversations to be almost entirely impossible. And that an act of love means that one willingly show up anyway. Even if the real conversation is never had. That we show up anyway.
But, this is life. It's all a part of life. When just the act of being there carries great weight.
That sometimes just being in the same room without any editorializing can be the most explanatory moment of all.
It was not a lengthy trip, just a well-timed one.
I flew out on the red-eye Monday night, Los Angeles to Manchester, N.H. and drove straight there so that by high noon on her birthday I could walk up to my parents back door, tap on the window and to prove I had not forgotten that this was "a biggie."
To let her know I was really there. Which is precisely what I did.
I peered in the window by their back door and could see my mother sitting at the dining room table speaking with someone on the phone, she glanced up at me stared at my shadow at the window. The only indication I had that she recognized was when she dropped her jaw in a familiar, exaggerated manner which I knew meant she realized it was really me out there.
I couldn't hear what she was saying on the phone, but watched as she scrambled to find an excuse to hang up as politely as she could, then quickly open the back door to greet me. There was no doubt how happy she was having me there for her birthday.
Later, I walked into my parents living room to find my father asleep in his Lazy-Boy. As I looked down at him sleeping he opened his eyes and then his jaw dropped, too, and he said nothing while he struggled to get up from the chair to hug me. If you know my father, silence is a fairly rare occurrence.
We settled down at the dining room table where I proceeded to give my mother a huge photo album of my family's snapshots from the past year to now. And some artwork the children made and a few wrapped articles of clothing which my mother actually ended up liking, which may be the first time this has ever happened.
I stayed overnight with very close friends of my family (with a wonderful English teacher and his wife I knew growing up. The same lovely man who directed several plays I did while growing up.) The were the only people.
So, the brief 48 hours I just spent back home in Brattleboro (Okay, Guilford) Vermont flew by quickly, clearly it was time well spent. One can spend weeks "visiting" people, yet not feel like they were there at all. This time while visiting home, we all knew I was there. Which, is something of a milestone, I think.
True, at times I felt like I was only there spiritually, yet not physically. As if I were there purely in a dream, not in flesh and blood.
Perhaps my parents and I have made some unspoken bargain that we can only exist around each other while engaging in an out-of-body state. Perhaps having something to do with too much vibratory sound not being conducive to the act of hearing one another. Apparently now we pace our radio waves accordingly, to a kinder, gentler wavelength. This is one of the rare gifts time bestows.
Perhaps the distance we display at these times may appear uncharacteristically chilly or subdued for the three of us, however, to those who know us very well, they know the truth. That we love each other very much, but still find the simplest of real conversations to be almost entirely impossible. And that an act of love means that one willingly show up anyway. Even if the real conversation is never had. That we show up anyway.
But, this is life. It's all a part of life. When just the act of being there carries great weight.
That sometimes just being in the same room without any editorializing can be the most explanatory moment of all.
