Spring Arrives

Lillie Grace w. Michele and Phillip at their joy-filled wedding in Athens, GA

Running for Gary: Nicky and Garrett crush the Boston Marathon in his honor.

​As life without my parents becomes my new norm, I’ve been reading The Book of Joy about the retreat the late South African Archbishop Desmond Tutu took with the Dalai Lama. They two icons convened simply to discuss joy. 
 
Tutu had some profound thoughts about the co-existence of joy and heartbreak. He said, 
 "Discovering more joy does not save us from the inevitability of hardship and heartbreak. In fact, we may cry more easily, but we will laugh more easily, too. Perhaps we are just more alive. Yet as we discover more joy, we can face suffering in a way that ennobles rather than embitters. We have hardship without becoming hard. We have heartbreak without being broken."
 
I find Tutu is right: I cry more easily, and it almost always takes me off guard. I feel more deeply the recent crises of friends: a cancer diagnosis, the loss of a father, a child with a serious illness, a husband who commits suicide and leaves one of my best friends widowed with three children ages ten and under. How to face this heartbreak in a way that ennobles? I don't know. I isolate often, intending to write my blog, and yet not getting it out. Words elude me.
 
Yet, as Tutu said, I laugh more easily too. Lillie Grace gets admitted into her dream school for junior high and high school. Her Godmother gets married for the first time, at the age of 44. Lillie and I fly to Georgia for her joyous wedding in Athens, and we celebrate. We also stay with family friends in Atlanta. It is the first time since my parents died (not counting my cousin Gary’s funeral, when, frankly, we were all in a state of shock) that I have been with anyone who knew my parents. It is cathartic and healing to be with friends who remember my parents at their best.
 
Likewise, my eyes fill with grateful tears on Marathon Monday, when two of Gary’s kids run the Boston Marathon in his honor, and are among the top ten fundraisers in the entire city. Their cause? Suicide awareness. I am in awe of how they are turning their grief into something that will help countless others. 
 
They remind me of a story I read in the Washington Post about hope in the midst of the horrific war in the Ukraine: “A Jewish girl was saved by a Ukrainian family in WWII. Now, her granddaughter is returning the favor.” Eighty years ago, Ukrainian teenager Fania Bass lost her entire family in the Holocaust, but survived herself when the Blyshchik family hid her for the last two years of the war. After the war, Bass moved to Israel, married, raised a family, and died three years ago. Upon reading about the situation in the Ukraine, Bass’ granddaughter Luba contacted the Blyshchik family and sponsored two of their granddaughters to escape from the Ukraine and live with her in Israel. 
 
This is history at both its worst and its best. I think of Mr. Rogers, and how he always said, “In times of crisis, look for the people who are helping.” There are always people helping, inspiring, giving hope amidst the darkness.
 
Closer to home, our Ali has been going through her own crisis of sorts. The isolating elements of COVID, combined with moving to a new state, combined with the normal stress of growing up are taking their toll. Diagnosed with “adjustment disorder with anxiety”, Ali lives in a heightened state of fight (with her parents and siblings) or flight (with almost everyone else). She often gets stomach aches (especially on Sunday nights/Monday mornings). She freezes when taking timed tests (hence, although incredibly smart, bombed her gifted test). This created its own downward spiral because she lives with a sister who aced her gifted tests.
 
Jory and I get proactive. Along with a life coach to give her concrete tools to change her self-talk, we hunt for a therapist. Ali has the energy of one who hasn’t experienced a victory in a long time, and, in fairness, she hasn’t.

Her public school is having its upcoming Read-a-thon to support their library. The money will go to purchasing books and to bringing in authors to speak to the kids about writing. There are two categories: most minutes read and most money raised.  Ali commits to winning both for her grade (of 100 students). Go big or go home, I guess? Frankly, this causes me a bit of anxiety, as what are the odds??? 
 
I reach out to dear friends who are loyal, believe public school libraries are important and are in a financial position to sponsor her. Learning that people will back her, Ali goes into high gear: the kid reads non-stop…at breakfast, after school, before bed. We make her take a 20-minute break for dinner.
 
Finally, the week is over. My friends are rock stars. They generously sponsored Ali, which inspired her to read even more, because she sees that others care. It takes a village!!
 
Ali’s teacher has a reading party and announces the winner of most minutes read. Ali is not third place, or second. Ali is not first place. Seeing that she has not placed at all, she calmly approaches her teacher and asks to see the number of minutes read. 
 
I hear about this later, and marvel that she did not break down, or pout or storm out of the classroom. Moments like these show me that she will prevail.
 
In response to Ali’s query, her teacher checks Ali’s minutes (which I had verified) and pauses. She then turns to the class and announces, “I’m so sorry. I’ve made a mistake. I didn’t consider all students’ results.”
 
A second girl who did not place approaches the teacher. In the end, this girl will place second, and Ali will place first for most minutes read. Ali places first not just for her class, but for her grade. And she raises the most money, thanks to my friends. Ali walks with more confidence in her step. She has a long way to go, but she feels like she matters, like she can make a difference if she sets her mind to it. And thanks to her, we have free tickets for a soccer game tonight. 
 
For as a readathon winner, she was invited to lunch with a player from New Mexico’s United Soccer Team. Turns out he is from Kenya, and he tells them how a wealthy donor believed in his talent and sponsored him to come to America. When he made the team, the player tried to repay his donor. “No,” he was told. “Pay it forward. Find someone else to sponsor.”
 
My friends supporting Ali, Gary’s kids Nicky and Garrett in the marathon, the Israeli woman helping the Ukrainian family who saved her grandmother, the sponsor of the Kenyan soccer player…they are lights who shine brightly. Inspired by them, I apply to teach English at Lillie’s private school next year. While I’ve spent years out of the classroom while tutoring, I want to dive back in to the class setting, to impact as many as possible, share with and learn from the next generation. I hope I get called for an interview. Thankfully, colleagues and former students eagerly step up to vouch for me should I proceed in the process.
 
Mr. Rogers was right, “Look for the helpers. There are always people helping.” We are here to help each other get through, as Prince sang, this thing called Life.