“Sometimes I just want to walk, but I don’t know where to go. My mother would tell of her vacations on the Isle of Man, where she would bike, with her father, and brother. For her, these memories were idyllic, because they were unencumbered by future issues of separation, or expatriation. Also, of modernization. Her period of being a youth, straddled a world war. This isn’t something we can understand well, not viscerally. Her move to the US for graduate school at Columbia, left her past behind, with few details. Her father died of a heart attack, while visiting her in NYC. Her mother, Elsie, had passed of pneumonia, when she was three. Perhaps my lust for walking has something to do with their truncated lives. After all, the hill country here in Vermont, shares a common thread, doesn’t it? I know we all would have kept on trekking, on bike or on foot, if the family tradition had been allowed to flourish. My mother had an obsession, with Everest. This might tell me all I need to know, about who she’d really had the heart to be. I think this is a useful example, for those of us who think we know our parents. Perhaps she was the reincarnation of Sir Edmund Hillary. Perhaps, she’d been a native, to Nanga Parbat. In any case, she was an intrepid explorer, of life. I don’t think I could have shaken her resolve, if I tried, being her only daughter. We were obviously in this together, though she never had to tell me directly. Her way, was one of few words. If it could not be grasped within a minute or two of the telling, it was not really a well formulated thesis. I think she knew what it was, to be overwhelmed, and over-shadowed, by words. Which was the way of the academic environment she’d placed herself into. Men prevailed here, at least, in the 50s, and somewhat, beyond. Their words, held a weight, and confidence, that was hard to rival, or best. But she worked at it. And achieved, if not in private, but in professional circles, a quiet dominance of spirit. Her kind feelings for those who were not advantaged, held her in good stead: she, herself, being somewhat of an orphan. We could and would have done a lot more walking together, had she not lost her sight, and will to venture outside her cloistered, academic universe. Finally, an Alzheimer’s type dementia, stole all of her consent. It’s a terrible moment, when the urge to rescue a loved one, is met by his or her own unwillingness to participate. I understand it, but still, it stings, and haunts. I guess it’s a normal enough juncture. But no one needs to accept the end. Because, endings are ephemeral, and fraught with way too much significance. I let her go, and she went off somewhere, from a hospital bed, to a change. I applauded her courage, and let her know I did, whispering to her, as she slipped off. It’s a team sport. We can be upbeat, or devastated. Or both. I think she got my drift. We had that kind of relationship. She just needed to know I was okay. And I made sure I was, while holding her hand, as she transitioned to her next reality. I didn’t really mean to talk about this today, but one friend is in the emergency room, and another, who died suddenly, alerted me via his former wife, my good friend. It’s a rainy, warm day in early spring. We’ve been struggling with late snow, and erratic temperatures, but I think, overall, we’re not doing badly. Nothing beats death, besides good living. And we, my friends, are still alive.”
