The Lovers, The Dreamers... and Me

I was all geared up to write a post about something funny that my best friend texted to me today, but this whole situation about that young boy in New York, Leiby Kletzky, has me in knots. I can’t stop thinking about him and his parents and his community. Between this child and Caylee Anthony and all the other kids we hear about – or don’t hear about – in the news… if you allow it to, it can really eat you up inside.

So today we’re going to focus on something positive and light, to fight off the grief and focus on hope. Today is about the little ones. Our little ones. Yours and mine. Whether you’re a parent or a grandparent, an aunt or uncle, a cousin or a friend of a very young member of our species (or two, or three), let’s chat about our tiny people. Even if your child is all grown up or is gone-too-soon, I want to hear about him or her. What is your keenest memory or favorite ritual or funniest story? What would you share with the world about your child, if you could?

I’ll start. My favorite ritual with my kids is singing to them at bedtime. Just before my little Bear was born, I developed an urge – from where, I know not – to relearn “Rainbow Connection.” Do you remember that song? Kermit the Frog sang it in The Muppet Movie. I adored that song when I was little, and in recent years it’s resonated more and more for me. So from the first day I brought my son home from the hospital until well into his twos, I sang him “Rainbow Connection” every night at bedtime. Looking back, if I had to choose a Kermit song, "Rainbow Connection" was probably a better choice than “It’s Not Easy Being Green.”

When Ballerina was born 17 months later, I decided to stick with the theme of rainbows and to sing her “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” It stuck for a while, but once the kids were old enough to communicate, it became clear that they both really loved “Rainbow Connection” best.

About a year ago, the bedtime singing kind of faded away, but a few months ago, out of nowhere, both kids started asking for “Rainbow Connection” again just about every night. So it’s our ritual once more. I even recently posted a video of myself on YouTube singing that song so that my husband could play it for our kids at bedtime when I went on a business trip across the country. For. Realz. (Don’t bother looking for it. It’s not searchable. Besides, YouTube is probably going to send the copyright police after me for singing it and posting it online. That is if the Defenders of Quality Singing don't get me first.)

I admit that tonight, while I sang to my no-longer-babies, I felt a pang, an ache, for Leiby Kletzky’s parents, knowing they won’t be able to have their bedtime rituals with him any longer. They won’t have the chance to hug him tight and give him a good night kiss. Not tonight. Not tomorrow night, either. So I hugged my two just a bit longer and gave them extra kisses, and I’ll try to remember to do those “extras” often. Oh, and I admit that maybe I sang “Rainbow Connection” with a bit too much gusto tonight… but what is it they say? Sing like there’s nobody listening?

I’ll leave you with the lyrics to “Rainbow Connection” (written by Paul Williams and Kenneth Ascher), but before I do, remember to go to Comments below and share something about your special little ones!

Rainbow Connection

Why are there so many songs about rainbows
And what's on the other side
Rainbows are visions, but only illusions
And rainbows have nothing to hide
So we've been told and some chose to believe it
I know they're wrong, wait and see

Someday we'll find it
The Rainbow Connection
The lovers, the dreamers and me

Who said that every wish would be heard and answered
When wished on the morning star
Somebody thought of that, and someone believed it
Look what it's done so far
What's so amazing that keeps us star gazing
And what do we think we might see

Someday we'll find it
That Rainbow Connection
The lovers, the dreamers and me

All of us under its spell

We know that it’s probably magic

Have you been half asleep, and have you heard voices
I've heard them calling my name
Is it the sweet sound that calls the young sailors
The voice might be one and the same
I've heard it too many times to ignore it
It’s something that I'm s’posed to be

Someday we'll find it
The Rainbow Connection
The lovers, the dreamers and me

La da da dee da da dum

La da da da da dee da do

A First That Hurts

Last week marked my mother’s birthday as well as that of her best friend, Sharon. It also marked the first time that we had to celebrate Sharon’s birthday without her. If you’ve ever lost someone close to you, you know how these special “firsts” can take you by surprise, bringing you up short and almost halting time for a moment. Once you get your bearings again, the day seems to echo with an odd resonance.

Today’s post is my dedication to Sharon. I promise it’s not weighty or depressing, because that wouldn’t do justice to Sharon, who epitomized the exact opposite of depressing. If you’re looking for off-kilter or even a little funny, you may want to check out my last 2 posts before this about a really odd seatmate of mine on a flight to Phoenix or some surprisingSkymall offerings. However, I promise you that if you read on, there’s a good chance you’ll understand why I believe so strongly in the goodness of people.

Sharon.

My mom met Sharon during her freshman year in college. Not long after my parents divorced when I was 2 years old – and I’ll tell you, all of my parents and stepparents are good friends, so it’s possible, people – my mother and I moved close to Sharon and her family. As a single parent of a small child, my mom had to lean on her support system, so I got to spend a lot of time with Sharon. I count her as another mom, in many ways.

That's my mom on the left and Sharon on the right. Weren't they cute???

So what was she like? Let’s start with the surface stuff. Sharon was beautiful. Seriously. You know how some women are said to “light up a room” by just entering it? That described Sharon. She was blonde with huge eyes and an even bigger, omnipresent smile. Her smile…  it was infectious. And it emanated from within. Even when she discussed serious topics, her smile would only disappear for a brief time. It’s like she couldn’t contain the positive inside her.

Sharon loved to laugh with her friends and family and to focus on the joys in life. When talking with family and long-time friends, she got a kick out of retelling shared stories and incidents. For instance, she loved to remind me about how when I was very small I was inexplicably terrified of her first husband, Tom, a very kind, gentle man who happened to be very tall. One time, when I was maybe 4, we all – Sharon, Tom and their kids – were piling into Sharon’s car to go somewhere.  As we were getting situated, I did one of those slow movie glances to my left – staring briefly at the legs on the seat next to me and traveling up the body until I reached the face – and started screaming when I realized I’d ended up next to poor Tom. Poor, kind, gentle, very tall Tom. But in Sharon fashion, she simply laughed, said “Oh Megan,” and moved me to a different seat.

That’s the thing about Sharon. She rarely got outwardly angry. Don’t get me wrong, she was tough and strong and driven, and she kept us kids in line. But even if you did something to upset her, being with Sharon felt… safe. Sharon was love personified. I know that sounds hokey, but it’s a fact.  

Sharon and me, 1979.

I have so many memories of Sharon and her family. Going on vacation to the beach (Rehobeth? Bethany?). Spinning on the flat spinning thingy on the playground near their house in Virginia. My mom and stepfather getting married in a lovely ceremony in Sharon’s backyard in New Jersey. After the wedding, my new sister and I stayed at Sharon’s while our parents went on their honeymoon, and by the time they returned we had acquired a black kitten. I could go on and on. There’s a quote in my favorite movie, Field of Dreams, that describes how I’m feeling while writing this: “The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces.” Can't you just hear James Earl Jones' voice saying that line? Best. Movie. Ever.

But I digress... Sharon, she radiated. That positive spirit of hers was almost palpable and seemed to infuse her entire being with enviable energy. As my mother says, she never let moss grow under her feet, and she was always involved in something. Think you can’t have several successful careers in one life? Don’t tell Sharon. During the many iterations of her career, she was involved in sales, marketing, training, property management, and education. In Miami, while managing a high-level job at a prestigious college, she also established a very successful high school for at-risk students.  She even volunteered with the Civil Air Patrol, an organization her wonderful husband continues to support.

Sharon was ill for several years before she finally succumbed late last year, but she had the kind of spirit that made it almost impossible to tell she was sick. Even when she knew her time was going to be short, she always kept charging ahead. Her illness and the treatments for it kept her from working full-time, but Sharon still continued to make her mark. Among other things, she helped set up a law office for her daughter, managed benefit dinners for a homeless shelter, remained involved in Civil Air Patrol activities, as well as helped set up a trail system AND wrote a book about Quechee, VT, her final home town.

There were so many times during Sharon’s last year when the doctors were sure that this was it. We needed to prepare for the inevitable. And then Sharon would miraculously bounce back. When I say bounce back, I mean bounce back. I mean that yet again she would travel, visit friends, chatter away in her sweet, high-pitched voice that 100% mirrored her personality. There was one point late last summer that seemed more serious, and it was at that time that the thought popped into my head, “Wow. She may not see another Thanksgiving. How can she not experience another Thanksgiving?” I’m not sure why this particular thought kept spinning around my brain, but it knocked me off my feet. And then, a few days later, Sharon bounced back again.

We suspect, frankly that the Queechee book project – making sure it was completed and perfect – kept her alive and motivated in her final months. She was absolutely determined to finish that book! True to form, Sharon didn’t want to shirk her responsibilities, let anyone down or make anyone finish what she’d started. Let me tell you, Sharon finished that book. 100% complete, not rushed, not thrown together. Perfect. And she did it all with that incredible Sharon smile.

In among all that joy and positivity, Sharon did have one regret: that she didn’t go to the doctor earlier to find out what was wrong when she started feeling unwell and that she didn’t get a colonoscopy years earlier. (That’s one regret because it’s all tied together, you see.) In the end Sharon, was diagnosed with colon cancer. She fought her cancer for years, and she made those years count. There were highs and lows, but the fact remains that she truly lived her life before the diagnosis, and then she truly lived her life after as well.

So for those of you who know me and who get sick of my insane need to look at the positive, to find the silver lining even in the worst of scenarios, now you know where I learned it. Now you know why I can take in all those strange and sometimes happy and sometimes tragic topics I practically ingest – news and books and films and articles – and still remain convinced that people are innately good and that the world is pretty wonderful. It’s been taught to me over a lifetime by two amazing best friends – Sharon and, of course, my Mom (who is still here) – who shared so much in common… most importantly and amazingly, all things considered, a joyful outlook on life.

So happy birthday, Sharon. Thank you for all the gifts you gave to all of us… including the best one of all: time with you.