My father’s death was at the epicenter of my childhood. Everything in my life changed on the night that he died. My mother did her best to guide me and my brothers through the stages of our lives that would lead us into adulthood. I sometimes wonder how she was able to hold it together for as long as she did. It must have been incredibly difficult just to keep the roof over our heads and put food on the table each day but somehow she managed.
When I headed off to college in 1966, I was shy, naive and idealistic. My mother had sheltered me from the dark side of the world. I would soon enough learn that life was not as easy and cheery as she had worked so hard to present to me and my brothers. I had purposely chosen a large public college because I felt that it was time for me to see more of the world than I had experienced in the private school where goodness seemed to reign. I knew that if I was to make it as an adult I would have to learn how to be tough and resilient like my mother who often boasted that she was the child of immigrants and the youngest of eight kids. She was street smart in ways that I had yet to develop.
I jumped feet first into my college experience, taking part in dances and frat parties, and reading the editorials in The Daily Cougar from a gifted writer named Edith Bell. I soon enough realized that I cared little for loud celebrations and felt more at home with quiet gatherings that prompted interesting discussions about the world. I participated in civil rights marches and protests about all sorts of things including the taking down of old trees on campus. I found my people in earnest souls who saw their educations as stepping stones to making a difference in a world which was on fire. It was a time when the heat would grow more and more intense. I began to see life as it truly was, not as a perennially cheery time filled with only rainbows and unicorns.
Along the way I met the young man who would become my future husband. He had spent some time studying at Loyola University in New Orleans. He and I began talking on our first date and the conversation never ended. I had found my soulmate when I was not even looking for him. By 1968, we had decided to get married.
The world was a powder keg that year, most especially in the United States. Protests were breaking out on campuses across the country. There was a feeling that life was fragile and uncertain and so the idea of seizing the day with a wedding did not seem to be extraordinary. In fact, many of our friends had already tied the knot. It was as though we worried that things were so uncertain that pledging our eternal love to someone was a kind of panacea to the ugliness that was coming to a head all around us.
Before our wedding date Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee. Later that spring Robert Kennedy, Sr. was killed only minutes after celebrating a primary victory in California. In the summer riots outside of the Democrat Convention in Chicago would mesmerize the nation. By the time October came and we were being married at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Catholic Church the priest was noting that it took a great leap of faith and hope to embark on a life together during the volatile times. What he could not have known is that the times had been a factor in our decision to join forces with each other while we could.
It would be a very long time before things settled down for us. The pressures of being strong had finally broken down my mother who began a long journey with mental illness only months after our wedding. I would take on the role of caretaker for her and my brothers, thankful that I had the support of my husband during those dark times. I would spend the next forty years making certain that my mom had whatever she needed, learning about mental illness and bipolar disorder on the fly.
In our early twenties my husband would contract a fungal disease that landed him in the hospital getting chemotherapy for months. In the less crazy times we had two beautiful daughters and somehow learned how to balance home life, work, and watching over my mother with raising our little ones into two incredible young women.
Life has been a bumpy ride for most of my years but I have somehow been able to adapt to each new challenge. I was quite happy when me and my husband were finally able to retire and travel to places that had been only dreams. I assumed that our hardest challenges were behind us but life has a way of laughing at our innocence. Along came Covid and with it the icky feelings of uncertainty that we had experienced so many times before. Then we inherited Mike’s father as the newest member of our household and caring for him became a full time job that curtailed our gypsy-like adventures. Now we spend our days at home following the schedule that keeps him healthy and happy. Somehow we have made it work even as I quietly long for a few more trips before we are too old to stray far from home. We have planned a trip to London in the fall and hopefully all goes well and we get there.
This year has reminded me more of 1968 than any other time in my life. There is a grave chill over the nation that seems to increase with each passing day. I find myself worrying more about my country and its people than at any other time in my personal history. In the backdrop of my story there are health issues that are slowing down me and my husband. My knees hurt more often than not. He has cancer and will spend most of the summer getting daily radiation treatments. I am scheduled for cataract surgery tomorrow. It is all a bit too much and there are days when I worry that I won’t be able to keep up with the demands on me. There have been moments here and there when I felt as though I was going to break. Luckily I learned the importance of self care at an early age and so far I have been able to refresh my energies again and again.
I hope and pray that this too shall pass without such dramatic changes that I will no longer recognize the Untied States or the new kind of lives that we all may be asked to live. So far I have my partner who has walked with me every step of the way but I also realize that both he and I have expiration dates that may come due at any time. I am determined to keep the faith and be the warrior that I believe I was always destined to be. I know how to survive and I am determined to do it well.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 