Coma

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to realise that it could all end in a split second. One week before finals, two weeks before graduation,#3's childhood friend, a senior in the same Uni, fell off a roof and is lying in an Oakland hospital in a coma.
A beautiful young man, all of 22 years in a coma. #3's world has come to a complete stop.
It didn't seem right to tell her that she has to study for her final exams so I didn't. She has maintained a bedside vigil since the accident, her heart torn, her head heavy. This is not one of those occassions when one can trot out that old mantra 'This too shall pass', because it won't do here. So many others have joined her at his bedside, this is how comfort is delivered.

I don't have any words for her. I am not familiar with the language of this horrific circumstance, so I just ask her if she has eaten or rested. #3 tends to carry the world on her back, with all its barbs and ensuing blisters. She feels everything and for everyone. Rail thin already, she can't afford to not eat.

A ghrá mo chroí

I passed by her photo on top of the piano this morning. She's sitting on the arm of Dad's chair, her arm on his shoulder. It's a rare photo of her as she is smiling. This was taken just three years ago when #2 child was making the trip 'home'.

In three weeks, kidlet #3 and I will visit her. Things have changed alot for her since that photo - my father has been buried a year, and she has descended into, what can only be described as, Parkinsonian hell.

She misses him, and why wouldn't she? Being married almost 60 years would do that to a person. The clock on the kitchen wall clicks unbearably loudly.

Lately our telephone calls are peculiar. There are definite points in the conversation when it appears we've done an instant time warp. Not being the sharpest tool in the shed myself, it takes a minute or so to regroup and follow her. The leaps and bounds through time and place mean I have to pay extra attention and utter the odd "uh huh" every so often, so she'll know that I'm still there. I ask her questions about whatever she has brought up in conversation and prepare to be transported someplace in her response. I willingly go, knowing the day is soon to come when even these conversations will prove to be too much for her.

In three weeks, we will be face to face. There is fear in the unknown; there's also fear in the known.

I'm all verklempt

Jewish mommies and Irish mommies have a lot in common especially when it comes to our children. Don't get me started on my baby boy or you'll never hear the end of it.

This past semester, #3 child o'mine, has taken up putting pen to paper. Finally, someone in our family has inherited the Irish trait of wordiness. She's emailed me her stuff to proofread and it has been a joy to watch her try to eke meaning out of the words all jumbled up in her head. She's just a fledgling and I have to be very careful with the critique. I know that the Critic has taken up residency on her left shoulder and is eager to bend her ear at a moments notice. At the same time I don't want to molly coddle her and tell her the piece is great if it isin't.

She telephoned me today after class to let me know that her piece had been well received by both professor and student. I'm all verlempt, I tell you, all verklempt...