Friday, June 29, 2007 at 12:12am
A solemn anniversary among friends
Column: Interesting Times
"How doth the city sit solitary, that was full of people! how is she become as a widow!"
Verse one, Chapter One of the Book of Lamentations echoes in my mind on the journey to survive the death of my son — as it must any mother whose child predeceases her. I've traveled long geographical distances since my son's death 17 years ago — from Minnesota, where for over 50 years our families have spent summers at the lake and where I heard the news that Tom had been found dead in his apartment. Then to New York City, where his ashes were spread in the harbor and would go into the world as he wanted. Lifted out of the depression, there to Sweden and being cared for in a castle and then to a dark, snow-filled forest road through Norway to the farm where my relatives have lived since the 1400s, through a marriage proposal refused there, to the shores of Long Island to the high desert of Santa Fe.
In essence, I have traveled far, still wrenched and a bit in disarray on his birthday as I was this week. In essence I have zigged when I should have zagged, turned down gifts from God, new ways of living in new countries and I have suffered as a result when I did not have to suffer. And here I am now, still in thrall to times past.
Phyllis kindly suggested that we drive up to the Benedictine Monastery of Christ in the Desert at sunrise on Tom's birthday and listen to the monks chant Psalms at the morning service. Packing a picnic to eat by the Chama River, we set off as light spilled over the mountains. I did the driving and Phyllis did the "journalism thing" — asking me questions about Tom, whom she had never met. Under the circumstances I could not have asked for more. As I talked about the night I went into labor, about his complete and instantaneous healing of asthma at 8 months, about his skills and humor, about his rough teen years, the narrative seemed not only difficult but beyond fictional as in "you can't make this stuff up." We listened to the monks' chants and spent some silent minutes in the chapel, picked up a few things at the gift shop as a way of supporting the monastery and marking the day, and after our picnic by the riverbank headed back to Santa Fe, where we stopped for an espresso downtown.
Once a week family members who live in Santa Fe gather for dinner, and it was my turn that night to do the hostess thing. Heirloom tomatoes are in season at the Farmer's Market, and beets and salad greens and those all found their way to the table along with the pasta salad and watermelon, olive, red onion and feta cheese concoction from Nigella Lawson's "Forever Summer" cookbook. I couldn't imagine that anyone would eat the beet salad, but they did, and it was pleasant sitting out on the patio experiencing support without false sentimentalism. The day reminded me of the eagerness I had at Tom's birth, the ways he changed my life and the ways, even in death, my life could have been changed even for the better. Outside my remonstrances of self, outside all times and places and events, there is a provision, manna in the wilderness. My son's birthday repeats the manna.
— — —
Lynne Bundesen is the author of five books on religion and was adjunct professor at the Boston Theological Institute under a Templeton Science and Religion Grant. She is a three-time winner of the Religion in Media Award for her syndicated column on religion and is currently the spiritual expert for the physical and spiritual health website of Dr. Andrew Weil. Her email address is {email lynnebundesen@hotmail.com}lynnebundesen@hotmail.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Lynne Bundesen.
Verse one, Chapter One of the Book of Lamentations echoes in my mind on the journey to survive the death of my son — as it must any mother whose child predeceases her. I've traveled long geographical distances since my son's death 17 years ago — from Minnesota, where for over 50 years our families have spent summers at the lake and where I heard the news that Tom had been found dead in his apartment. Then to New York City, where his ashes were spread in the harbor and would go into the world as he wanted. Lifted out of the depression, there to Sweden and being cared for in a castle and then to a dark, snow-filled forest road through Norway to the farm where my relatives have lived since the 1400s, through a marriage proposal refused there, to the shores of Long Island to the high desert of Santa Fe.
In essence, I have traveled far, still wrenched and a bit in disarray on his birthday as I was this week. In essence I have zigged when I should have zagged, turned down gifts from God, new ways of living in new countries and I have suffered as a result when I did not have to suffer. And here I am now, still in thrall to times past.
Phyllis kindly suggested that we drive up to the Benedictine Monastery of Christ in the Desert at sunrise on Tom's birthday and listen to the monks chant Psalms at the morning service. Packing a picnic to eat by the Chama River, we set off as light spilled over the mountains. I did the driving and Phyllis did the "journalism thing" — asking me questions about Tom, whom she had never met. Under the circumstances I could not have asked for more. As I talked about the night I went into labor, about his complete and instantaneous healing of asthma at 8 months, about his skills and humor, about his rough teen years, the narrative seemed not only difficult but beyond fictional as in "you can't make this stuff up." We listened to the monks' chants and spent some silent minutes in the chapel, picked up a few things at the gift shop as a way of supporting the monastery and marking the day, and after our picnic by the riverbank headed back to Santa Fe, where we stopped for an espresso downtown.
Once a week family members who live in Santa Fe gather for dinner, and it was my turn that night to do the hostess thing. Heirloom tomatoes are in season at the Farmer's Market, and beets and salad greens and those all found their way to the table along with the pasta salad and watermelon, olive, red onion and feta cheese concoction from Nigella Lawson's "Forever Summer" cookbook. I couldn't imagine that anyone would eat the beet salad, but they did, and it was pleasant sitting out on the patio experiencing support without false sentimentalism. The day reminded me of the eagerness I had at Tom's birth, the ways he changed my life and the ways, even in death, my life could have been changed even for the better. Outside my remonstrances of self, outside all times and places and events, there is a provision, manna in the wilderness. My son's birthday repeats the manna.
— — —
Lynne Bundesen is the author of five books on religion and was adjunct professor at the Boston Theological Institute under a Templeton Science and Religion Grant. She is a three-time winner of the Religion in Media Award for her syndicated column on religion and is currently the spiritual expert for the physical and spiritual health website of Dr. Andrew Weil. Her email address is {email lynnebundesen@hotmail.com}lynnebundesen@hotmail.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Lynne Bundesen.