Alway Change My Mind

One summer, many years ago, I was brought to my knees by a terrible depression; a phantom that came in through the window. 


It swooped in, dark and heavy, and would not leave. 


Until I surrendered.


I was living with my daughter, Jesse, in a little farmhouse in town. Her father had died the summer before, tragically and much too young, due to complications from alcoholism; the fall-out from his life and death didn't really hit me until a year later. 


And still the after-shocks.


I made it through the school year, then I crumbled. Food shopping was a huge effort. When the phone rang, I'd flinch. 


In August, Mom came to visit and help with Jesse's birthday party. It's all a blur, paper cups, burgers on the grill, girls. I couldn't stand the smell of food. I remember the day Mom was leaving. I watched her putting her bag in the car. I felt frozen inside, not able to speak, but then I said, "I need you to stay a bit longer, Mom. I'm afraid to be alone right now." She stayed. 


I was very concerned about not being able to go back to my teaching job. I had lost a lot of weight, was weak, and tired. How could I possibly handle a room full of second graders, faculty meetings, the principal. 


I was always afraid.


I remember being with a friend. We were walking slowly around my neighborhood. I walked very slowly that summer, turtle-slow.


"I'm not sure what to do. I don't know if I can go back to school. What if I can't handle it?" I said.


"You don't need to worry about that right now. School doesn't start for three weeks. Right now, let's walk. And when you have to make a decision about school, you will. Remember this, you can always change your mind. Always."


This memory bubbled up on my morning walk with Chewy. Not in a sad way, no. More a noticing that the honest and kind things we do for one another ripple on for years, washing over us in a fresh way.


That long ago summer, I died to my old self, and rose, out of the ashes to a new one. I returned to my classroom and got stronger as the fall turned to red and gold. It took a couple of years to come back fully from that experience and there are times I fear the phantom's return. It's less likely to get its claws in me as long as I speak up, ask for help, and know I can always change my mind.


Go ahead, say it out loud. 


I can always change my mind.

In Memory

In memory of my mother.

Dorothy Southam Jackson

July 7, 1926 - December 19, 2001

...I am incapable of conceiving infinity, and yet I do not accept finity. I want this adventure that is the context of my life to go on without end."


- Simone de Beauvoir

Long Light

It's late. I've been sitting out front enjoying the long light, watching the sky slowly ease into night. In the stillness, memories bubble up freely; like fireflies, appearing, disappearing. Night's magicians.

This tiny window opened for me tonight:

Mom and I are in the elevator of the 14th Street apartment in NYC. She is dressed in a skirt, maroon pumps, a blazer? Her hair is permed. She is holding her handbag in front of her body.

I am wearing a patchwork skirt [I loved that skirt!] that falls to my ankles, a shirt sans bra, tawny-colored Frye boots. My hair is long and pin straight. A backpack is slung over my shoulder.

We are facing the elevator doors, not speaking and then, we glance over at each other and burst out laughing. Or maybe shake our heads? Either way, a good moment.

A Full Human Being

Today we hosted a baby shower for Aubrey, a dear friend to my daughter, Jesse. The day started early; coffee on, quiches in the oven, tie balloons to chairs, pull out Mom's good china, load table down with baked goods. Bagel, anyone?

Jesse did an incredible job pulling this thing off. Her organizational skills are so finely tuned, occasionally I wonder if she's really my kid. But I remember pushing her out, August 2, 1981.

Claire was the scribe, writing down all the gifts and names of the gift-givers.Three whole pages, Mom! She was loopy by the end. Baby showers will do that.

After dinner, Claire confessed to having felt some discomfort being surrounded by so many women at the shower. "It felt like school, she said, "so many people crowding around, talking about stress, husbands, the china." Is that what they talk about in 4th grade? When Michael said, "They were talking about the plight of China?" we cut ourselves off from sucking helium and singing Wizard of Oz songs. We represent the lollipop kids, the lollipop kids...

Earlier in the day, I peeked at this note Claire had written to Aubrey. It struck me as the best advice any new mother-to-be could hope for...

Dear Aubrey,

You are going to be a great Mom! I just know it. And remember, you’re the one passing a full human being through your body so don’t be afraid to relax.

Your friend,

Claire

A Little Bit of Mother Love

I have a small book of daily meditations that belonged to my mother called "The Promise of a New Day." The red cover has been worn down over the past thirty years by her hands, and now mine. On the inside is her signature: Dot Jackson, with a line under it. There are a few pages in the book that Mom took her pencil to; a sentence is underlined, sometimes a whole paragraph. Opening it up to read today's meditation, I noticed a check mark, next to the quote, in the upper left hand corner of the page. That tiny check mark was like a tap on the shoulder, a little bit of mother love coming my way.

If you can imagine it, you can achieve it.

If you can dream it, you can become it.

~ William Arthur Ward