Sister Margaret Mc Bride's Choice...

A 27 year old woman, mother of four, arrives at a Catholic hospital critically ill.  She is eleven weeks pregnant.  Doctors determine that, if she continues with the pregnancy, there is a nealy one hundred percent chance she and her unborn baby will die.  Her only chance of survival is to terminate the pregnancy.  A tragic situation, but it seems a clear cut choice.  Terminate the pregnancy and she has a good chance to live and continue to raise her four children.  Continue the pregnancy and she dies, her unborn baby dies and her four children are left motherless.

You have probably read about Sister Margaret McBride, an administrator and member of the Ethics Committee at the Catholic hospital where this young woman was treated.  She has been excommuncated from the Church for approving this abortion.  It appears the Catholic Church...or at least its hierarchy...would have preferred to prohibit the abortion and watch the mother of four die along with her unborn baby.  This case exemplifies some of my issues with the Catholic Church today.

I grew up Catholic.  Twelve years of Catholic schools gave me great academics as well as plenty of religious education.  One of the things my classmates and I were fond of doing in Religion Class was coming up with "what-if's" - challenging the nuns to address extreme cases of whatever issue was under discussion.  And each time, on the issue of abortion, the answer was the same.  While wrong in most cases, it is permissable when the life of the mother is at stake.  I was taught to believe in a compassionate God.  One who would not require sacificing a mother's life and leaving four children motherless for the sake of principle.

Truly, the issue in this case was not the fate of the unborn baby.  The eleven week fetus was not going to survive to birth.  The issue was the mother's survival.  Would she die along with the unborn or be given a chance to survive on her own?  In a Catholic hospital, a case like this called for wisdom and compassion, qualities Sister Margaret McBride and the Ethics Committee exhibited.  Instead of being praised for making a courageous, compasionate choice within the spirit of the rules of her faith, the Sister is being humiliated and punished for not adhering to the letter of the rules.  Perhaps the Bishop of Phoenix needs a refresher religion class.  I will be happy to refer him to my former teachers.

Middlesex ~ A Novel by Jeffrey Eugenides

"I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974."

Thus begins Middlesex.  Narrated by Calliope Stephanides...called Callie, later Cal, an hermaphrodite born into a Greek-American family, it is the story of the journey that took them from the slopes of Mount Olympus to the suburbs of Detroit...carrying with them a silkworm box, a dark secret and a mutant, recessive gene.  The story, told in both the first and third person as Callie shifts from present to past and back again, takes us through the history of that time as it intertwines with the lives of the Stephanides family.  It is an epic and a coming of age story...told by a young girl who grows up to be a man.

Eugenides writes with an energy that never flails.  It is a compelling tale...one I didn't want to put down and hated to see come to an end.  The author demonstrates a real understanding of the human condition as he tackles taboo issues with humor, irony, drama, and poignancy.  Middlesex is a long read - over 500 pages - but well worth it.  I don't know how I missed it when it was published in 2002 and awarded the Pulitzer in 2003, but I'm glad to have discovered it in 2010! 

Happy Birthday, Dad...

May 17, Dad would have been 98.  He missed it by 17 months.

He was a hard man, opinionated and dominant, but he loved his family in his own way.  As kids we used to say, there were three ways of doing things:  Dad's way, the Navy's way and the right way!  He often drove Mama crazy with his insistance that he knew best; but he would tell anyone who would listen that his wife was the most beautiful woman in the world.  My brothers had to toe a very hard line...especially the older one.  I got by a little easier being a girl - feminism would never win him over - he was more demanding of the boys.  Often said women should just tend to the cooking and laundry - his version of barefoot and pregnant!  I was eager to grow up and leave home...and did.

I can think of many stories to tell - some good and some bad.  Whatever else he was, Dad was interesting!  We all inherited - to different degrees - his temper and his odd sense of humor.  One brother has his sports ability, the other his writing skill.  I have his memory and sense of direction.  Our relationships with him were distant...and close...at different times of our lives.

As he got older, family assumed a more prominent place in his life and he worked harder at being a good Dad...and a good husband.  He helped all of us as we needed it and always said as long as he was alive, we had no problems...and he had plans to live forever!  He made it 96 years and 7 months...and lived independently for all but the last three months - though it was sometimes difficult during the last year or two to discern his stubborness from the senility of old age. 

Mom and Dad
~ Nov.2008 ~
Just weeks before they died

 During one of Mom's last hospitalizations the Social Workers wanted to send her to a Nursing Home because she needed 24-hour supervision.  I watched him argue with them...and ultimately convince them to let her go home with him.  He wanted to take care of her - said he promised her father on his deathbed and was going to keep that promise.  He gave her meds, helped her dress, cleaned her up when she had an accident and picked her up when she fell.  He was 96.  He always said he wanted to die one hour after Mom so he wouldn't have to worry about leaving her.  Well he died first, but Mom had a stroke the same day...and joined him five days later.  I don't think she knew how to live without him.

Wish I could tell you how much I love you and miss you, Dad.

Life in a Trash Bag...

Brother #1 and I spent yesterday going through my late parents' condo one last time before Habitat comes to pick up the furniture.  Brother #2 is recovering from a recent surgery.
 
It has been slow going.  Mom and Dad died 16 months ago - within a few days of each other.  It took some time before any of us were ready to face their place.  We eventually made some trips there, sorted through some things, claimed various mementos, but life kept getting in the way and slowing down our progress.  We're finally down to the nitty-gritty - emptying the place out, getting estimates for painting and flooring so we can sell.
Every time I go up there, it makes me sad.  Not just because I've lost my parents, but because this whole process seems to reduce one's life to a pile of things - many of which seem destined for the trash.  Each time we sibs gather at their place to sort and clean out, it feels like I'm throwing away my parents' lives.

We spend our lives accumulating things - then our children have to go through the pain of cleaning it all out.  Certainly there are emotionally valuable mementos...photos, military keepsakes, jewelry, cards and letters, individual items that go back to our childhood...but these are a small part of the large collection that comes from 90 years of living.  The rest gets donated...or trashed.

This experience has gotten me thinking.  I don't want my kids to go through this when I'm gone.  There's no escaping that they'll have to do some sorting and cleaning, but maybe I can minimize it.  I hope I have another thirty years left - it's time to start lightening my load...

Legal Again...

In NC, we have to renew our driver's licenses every five years - timed to coincide with birthdays ending in five and zero.  Having just hit one of those milestones last month, it was time to renew mine.  Only, amidst the excitement of planning my first trip to Europe and going on said trip, I totally forgot.

Went to get my hair done this morning (it looks fabulous!) and on the way home  realize I've been driving around with an expired license for almost two months.  Seems like a good time to stop at the DMV.  The young woman behind the counter explains that today is a "slow" day and there's only an hour's wait - "not guarenteed."  Grab my current read from the car - ninety minutes later I've finished 5 chapters and am told my new license will be mailed.  They used to give it to you on the spot - now you get a piece of paper to use in the interim until your license arrives.  Not sure how that qualifies as progress, just hope my eyes are open in the picture. :-)

Then I notice that my car tag expired...in March.  I was sure I'd renewed online...but realize I couldn't have 'cause I'd never gotten my car inspected.  Go to an inspection station and get lucky - in and out in thirty minutes.  Now to the License Tag Agency.  They always seem to be in seedy strip malls and this one is no different.  When I walk in there are a lot of people sitting; the sign says take a number, sit down and wait.  I pull number 29 and discover they're only on 16.  It's 3:30.  Finally my turn arrives.  At 4:30, I walk out with my 2011 tag and stick it on my license plate right there in the parking lot.
 It's been a long day, I've had nothing to eat but a donut, and spent over $200.  But, my hair looks great and...I'm legal.

Update 5/24 ~ My license came, my eyes are open and the picture's not bad.  Don't have to worry about that for another five years!

A Reader is Born...

I've carried on a lifelong love affair with books.  I don't know just when its seeds were planted; my earliest memories all take place after we moved to the house on Superior Road.  The books started coming when I was seven or eight.  Dad would come home from work every so often with a gift...even though it wasn't a special occasion...a book.  A perfect speciman...a new straight spine, beautiful, soft, cream-colored pages filled with words in crisp black type, a cover illustration that just hinted at the the story within...and no pictures.  I have no idea if Dad picked out the titles himself or if he had help from Mom...or a knowledgeable salesperson.  It never ocurred to me to ask until just this moment, so it goes unanswered.

First came The Five Little Peppers, I don't recall anything about that series other than I was not particularly enamored of them.  Next to arrive were The Bobbsey Twins - Flossie and Freddie were too young, I liked Nan with her dark hair that matched mine but not enough to care what happened next.  Still, I read them all because they were gifts from Dad.  Then one day he came home with Trixie Belden.  It was love at first sight!  I couldn't wait to find out what Trixie's and Honey's next adventure would be!  For the first time I found myself drawn into another world...again and again!  After finishing the entire series (in those days that was only about 6 books), I moved on.  Nancy Drew, Sue Barton: Student Nurse, Tom Sawyer, Little Women...I loved Jo, and Becky Thatcher!  Years later I even named my daughter Rebecca.

At the same time Dad was bringing books to me, Mom was bringing me to the books.  We went to the Floral Park library every two weeks like clockwork.  The librarian introduced me to Betsy-Tacy books by Maud Hart Lovelace...and to Booth Tarkington.  I devoured those and many others until I eventually read my way through most of the children's section.  I read ravenously - every waking minute and after bedtime under the covers with a flashlight.

I must have been around eleven when Mom signed for a library card that allowed me to check out books from the adult section...and a whole new world opened up for me.

Happy Birthday, Mom...

April 24, 2010 was Mom’s birthday.  She would have been 86.  I miss her.  Not the person she had become in her last few years – forgetful, eventually blossoming into full-blown dementia, so wrapped up in her own frailties that she no longer focused on anything else, depressed over her circumstances and about where life had taken her, unable to carry on a real conversation about anything else; that isn’t the Mom I miss.  I miss the Mother I could talk to about anything, who loved me without question, the one to whom I was truly amazing. When your children are grown and your parents are gone, you are no longer perfect in anyone’s eyes.

After Nanny died, I asked Mom what it felt like to lose your parents.  She said when your parents are gone, the wall between you and eternity disappears.  There is no one standing between you and death.  In the nearly year and a half since Mom and Dad died I have come to understand what she meant.  I find myself thinking about my own demise. It no longer seems distant and far off.  There’s no one in the family older than me – I’m next.  I don’t worry about what form it will take or what the process will be like.  I worry that I won’t have finished living yet.  So many things yet to do; so many things I may not get to experience.  How can I cram it all in and why didn’t I do more when I was younger?

It wasn’t so long ago that I was young…beautiful…desirable…self sufficient…able to stand tall in the world.  Now I’m tired.  Yes, on occasion, I’m still told I’m beautiful…desirable, not so much.  I have gone from looking good to looking good for my age. 

My parents were my cheering section…and my back-up plan.  It wasn’t hard being strong when I had a safety net.  It wasn't hard being confident when there was someone in this world who thought I was fabulous!  Everything's a little harder now, but life's cycle continues... I am my kids' cheering section. I think they're fabulous, amazing and perfect!  I am the wall between them and eternity.

I miss my Mom. Wish I could tell her how much I love her, miss her and appreciated her.