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The memories are jumbled, and I am afraid, fading. I know I was twelve. I remember many months after her passing being startled awake from a deep sleep and having an overwhelming feeling of loss. I ran out to the living room, where, luckily, my parents were still awake.
“Sheila?” my mom asked concerned, “What’s wrong, honey?” I ran over to her on the couch and kneeled and lunged for her all in a rush. As soon as my arms encircled her chest, the tears came in a tidal wave. “She’s gone!” I burst out.
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My mother worked hard at Christmas. It was a fulltime job for her for a minimum of three months, every year. She had a running list of gift ideas that she was constantly checking twice. She picked up presents months in advance and had an elaborate system for hiding them in places where no one would accidentally stumble upon and ruin their future Christmas morning. She knew when all the sales were and had stock piled the necessary coupons. Her plan was for there to be a big load of presents under the tree on a small budget.
I was completely enamored with him. His blond hair, easy smile and always up for an adventure. And then, of course, there were his ears. Sticking far out from the side of his head, they only got larger when he smiled, which was pretty much all the time. He was always moving, from the moment his lungs took in their first gasp of air. Getting him to stay still even to do something as necessary as change his diaper was too much for him to do. A fact I learned the hard way the first time I changed his diaper all on my own, and he started peeing as soon as I removed the diaper. While giving me a golden shower, it was all I could do to hold him down long enough to get a diaper over the yellow stream of liquid and fasten it in place before he squirmed away from me once again.
My brother and his family may have lived in Arizona, while we lived in Brooklyn and then New Jersey, but it didn’t matter. My overzealous Auntie enthusiasm worked well at closing the miles. And, I wasn’t running a sprint. My desire to see him as much as possible went on for years. He would be almost four years old, before I had a child of my own, and I enjoyed loving him from afar every minute of that time. Whether it was making my new in-laws watch hours of video and pictures sent from my brother and his wife to me through the mail, or sending small gifts I thought he would like or planning trips to see him, it was fun work being a long-distance Auntie. Once my own kids arrived, he became the role model. The teacher to my new-parent student, learning about each next phase. With my first child also being a boy, I loved getting to hear about his adventures and seeing him in action when we got together. I always stopped just short of taking notes, but burned into my brain the many important lessons he taught me along the way, such as:
Divorce was foreign to us all. All of his grandparents were still married to their original spouses, and all the Aunts and Uncles had also either not been married yet or were still married to their first spouse. So, when his parents got divorced, we were all a little shell shocked. Unsure of how custody and communication would work in this new world, phone calls dipped in frequency, as did trips to see one another. Did he get lost in the creeping silence from extended family, was there something else going on in his life, or did he just slam into adolescence and never completely recover from the impact? To love someone and not know them very well is a strange thing. I got plenty of reports of his successes in skateboarding, snowboarding, his performance on various sports teams, trips he had enjoyed with his father or his mother’s new family, grades, favorite tv shows, the weather. But, it’s easy to gloss over the bad during occasional phone calls and bi-annual, in-person visits. And, it’s easy to assume the role of the cheerleader: clapping for the good and never digging for the bad. So, my memory strains every day to remember the small moments - the real moments. To expand the list I just read you to include more moments when I learned something about him; those moments that I am sure were true, whether they were good, bad or ugly. But if I am being honest, it is easier to remember how happy and easy he was to love, to be impressed by, and to dream of his future. Here is where I would like to focus my memories, because his teen years got complicated and his twenties did not smooth out those wrinkles. If anything, they brought such a stark contrast to the first decade or so of his life, it leads me to wonder: Can you love someone - can you miss someone - you didn’t really know? Pregnancy is about life. New life. We understand its critical importance in the continuation of human life on our planet. We are in awe of the miracle for some or the science for others involved in creating life. We covet the ability to extend our own life into another, newer person.
Pregnancy is about hope. Our individual hope for the life each person constructs for themselves. We hope that we will do it better than those before us. There is hope that a new life will not make the same mistakes we have made. The hope gives us a respite from the tragedies, stress and trauma that can take up too much of our lives. We hope that each new life will bring the world closer to peace, love and calm. For some, pregnancy is about fear. A what-if scenario to be diligently avoided. An understanding of the dangers - sometimes from a much too early age - if you were to find yourself in the same situation that most women - and the vast majority of society - celebrates. The work and number of experts needed to avoid pregnancy can even outnumber those used to enable a pregnancy. “Why?” you ask. Sanctity of life is the answer. Our understanding of the importance of life compels us to protect it. Illness, injuries, and life expectancy rates have all benefited from human being’s desire to be healthier and live longer than those before us. But, improvements do not mean perfection. Let’s consider that which is at the center of all life - the heart. It is complex, so many pieces moving, relying on each other to function correctly. Perfection is when no one notices the amazing work it does day in and day out, year after year, decade upon decade. While life 100% relies on it, most don’t acknowledge the heart until something is wrong with it. But, what if there is a heart that has always been broken? Pieces of it missing, holes in it and a body craving more oxygen than it can send out. Life is many things, but it is rarely black or white. There are many shades of gray in between where many live. And while defects in the heart can allow for life, it often creates life without. Life without norms. When a heart is broken, it works extra hard to accomplish the bare minimum. The rest of the body jumps in to help in a dozen different ways, perhaps by delaying puberty, increasing the red cell count in the blood, or naturally maintaining a low body weight, to name a few. The external world is also engaged, helping with surgeries, procedures, medicines and general medical guidance all in an attempt to help keep a precious life alive. But, these interventions, the will of the person which houses this broken heart, or even society at large cannot always produce the desired outcome: the ability to house a new and growing life. When a heart must work so hard to maintain one life, how can it be expected to support a second? And, so the calculations begin. Everyone apparently has their own calculator as well as the belief that they should possess an equal amount of input into the final sum. A life’s value is weighed. Pro and con lists are created. A full grown productive member of society's life is compared to the potential of a new life on this planet. Each side of the problem is detailed and defended. Shockingly, the host often campaigns against her own survival. She will give it all up for a life not yet breathing air. She makes plans: how she will communicate with the tiny life post-mortem, who will serve as the best stand-in mother, why it will all be worth it for the promise of that new life. But, these plans are fantastical. There is no guarantee that her sacrifice will be a one-to-one trade: her life for that of her unborn’s. Those two lives may instead only share the same ending. There are other options, that neither she nor others engaging in her shared fantasy can bring themselves to confront. A life left wanting a mother’s love that was robbed from him or her never to be fully refunded, despite best efforts. Or perhaps worse. There may be diminished capacity. Pain. Despair. At best, a life without. At worst, a life that is barely living. The scale tips. Does the potential host’s life offer another value besides physically bringing a new life into the world? Is her ability to mother not simply confined to a life with whom she shares genetics? Are there lives with feet on the ground who need nurturing, love, protection? Or, could her impact on the sanctity of life be less direct? Might she have a talent, knowledge or a vision that itself will serve as a miracle? Could she contribute something to society that will lead the world onto a path that will bring some sort of salvation or peace or necessary healing? Pregnancy, like life, is complicated. And the battle to control it may belong among the list of the Millenium Prize Problems, an unsolvable problem that many have fought to master and no one has ever resolved. With no universal solution, perhaps we can resign ourselves to step out of the world of black and white, and live in the gray. With each new pregnancy comes a new solution to the problem. For some that solution will be life, for others hope and perhaps for others an inspiration to do more with the one life their body is able to support. But no matter how a pregnancy ends - with a new life or by preserving an existing one - it is ultimately about the sanctity of life. Travel has always been my goal. Since I was quite small, I have always been fascinated with places other than the one I lived in. As an adult, we all quickly learn the necessity of living on a budget. What you make at your given job must cover the basics like shelter, food and clothing. But, I quickly prioritized trips and travel over fancy cars or expensive clothes. Whether it was a quick weekend road trip, or saving two years for my first trip to Italy, “where to next” was always top of mind. But, perhaps a complete game changer for me was when I realized I did not have to save tons of money, navigate airports or currency exchanges to “visit” lands from far away. This realization came when a friend of mine at a Germany-based company I worked for asked if her 20-year old daughter could come stay with us for six weeks to work on her English. I accepted. That was in 2008, and today that 20 year old is married, working in an exciting job in Frankfurt, Germany and expecting her first child. Our friendship has continued all these years, and we use the marvel of technology to continue to grow our friendship and educate each other on the very different lives we live in different countries. She also started my new “hobby.” Since 2008, we have hosted two high school students - one from Italy and one from Germany - for one year each in the U.S. We have guided them through attending high school in America, while they have given us insight into life in their origin countries. Recently OLLI helped to feed my need for this sort of cultural exchange with their “Conversations and Coffee” program. This program simply pairs international graduate students at NC State and OLLI members with the sole purpose of helping those students work on their conversational English. International students obviously must have a certain level of English to be accepted into NCSU. But, often when they get here, they only hear and speak English in their classes. This not only robs them of getting a broader vocabulary and dynamic fluency with the language, but they miss out on important cultural lessons too. And, so I eagerly signed up and was paired with Soeun Jo, or “Jo” as she insists “everyone” calls her. A graduate student from South Korea, Jo is a member of her country’s military and is learning computer science on their dime. Our first meeting was low pressure and Covid conscious, as we met for coffee at the Starbucks near Talley. We were treated to a beautiful day outside to sip our drinks and get to know each other. Probably my favorite thing Jo told me that day was how much she loved the color of the North Carolina sky. I mean, I know it’s beautiful and that we are somewhat known for this aesthetic, but to hear someone from halfway around the world give that as one of her first impressions of our little corner of the world really made me smile. And, once again, I was hooked. Hooked to hear more, learn more and share more with this personal ambassador of Korean culture that NCSU and OLLI had gifted me with. Our friendship has grown over these months. From coffee to brunch to lunch to Korean BBQ dinner to a beer one night at Morgan Street food hall. It is truly addicting to have someone to show around. To get to brag about your little city and all it has to offer; to hear feedback about the “cool” things in Raleigh; and also be awed about how the things we take for granted do not exist elsewhere in the world is just fun. There are small lessons you learn, such as how laying a napkin on your lap before you eat is not something that is done in Korea. Or, how a simple invite to Thanksgiving gives her a unique American experience and allows you to appreciate the holiday more as you explain it to someone who has never heard of it before. Surprising moments of wonder. Other benefits include the ability to take a break from the negative in our lives. For example, in our politically polarized country, having a conversation about politics in her country, where there was an election this year, can feel downright relaxing. Further soul nourishment comes from caring for others. Most of us are parents, and we always secretly hope for the kindness of strangers should our children, who are no longer under our roof, need it. While Jo may be a grown, 30-year old woman serving in the military, she still has parents in Korea who are desperately nervous for her. Is she ok? Is she safe? Is she eating well, sleeping well, staying healthy? How are her classes going? Has she made any friends? And so on. As a parent, I have always placed an abundance of value in a home cooked meal. And, we have sprinkled our conversations with food. For her part, Jo is also quite a good cook, which she illustrated with the delicious beef bulgogi she made for me and my family to enjoy. And, my husband - a first generation Italian - knows his way around the kitchen even better than I. First, he dazzled Jo with his Thanksgiving turkey and then his homemade spaghetti sauce. Both meals nourished the body and the soul and expanded her family and ours. Because isn’t that where families are made - around the dinner table? And, as the school year winds down, what has this OLLI program delivered? Well, Jo’s English and understanding of the U.S. is markedly improved, and I’ve visited Korea several times without having to save any money for a trip. The original version of this post can be seen at NC State University OLLI Program: https://ollincstate.wordpress.com/2022/04/11/nearby-friends-from-far-away/ |
AuthorA former corporate online marketing and communications professional, in 2021 Long Covid redirected me. I am revisiting my passion for writing. You are the unfortunate witness to that journey. 
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