A Bridge And A Gate At The End Of The Day

After yesterday's rain and driving wind, the cold, crisp, clear air felt good. Late this afternoon, I walked to Astoria Park, where the sunset and twilight feel as if they're made of stone, steel and the reflections in the wakes of boats plying the deceptively calm East River. That passage, between Queens, Randall's Island and Manhattan, is called Hell Gate. A number of ships ran aground there; a few actually broke up and sank.

A long, arched railroad bridge spans the river from Manhattan, through Roosevelt Island and onto the Queens side. Amtrak trains rumble over it; with its steel girders and stone embankments at each end, it's not hard to picture the steam engines that used to harrumph across it, then screech around the bend a bit beyond the park and whine as they faded into the distance. Somehow the modern Amtrak trains seem even more archaic and anachronistic than those steam engines would; they somehow accentuate the passage of time and another day passed.

As I started to walk home from there, I called my parents. They had to cancel the trip up this way they'd planned for Thanksgiving week; now they've cancelled the trip they'd planned for Christmas, which they were going to spend with my brother and his family. Neither of them, especially my mother, has been feeling well. What used to take days to heal now takes weeks or even months. On top of those ailments are new ones that come, at least in part, from aging.

Tonight, for the first time (that I can recall, anyway), I thought of my parents as old. Even when I was a kid, I didn't think of them that way. That may have to do with my being the eldest child and the fact that my parents were young (though not particularly so by the standards of their generation) when I was born. So, while neither of my parents ever tried to walk, talk or do anything else the way any of my peers or I did them, I never felt the sort of generational gap between me and them that a lot of other kids felt between them and their parents. That's not to say we didn't have (or still don't have!) disagreements. But I never felt that either of them--especially my mother--was living in a world entirely different from my own.

One irony is that now I feel this distance in age--and, more important, in what we can expect from the rest of our lives--as we have, in many ways, grown closer. Another irony is that I am in what's normally called middle age, which is the stage of life my parents were living in my early adulthood. Now that I am living what I saw them live, I understand what they're thinking and saying more than I previously could. I might even say that I empathise with them in ways I couldn't when I was younger. And now they understand me better.

I offered to go and spend Christmas with them, as I did last year. Mom reminded me that I might not find a ticket, and that if I found one, it would be extremely expensive. Besides, she said, she would rather rest. I can't say I blame her.

I just hope I get to see her and Dad soon. It's not that I have anything urgent to talk about with them. Besides, after what I've been through and what I've done, what can be so urgent--besides spending time with them? Even if they were to live another thirty years, that would matter more than anything else that I can think of.

Our Mothers, Their Daughters

Today I talked with Marilynne. She may be the first friend I've made in my "new" life.

Her daughter underwent the surgery on the same day I had mine. But the daughter's was far more complicated than mine, as she was born with a condition that only a handful of people on the planet have. So, her recovery is also more complicated and lengthier than mine.

Of course I would love to see them again, and soon. However, they're going to Marilynne's parents' for Thanksgiving. It's probably just as well, for Mom and Dad have been talking about coming up this way from Florida. They'd hoped to move here--or, somewhere in this area--by the holidays, but it doesn't look like things are going to work that way. They've had no takers for their house, which isn't surprising. After all, Florida is one of the worst real estate markets in one of the worst economies this country has had in a long time.

Back to them. Sometimes I wonder what, if anything, they'd say to Marilynne and her husband, or vice versa, were they to meet. Mom always says I wasn't such a difficult kid to raise. I don't think she's merely being diplomatic, even though I don't think I could have been such an easy kid to care for.

I'm thinking now of a corollary to something Marilynne said: "As a mother, you always feel guilty." That was her response to my comment that she needed to be more generous with herself and to feel more confident that she's doing everything humanly possible to take care of her daughter and everyone else around her. At the end of the day, she simply has no time or energy to take care of herself. And if she had either, she'd find some other need someone else has and address that.

My mom is like that, too. It's not hard to imagine her saying what Marilynne said. And that's exactly the reason why it makes perfect sense, at least to me, that she would say I wasn't such a difficult kid to raise. Why would she, Marilynne or any other mother feel guilty? They would always know--or at least feel--that something else needed doing, but possibly couldn't be done. That means, of course, that no matter what they have to do, or are doing, they've done or are doing something else that's more difficult. And, chances are that something still more difficult will present itself. So, most things will only seem but so difficult in comparison.

Marilynne says that her daughter really isn't such a difficult kid. "She never wants anything," she says. But that's because "all she ever wanted was to be a girl." I always wanted the same thing, even more than anything else--even life itself. However, as I've mentioned before, I didn't express it because I'd never heard such a thing expressed when I was a kid. Plus, I don't think I was (or am) quite as intelligent as Marilynne's daughter.

But Mom would probably tell you I didn't want that much, either. That was true enough. And, she'll always point out that I never got into trouble (mainly because I never got caught! ;-) ) and that her friends always liked me. Yes, and I liked them, even more than my own peers.

And now I find myself making friends with women of, or over, a certain age--and I happen to be one of them myself!

One thing I know: Mom has been a saint and Dad has been much better than I ever anticipated. I'll bet that Marilynne's daughter will say, if she hasn't already said, the same thing about her mother and father. And her brother has been supportive. As far as I'm concerned, they're a family of heroes. At least, they're heroes of mine, anyway.

At least I expect to see Mom and Dad soon. Marilynne had talked about coming up this way with her daughter this fall, but I think that turned out to be a less realistic idea than any of us had anticipated. Her daughter, like me, is still healing and regaining her energy. Marilynne, I think, needs to do the same.

We're talking now about Spring Break, or possibly the days just after Christmas or New Year's.