Crazy Love

I have been thinking about love in its various forms lately. Now that my first semester has come to a close, I am able to ponder life's biggest mystery - love.

My life in Austin is a solitary one. Sometimes I feel like a mother no more. Days of children and the constant swirl of activity associated with child rearing seem like a fictitious past. Rena calls daily and has visited several times; however, Jonathan has visited once for only a day and we speak sporadically. In my worst moments of doubt I ached for my son. I am not sure why his was the face I longed to see, though it may have something to do with the battle we fought against the school district and special education services when he was in 6th grade. There were no darker days. Jonathan and I were in lockstep as we climbed a slippery slope for five months while his fate hung in the balance. I was consumed with securing his placement in a private school at the district's expense per ADA law. I locked my door at work and sobbed at the thought of my son in the clutches of people who felt it was their professional entitlement to inflict damage upon him rather than evaluate a system that disproportionately herded black males into special education and served as a port of entry to the criminal justice system. I will never forget a particular moment when I was deep in thought, my mind spinning as I drafted emails and strategy in my head. I felt Jonathan's presence and looked up and to see his worried face staring at me intently. His concern seemed more for me than himself. No words passed between us, but in that moment I felt an electric transference of mutual strength and love, and the message was clear - I will never falter when it comes to you and your well being. I am your net and you are mine.

The love a parent feels for their child is the gripping kind that rips your chest open and exposes vulnerabilities you would rather forget you have. It places you square in the middle of a rock and a hard place. In retrospect, I wish I had done less to cushion their blows, let them feel the burn at a younger age and face consequences too painful for me to bear, not necessarily them. Parenting is the great equalizer, decimating any false pretense of arrogance you posses in an instant. There is no more humbling an experience. The days of passing judgment on how other people raise their kids comes to a grinding halt when you become a parent and find yourself in a daily quandary that tests everything you thought you knew but really didn't. I described motherhood to my friend Muhsana in the following way: you would throw yourself in front of a speeding train for them without hesitation, and when parenting drives you to a breaking point you feel like tossing them in front of the same train. What besides love for a child could cause complete contradiction, complication, and loss of self and sanity?

Love for a child is a life long proposition. Romantic love comes and goes, sometimes with a new partner or repeat performances with someone time and time again. My own tumultuous road trip of relationships has taught me one thing for sure - never say never. When I think I have reached my capacity to love or be compelled by another human being I find myself elevated a few inches off the ground by the brush of a shoulder against mine. When I gladly locked the door and threw away the key (for good of course), relieved that menopause provided the perfect excuse to avoid heartache, I hear a tap, tap, tap on the door asking permission to enter. There is something about human contact that is both terrifying and necessary. Perhaps there are lessons best learned alone while some require the accompaniment of others. The truth is, love is a form of magic. Its potency can be healing or toxic depending on an infinite number of factors that make it impossible to write prescriptions for its best application. My friend Chuck used to say solitude was addictive in its quiet predictability. Love challenges us to take the ride again and subscribe to optimism against our better judgment. The element of surprise is confounding, nudging us off centered ground and back onto the roller coaster. And this can be done at any age as I recently learned.

My 80 year old brother-in-law Rob returned to his hometown of Mart, Texas several years ago after he retired as a bus driver from the transit system in Denver. He was blinded by glaucoma after retirement, living in a dark and solitary place though managing with a large degree of independence thanks to three time weekly visits by my sister-in-law. My nieces and nephews in close proximity stopped by often with their grandchildren in tow for hours of porch storytelling. Rob proclaimed to be happy on his own, and after his first wife died and his second marriage ended in divorce, he considered that part of his life had reached a conclusion. Enter Miss Zelma Sharpe, a former classmate who admired him from afar since their school days in Mart, and widower also living alone in Mart. At church she kept her distance, and Rob being blind could not see her. Somehow her admiration became known to my nieces and the matchmaking began in earnest. Rob protested, insisting he was happy alone; however, he humored us and played along in jest. On a return trip to Mart one of my nieces informed me they had begun courting for real, no jokes this time.

I stayed at Rob's house while working on the (Re)Building Memory Project. Solitude was replaced with giggles and laughter, hand holding and kissing,reminiscing about days gone by. Minutes after Miss Zelma left to go home the phone would ring, informing Rob she had arrived safely. Rob would lay his head in her lap, Miss Zelma stroking him as they listened to music for hours on end. They resembled teenagers, lovestruck and unable to believe their good fortune to have fond each other again. Each tells their own version of how they thought the other was uninterested while harboring a secret crush. They went on to marry other people and have children, live long lives filled with triumphs and tragedy. The circle of life came round to a place where it began. Rob cannot see the love that illuminates Miss Zelma's face; however, we know he feels it. A few days before the wedding Rob confessed to my niece Cindy that he didn't want to be alone anymore. The most jaded person could not help but be moved by love recovered at this age.

I was buying books at the Co-Op in August when I received a call informing me I was going to get a new sister-in-law. Rob and Miss Zelma were to be married the Saturday after Thanksgiving before family from all over the country. On subsequent visits to Mart, Miss Zelma was like a young bride to be,barely able to contain her excitement. On the day of the wedding, the church parking lot was filled to capacity as were the pews. My nephew Buck is the Pastor of the church and officiated the wedding ceremony. When he pronounced them man and wife there was a short pause, and the audience called out for the kiss. Buck turned to us and said, "I've got this!" and led the couple to the candle lighting. We exploded in laughter. They finally kissed a long rapturous kiss, provoking thunderous applause. As they walked down the aisle arm in arm, the song "The Prayer" played. Tears streamed down my face, and my heart swelled with hope. The possibility of second, even third chances seemed plausible. At the reception, Zelma and Rob leaned into each other, creating a soft comfortable haven of their own as the world turned around them.

Driving home to Austin that evening with my daughter Rena, the magic lingered. I thought about love and its ability to surprise even the most vehement of skeptics. Living the solitary life in Austin and studying most hours of the day had taken a toll on me. I wondered if I would ever be able to share my life with someone the way Zelma and Rob had chosen to do. I had opted for a less threatening kind of love with Pepsi and Pearl as my emotional touchstones. They greet me upon my return each day and cuddle with me at night, no questions asked. I navigated a marriage, child rearing and several relationships with the best of intention. My heart has been broken and repaired, and despite feeling I would never get over the bitter taste of loss and betrayal, I managed to release anger that burdened me for years in favor of forgiveness and liberation. Perhaps it is the only way to make room for love to reclaim us.

In the aftermath of the first semester of my PhD program, I have quite a bit of time on my hands. I think how nice it would be to raise a glass and toast my accomplishments with my partner, or lace our fingers together at the movies and sleep in on a weekday. The solitude I so desperately sought to focus on my studies presents an upside as well as a down. However, the absence of a physical body is not the same as absence of love. I feel love floating out there, landing in front of me when I need it the most. While taking my statistics final, there was a computer glitch that caused me to take the exam a second time (in tears). I heard a incoming text beep on my iPhone and reluctantly paused to read the message. It was from my son, and simply said "I love you". Perfect timing, my deflated spirit was lifted, enabling me to proceed.

Love, like magic, is everywhere. We are required to open ourselves up to the possibility and remove preconceived conditions if we are to receive it. The ability to reckon and be with oneself is as important as the ability to connect. In essence, they are two sides of the same coin, a metaphor for love in all its various forms. There is no expiration date on love, as proved by Zelma and Rob. I like the never too late thing, and it looks like it might be catching on. Rumor has it my 70 year old sister-in-law, now residing in Mart on an extended vacation from Denver, is courting her childhood sweetheart, a retired teacher and career military man. He recently built a large new house in nearby Waco, and I hear from a reliable source she is spending a good chunk of time there. Yesterday we spoke on the phone and she sounded like a school girl giddy in love. When questioned about the possibility of returning to Texas permanently, she could barely conceal her excitement. "Things are looking up" she proclaimed. One day you are living in an apartment in Denver, reconciled to being alone after a lifetime of care taking, satisfied to savor joy in your children and grandchildren. Unexpectedly, life takes a turn, ushered by love. As high school sweethearts, dashed hopes soon become a routine aspect of life; however, rekindled love experienced at 70, or even 80 years of age, has the ability to make good on broken promises, ease the pain of a shattered heart and chase away loneliness, reminding us that it really is never too late. Love, love, love, love, crazy love....