The Sunshine of My Life / Final Blog
“How can so much love be inside of you?”
Stevie Wonder
This particular song is our family song. I used to dance to it with my dad at family and friends’ weddings. I lost him to heart disease in 1997, but he is never forgotten. I keep him - forever - in my heart.
My mother, however, is blessedly still with me and I’d like to write you, in my final blog, a little bit about her and what she means to me. How her iron-clad belief in me has led me to start publishing regularly as a freelance writer. Something which was once only a dream…
For years now, I have lived with my mom (”Bets”) and it is she who allows me to have this great, almost inexplicable opportunity each and every day: of living with someone who greets each morning, each day like a special gift. It’s in the lilt of her voice and the welcomeness of her smile.
When I sometimes continue to fight my bouts of depression and anxiety, through tears and worries and hand-wringing, my mother cuts right in on me: “Fly away with me!” she’ll say. “Sing with me, the one about the bullfrog.” (She means “Joy to the World” by Three Dog Night.)
My mother gets song names and movie titles and dates all mixed up completely wrong but the funny thing is - she gets living right. We’ll sing some silly song and somehow I have to laugh and I don’t feel so badly anymore. That’s part of her gift.
I want to share a little about her with you because I can safely say she is the most unusual person I know. I say that not because I have a major mental illness and she has literally saved my life in the past, not because we’ve done emergency rooms and psychiatric hospitals together, Bets holding my hand and telling me to “Hold tight.”
I say it because she has always believed in my resiliency and I know no one more optimistic about, well, just about everything. Especially my future.
No one who would look at the trajectory my illness was taking when I was very sick in the 80’s and 90’s and off medicine and still say, “She’s back on again. We’re so proud of her. She’s going to do just fine.” As she told a friend of mine who called concerned after my 9th? time in a hospital. She said my mom sounded so very confident and optimistic. Are you picking up the Bets approach to life here?
My brother tells a story about my mom and optimism which I would like to recall for you. Seems my brother had a friend from high school who was on my mom’s ward (she’s a retired pediatric nurse). He had broken some major bones in a horrific car accident. No matter how much my mom cajoled him, she could not, after days stretched into weeks, get him to get out of bed and try to walk again.
Finally she said, “What is it going to take to get you out of that hospital bed, young man?”
“Oh, go over in the corner and stand on your head and I’ll get out,” he said, turning away.
So what did my mother do but march to the corner, cup her hands on the floor, try to put her feet up, kick them a few times in the air, until she finally toppled down harmlessly, adjusted her uniform, brushed herself off and marched back to the bed.
The kid said he could not stop laughing but when Bets threw back those covers, he got out of that bed.
That’s just one story of my mother’s grit and determination, spreading sunshine but in her own unusual way. Sometimes I don’t think my days start until I hear her happy ”Good morning!” Then it seems the day is going to be just fine. No matter what lies ahead.
And now that my mornings are better and brighter, now that I am starting to write for a magazine and the local newspaper, I look back to the sad, dark times and realize I wouldn’t have made it without her own particular brand of sunshine - shining on me.
I can hear her saying, “Fly with me, sing with me…” I now believe a lot is ahead for me because Bets was there beside me.
As Stevie Wonder puts it:
“I feel like this is the beginning.”
I thank you - with a full heart - for reading,
Claire