Dear Family and
Friends,
I was pensive last night, the 24th of September, because
it was on that night, in 2009, on the eve of my birthday, that Francis and I
got the disturbing results of his MRI. I wrote a poem about it in my first
book, Sing to Me and I Will Hear You – The Poems, called: “We Missed All the
Signs.” And in prose, Sing . . . A Love Story –
I wrote about it again, in the penultimate chapter“Crossroads,” under
the section (p. 179): “TWO SCENES”. In
fact, two years ago at this time, I wrote yet another, a second, poem (to be
included in my third book in progress): “Nadir and Zenith.” I even shared it
with you then, in 2012.
This third reference to those “Two scenes on that dark
day” – in the “Nadir” part of this poem called “The Blow”– recalls “the shock
of the 24th / the day we learned / you soon would die.” Then in the third
stanza, the poem expresses, not exactly a question, but a kind of foreboding,
as if bracing myself ahead of time to expect – that “future birthdays / may be
dyed purple.” Last night was the fifth year, not the third after that “dark
day.” I sat in my usual place, not for meditation (or “sitting,” as I prefer to
call it) this time, but simply to reflect, in the presence of both Francis and
my parents, as a kind of honoring of this “anniversary” night.
Having begun working on my third book, “THIS NEW LIFE A
Widow’s Journal and Poems,” I already knew something had changed, but I wasn’t
sure, ahead of time, how much it had. I was almost surprised to realize that,
(not just as at Christmas, 2013 when I wrote you, “It’s Different Now”) even
for an anniversary like this – I no longer felt that heaviness. I was sensing,
as at Christmas, not just Francis’ joy that “our” first two books are already
published, but his joy that I am now turning away from a direction I had begun
to take.
I wont, since I can’t anyway, go into detail about this
at this time. That is the subject of the third book, the writing of which is
very much, still, a process of discovery. I knew from experience that writing
reveals something new, but I didn’t realize until now, how much.
So, feeling assured on Francis’ part, I felt joyful last
night, noticing my attention was lingering on my parents, instead of on that
“shock,” the day we got the awful news five years ago. I was thinking of my
mother who gave me birth 79 years ago, and of my father who watched with joy as
I came into the world with my whole life ahead of me.
It’s not Thanksgiving yet, but I feel its spirit already.
During the annual reunion with my McGillicuddy family, early last month
celebrating “Shrine Sunday” (pages 84 – 86 in Sing . . . A Love Story) I was
heartened by the experience of how familial bonds deepen as the surviving
members carry on traditions we once shared with our beloved deceased. They are
still very much with us, as members of the younger generation step into their
shoes. And I found that very moving.
Loving regards to you all, dear family and friends,
Elaine
