Reaching for the hand no longer there

Do you ever have one of those days where you feel like you are pulled toward something bigger than yourself? My friends who are highly religious (or moreso than myself) probably feel this way more frequently than I do. However, I definitely feel coincidences coalescing from time to time in a way that means...well...something.

Today I was visiting a friend's home while J enjoyed an impromptu play date with her daughter. I sat for a brief time with the girls buzzing around me, until the host's daughter proudly showed me a special gift she'd recently received - her own Bible. "I've wanted one my whole LIFE," she exclaimed, "and Mommy just got it for me!" She was obviously thrilled. As the girls sped off to some corner of the house, I sat alone, thumbing through the pages of the treasured book. I discarded some passages as mere stories, tucked some away as good life lessons to revisit with my girls, and chewed on a few others more thoughtfully. Later, chatting with another friend, I mentioned the unusual version of the Bible (she, too, a mother of a young girl and a follower of more formal religion), thinking her daughter might enjoy it.

In our conversation I mentioned my history with religion - primarily that I had little exposure as a child, given that my mother was a 'recovering Catholic.' This description often brings unexpected laughter from my audience, which is why I use it. I love to make people laugh. I then go on to say, "Yeah, my mom was born in the 40's, so she got to experience the mean old nuns who would whack your hand with a ruler if your handwriting wasn't just-so." This anecdote usually elicits a gasp of surprise, followed quickly by sympathy for my mother's long-ago plight. I enjoy the response - being able to share something personal in addition to telling a good story. This may sound detached or calculating, but really it's more of an explanation of how I handle chatting with acquaintances. As a deeply shy introvert, it's much easier to manage a pattern of conversation that has been practiced often over time than to just say what I am thinking or feeling. But I digress.

At this telling of my mother's history, I felt strangely disloyal. It wasn't funny - more of an exposure of her pain or insecurity that she carried well into her adult years. Why did I not mention how she would go back to reading the Bible when she felt troubled? But I let the twinges pass by unaddressed.

Later, when JBL came home, my mom's spirit returned to me. I was in the easy rhythm of dinner preparations. Salt and herb the lamb. Stir to emulsify the salad dressing. JBL preheated the grill then disappeared downstairs to select a wine for the meal, J trailing after him in an excited buzz of chatter and affection. It all came together and we settled at the table. "Enjoy," he said, pouring the wine, "It's a '99." I glanced up at the label which read 'Margaux.' I immediately pictured my mother sipping from a big balloon glass. "Smooth," she would sigh. This was her greatest compliment for either wine or scotch. Every red wine she ever had was compared to Margaux. I chuckle to myself now, knowing that Margaux is actually a sub-region within Bordeaux, though she spoke of it as though it was Cabernet Sauvignon. That sounds snobby, and I don't mean it to be. It's just...well...she was pure in her love for things, without pretense. Like Auntie Mame. But that's another post. Anyway, I sipped at the wine over dinner, and thought of her with distant affection.

The whirlwind of post-dinner activities ensued, after which I settled down for my usual hour or so in front of the TV while JBL finished up some work in his basement office. On PBS I saw a listing for Dr. Wayne Dyer ("Excuses Begone!") and immediately thought again of my mother. She loved this pop psychologist's books in the 70's, and would quote lines from them to my brother and I even though we had no context of either their relevance to her state of emotions, or to their general implications. We were all of 8 or 9 years old at the time. In retrospect, it was obvious she was trying to come to some resolution, to make some break with her previous life before my father. She did the best she could, accomplishing a remarkable transformation before sliding backwards and into herself later in life. But I can still remember her highlighting passages from Dr. Dyer's inspirational tomes, calling her sister or friends and chatting for hours about their deep meaning.

I watched the special for a few minutes, marveling at the speaker's ability to speak in an almost intimate manner to an auditorium full of strangers, until Dr. Dyer referenced his long-ago book, Erroneous Zones, and was shocked at the feelings that flooded me. This was the book my mother treasured in that innocent time of her 30's, when she felt safe enough to look behind her so she could move forward. For a moment I felt like she was sitting beside me, holding my hand.

I don't think there was anything more going on than a string of coincidences. I am not convinced there is anything magical involved, like my mother trying to tell me something. I just think it's striking, especially now that I have perspective and time on my side. And I wish she were here to talk to me about it.