Certainty Part I

Uncertainty. It’s what keeps us alive, isn’t it? When we get too comfortable, we tend to also become complacent. It is in times of uncertainty that we learn the most valuable lessons in life, when everything suddenly becomes crystal clear: our priorities, what matters most to us deep down in the marrow of our bones. We learn how to trust ourselves more than anyone else, and we learn also that in trusting ourselves, we can never go wrong. And in the midst of all our uncertainty, we become certain. We become sure of ourselves. We learn that no matter what, as long as we listen to our own true feelings, everything else will fall into place. Listen to that calmness, the stillness inside of us that tells us when something is right. When we are able to connect with our inner peace and stay true to everything that is conducive to our own inner peace, we become whole.

Trust yourself. That’s all you have to do.

* * * *

Friday 8/16/2013

I wake up with an excitement in my belly, a spring in my step. I’m confident in my newfound certainty. I move throughout my day with this confidence. I go to work with my Monday-Wednesday-Friday client, Helen. It was recently her birthday, and her home is filled with bouquets of flowers from friends, family. I admire the flowers. The vase on her kitchen table is full of these big dusky rose colored ones, with long, narrow petals. I imagine what it would be like to receive flowers like these. The color is perfect. I think to myself, this is the color of love. I lean my face into the flowers, but the scent is faded. They’ve been there almost a week now. 

I heat up our lunch for the day. Creamy potato soup for Helen, chicken and rice soup for me. This makes me think of Ryan. When we first began talking again recently, I decided that I wanted to cook dinner for him. I want to feed this man. I want to nourish him. I ask him what his favorite foods are, and he tells me, of all things, soup and rice. Soup and rice! Whose favorite foods are soup and rice? This is endearing. Such simple things.

As we eat our soup, I ask if Helen has plans for the weekend. “No,” she says, regretfully. Maybe I shouldn’t ask her that, it might make her sad. When you get older, people don’t come around as much. You become irrelevant, almost invisible. Who’s taking care of you? Who’s there to make you laugh? Who wipes away your tears? 

After lunch, we go for our daily walk. The sun is shining; it’s much warmer than I had thought it would be, and I’m too warm in my long pants, but I don’t notice that as much as I notice the beauty around me. I asked Helen once how she knew that Herb was the one she wanted to marry. She told me that when they told her parents of their plans to be married, her mother forbade them. I’m not sure that was the answer I was looking for. Helen’s memory isn’t so good these days. Her husband, Herb, he’s lonely. He told me that Helen has lost a good deal of emotion, the warmth and love that she once had. 

“Sometimes, you just need someone to... “ He reaches out and touches my arm briefly. My heart breaks for him in that moment. I know that pain, that need for physical touch, for love. His wife is almost lost to him, and he has to watch her deteriorate before his eyes. He makes her take walks around the house on the days that I’m not there with her to take her outside. His knees are bad, and he can’t walk very long distances, so he tells her to make five laps around the house. She tells me about this every couple of weeks, how Herb makes her walk. I asked her one day why she thought he did that.

“Cuz he’s bossy!” she tells me. I pause for a second and then ask why she thinks he bosses her around. “Why, because he loves me, of course!” She still knows, Herb. She still knows.

* * * *

When I’m finished with my shift with Helen, I go back home to change out of my sweaty clothes before heading over to my Grandma’s house. I decide to take a quick shower, to wash the sweat off my sticky body. My Mom is bringing my nieces over! Grandma’s going to have company! I’m feeling warm and excited. 

I send Ryan a message: “I wish I could see you on your day off.” 

I gather my things, my bookbag with my notebooks, my billfold, my keys, my phone. I open my desk drawer and pull out the disc wrapped in plain white paper that I had spent hours on the day before. With a smile, I tuck it into one of the notebooks in my bag, and I trot down the stairs and out the door. 

I listen to my new mix tape on my drive down to Grandma’s house. I turn onto Bennett Road and take it out to West 130th, music blaring in my ears. 

These are my happy songs. 

I don’t need the songs to make me happy today. 

I turn onto Boston Road, and then when I reach Pearl, I make a left instead of continuing straight on Boston toward Marks. I’m hatching a plan in my mind. I sing along to the music at the top of my lungs, windows down, I don’t care who hears me. “I wanna see you be brave!!!”

I get into the heart of Medina, and turn into a parking lot of a department store. I have a purpose. I stride quickly into the store and find what I’m looking for. I stand in line. There are a handful of people in front of me. I wait. I watch as a younger woman loads her arms with several bags stuffed to the gills, with what, I don’t know. She pays with a credit card. She walks away slowly, carefully, the bags weighing her down, throwing her off balance.

“Next!”

I walk up to the counter and place my single item in front of the cashier. She doesn’t really look at me when she asks how I’m doing today, and I tell her I’m fantastic anyway. She rings up my purchase, places it in a bag along with the receipt. I walk quickly out of the store and to my car. I get in and pull out the padded mailing envelope I had bought the day before. I retrieve the paper wrapped disc from my notebook and try to fold the item I just purchased around it. I know the envelope isn’t big enough, but I try to shove it in anyway. It’s not working. I sit there for a good ten minutes trying to reposition the two items so they will fit. 

They don’t fit. 

It’s okay! 

I drive over to the post office. 

I’m on a mission. 

I have a purpose.

I walk into the post office, passing narrowly by a tall man on his way out. I look him right in the eyes and smile, excuse me, kind sir. When I enter the big glass paned doors, two young men move away from the counter, telling me I can go ahead. I say okay, but walk past them to the shelves of envelopes. I’m not sure what size I need. Why didn’t I bring the stuff inside with me? Back out to my car I go, quickly, quickly, I have to get this in the mail! I want it to get to its destination as soon as possible... a surprise! 

(I’m not good at keeping secret surprises secret.)

In the post office once more, I select a new padded envelope and test to make sure my items will fit. They do. I write my recipient’s name and address in bold capital letters.

I can’t wait until they get it! They’re going to be so excited! A package in the mail?! 

Yes! Yes! 

A gift! 

A gift, just for you! 

Who doesn’t love getting letters and packages in the mail? When someone sends you something through the mail, you know you’re special. I imagine the surprise and joy that will light up their face upon finding the package in their mailbox. My heart is happy. 

I give the package to the mail clerk and pay the postage. No hazardous materials, I tell him. No insurance. I trust it will reach its destination.

Walking out of the post office I feel accomplished. I’ve made someone’s day, and they don’t even know it! I feel good.

I’m hungry by now, so I stop at Jimmy John’s and pick up some subs, vegetarian for my nieces. I haven’t seen them since Mother’s Day, and I miss them so much. Will they know I still love them? Have they missed me, too?

Everyone is there when I arrive, including JT with his Dad. We discuss school shopping, and he says we’ll do it next week. School starts next week. We need to get it done this weekend. We’ll talk about it later. His Dad leaves and JT gives me a big hug. He’s just come from Myrtle Beach where he spent a week in the ocean. His nose is stuffy and red. He and his cousins play out in Grandma’s back yard, and I’m amazed at how much the girls have grown in a short few months. 

I’ve missed so much that I can’t get back. I don’t want to keep missing.

I get a message from Ryan: “I miss you. <3”

“I miss you, too. I want you here.”

* * * *

“When my youngest son was five years old, he fell in love with a girl named Emily. Children must be wiser today than when I grew up, because Emily was a real person in his kindergarten class. But it didn’t protect him from heartbreak. She moved away, and all he had were memories, which he often shared with me.

On a day in spring after she moved, he and I were sitting on a park bench on a bridge that spanned a wide creek, beautifully landscaped with flowers, tall trees, and overarching mimosa trees like the one I had climbed long ago. From the bench, looking down the length of the creek, it was a vision of pastels against shades of green that was too beautiful to describe.

My son was the first to speak. “Dad, I want to draw this and send it to Emily.”

Then he added, “Will you write something for me at the bottom of the picture?” I remembered a similar obstacle.

“Sure. What do you want me to write?”

“This is real,” he said. “Write, ‘This is real.’”

He wanted her to know that this world of beauty really existed, even if drawn imperfectly, and he wanted her to experience it.”

Dr. Craig Glickman, from “Once Upon A Love Song”

(To be continued…)