Life is an always vibrant and
an often intriguing combination of opposites. Within the course of a week we can
have moments of great joy, and great sadness. We can suffer a horrible drenching
thunderstorm one day, and bask in the most beautiful combination of blue skies
and sunshine the next.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come
to understand that one of the best tools I have for living life is the ability
to “go with the flow”. If you’re a rigid sort, or if you’re excessively anal,
then life can be a frustrating experience. How much better, to just awaken each
day thankful to still be alive, and to say to the cosmos, “here I am, let ‘er
rip.”
These past few days have seen
occasions of celebration and commemoration for my family. Last Friday my brother
Charles and his wife celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. It
doesn’t seem possible, when I look back, that so many years have passed since
their marriage began.
I was eleven years old when my
big brother betrayed me by marrying Rosemarie. That’s how it felt at the time,
of course. He was my hero, and in lieu of our father who’d passed away just
three years before, my sister, who didn’t seem to like me much, and my mother,
who was either working or too tired from working to pay me much mind, my brother
was the most important person in my life.
Not only did he get married,
but his wife had sisters, three sisters who adored him! They’d probably always
wanted a big brother, and their dream had finally come true. These girls were
older than I by only a few years, and not being the kind at that tender age to
stand up and stand my ground, I let my anger show in other ways. For a short
time, I became a child who acted out.
Over the years, of course, I
grew older and I matured, too. Somewhere in my mid twenties, I decided to
rebuild my relationship with my brother, and my sister, this time from the
perspective of my faith.
My brother’s marriage
flourished, and he and Rosemarie had two sons, and now have four grandchildren.
Family and friends were present to salute them this past Saturday when we
attended a dinner in their honor. 50 years of the usual mixture of happiness and
tragedy, of good times and bad, with no thought of “ending it”, simply living
and loving and learning to get along.
There are many of us who are
involved in long term marriages, but not as many as there used to be. And that,
in my mind is a shame. There’s a comfort to be had from enduring together, and
growing old together, a comfort not found elsewhere.
And then yesterday, Tuesday,
marked the second anniversary of my sister’s passing. It’s hard to believe that
two years have gone by, but they have. I think of her life, one lived inwardly,
and I feel such sadness that her options were ever so limited. In her “heyday”
she lived a little wild—a lot of booze and a lot of men. I learned, only after
her passing, that her wild ways started very early. I never knew that, never
knew that at the age of eleven or twelve that she would sneak out of the house
at night, or steal alcohol from our parents. In 1960 the parental reaction to
such behavior was discipline, not therapy. It’s useless to ask the question, of
course, but I can’t help but wonder if her life would have been different if
today’s responses to certain behaviors existed back then.
In the last twenty years or so
of her life, my sister found a comfort and a place, and man who loved her flaws
and all. She achieved a measure of happiness, grounded in her routines. She died
far too soon, ultimately as a result of years of alcohol and prescription drug
abuse.
Two family milestones, at
opposite ends of the spectrum, occurred within the space of less than a week.
Life is like that—full of ups and downs, good and bad, joy and
tragedy.
As for me, I’ve learned to be
content within whatever circumstance I find myself. And I try to live each day
with not only an attitude of gratitude, but with the resolution that today, I am
going to touch someone in a positive way.
That’s my mantra, and it’s one
that has brought me peace.
Love,
Morgan
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