Heartache...

If you don't have a cup of coffee or drink in your hand, you may want to stop reading and go pour something for yourself as this is going to be a long one. Yesterday morning during our weekly management meeting, one of our Deans shared a story that touched me so deeply, I could not shake it all day. A professor from our college had a meeting with the Dean last Thursday. He shared the news of his two wonderful daughters. With love in his eyes, he talked with great pride about his daughter Rebecca, graduating from Princeton with a Ph.D. this spring and his youngest daughter Mila graduating with her medical degree from Yale. In addition to her academic accomplishments, Mila would be returning to her home state of California as she had also recently been selected for a position at a clinic here in LA. He was even more delighted to learn that she and her boyfriend became engaged and would marry once she finished school. This humble, difficult, cantankerous professor, revealed a sweet gentleness about his children that came from a place so deep in his heart,it was clear that his thoughts surrounding his children, sustained his life. Which is why, I spent yesterday in a fog of confusion and melancholy, when the Dean announced that on her way home from the gym on Satudary morning, Mila was struck by a speeding car just a few feet from her apartment. She was rushed to the hospital and died later that evening. I could not get the image of Professor Rainof out of my head. I felt that pain so deeply all day. I went on-line and looked for photos, articles about the event. I found so many posts and listings about her. "Mila Rainof esteemed medical student, dies at age 27." It was a very strange awakening for me on many counts. First being, that I have prayed and pleaded with God to take my life. Ever since I was a teenager, I have held this desire and longing. I beleived that as life continued with its challenges and hardships, the pain and suffering I carried and the wounds I had yet to heal would certainly engulf me. Even now, just this past January, I held that wish so close to my heart. I spent countless evenings driving around, desperately crying for God to hear my prayers, take me, bring me home. I realize now how little reverence I have had for life, my life. It's true that gratitude can be a profound teacher of appreciation, and though I do feel gratitude, my fears consistently outweigh it's potential.
I think I've mentioned that in recent weeks, my Mother and I's relationship has been strained by resistence and fear of Melissa's decision to move here. Unfortunately, our estrangement has kept us silent and turned away from one another for almost three weeks. Yesterday, without hesitation, I picked up the phone and dialed her number. When she answered, I apologized, I told her I loved her, I told her I too was scared about the future, but could we please talk, could we please come back together. She accepted my apology and I told her we would speak later that evening. When our home phone rang yesterday evening, as much as I wanted to remain cuddled watching a movie, I went to answer. My Mother told me she had bad news. Her Mother had passed away. I sat down and listened as she spoke and her sadness began unfolding. My Mother's mother, left my Mother when she was a baby. She left her to be raised by a Grandmother, who died shortly thereafter. My Mother was passed between relatives until, her Father finally claimed her and brought her to live with his new wife and four children in another city in Haiti. My Mother was 12. Though she was treated with some kindness, she was always clear of the fact the she was an outsider and I don't beleive she has ever really reconciled that belief. When she turned 17 my Mom came to the United States to reconnect with her Mother, who by then lived in Florida. For the next several years, her mother abused her repeatedly physically and emotionally. My Mother fled Florida and went to NYC were she had a half sister living. Her half sister is my fathers cousin and from there you know how the story goes. Some 20 years later my Mother reconnected with her mother and though they developed a relationship it remained dysfunctional and strained. 12 years ago, my Mom made the decision to sever ties with her motther. Her voice on the phone last night was so pained, so sad and though she stated that she felt no remorse for the time and distance between them, she longed for the feeling of loss as a daughter would or should. Through her tears, she spoke of how she never imagined her life to be this way. She cried for my brother and sister, she cried for her desire to experience true love in her life. She described her thoughts from earlier that day as she came home another evening to an empty house and sat still with an empty heart. My God, my God, these moments of such despair, they move me to a deep aliveness that I almost cannot endure. I listened for some time as she cried, all the while grateful, so grateful that I had the inclination to call and apologize on this very day of her loss. When I hung up the phone, I fell to my knees and wept for what seemed like hours. I wept for my Mother, I wept for my family, I wept for myself, I wept for my mistakes, I wept for my courage, I wept for my love, I wept and I wept. When the tears subsided, I lay in my beloveds tender embrace and listened as he gently spoke. For the first time I believed him when he said "baby, it's all going to be alright. We will think of something to make it all okay."