Tuesday, May 28, 2013

my sister's 70th birthday


I didn't do much from another state, but we plotted and schemed, and now she arrives innocently at her very own home in a strange reversal of her life. Here waiting surreptitiously inside are the friends she has served pot roast and pie week in and week out, with eager eyes and hushed giggles at her door. Then Surprise! Here is the woman she befriended at the shoe repair shop opening arms, I'm glad you're here! and another she took in like a daughter, whose own little girls now call her "grandma" Come in! We have decorated a cake and drawn pictures with Xs and Os just for you! Most of them are strangers to me.

At thirteen she was like a mother when I was born. She wheeled me in a buggy around the small town, hoping she would be imagined that way. I think she was born a mother.

Dozens of us are packed tight against each other to see her face. Some standing and clapping, some sitting because they can't stand. Her second husband and love of her life at the back strains his neck to see. Everyone is young again for a few hours, because she is young. My sister is young although she has brittle bones and broken discs. Young though she has endured excruciating pain since her thirties. Young with love, young with generosity, young with selflessness. She is never without pain; it is only a matter of relativity: Is today better than yesterday?

After half the party has left, we intimates hunch around her, sluffed but regal in her chair, smaller than I remember, her hair still red without chemicals, a basket of cards and a handful of gifts on the ottoman at her knee. Nothing extravagant. All pink and vibrant.

I begin to see her as I've never seen her. Here in her world away from mine, I see that I am after all not one of the intimate ones. I grow quieter and believe I might have disappeared, which I would like. My forehead is heavy and I am in its shadow, my mind is dark with wondering what I have done with my life as I watch and listen to her effortlessly thank each one whose card she has just read, one at a time. Each one someone who receives a call from her every week to see how they are, someone who finds that they need her because they have no one better. And who could be better?

On the table at her elbow, stems of white bridal veil spray around pink roses in a vase. My eyes fill and blur while I think of her twenty years from today, surrounded by the same friends, some absent because they have passed. “All life is an act of translation,” Fady Joudah said. The question is, what are we translating?


14 comments:

  1. How strange it is to see relatives in rather public contexts.
    One sort of imagines one 'owns' them - until we discover we don't!
    So sorry your sister has poor health - how very miserable for her to endure. I'm glad
    she has got the love of her life.
    This sounds a wonderful birthday party.

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    1. Thank you, Elizabeth.

      I remember the first time I realized my mother was a person. :) I think I was 13.

      My sister is really something, and she's more something the longer I know her. Her husband has really made a world of difference for her sense of wellbeing.

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  2. your last lines (and fady joudah's) just knocked me right over! yes, ruth! yes! translating, yes, and what? EXACTLY! (i think of this constantly, it nearly driving me mad.)

    but your sister. and you. and all others. each specific. this too is a conundrum i can not understand and wish too.

    i see you there fading even though you might wish it otherwise. i see you there:)))

    xo
    erin

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    1. Erin, who we are is buried inside bodies and mannerisms. I have to get past these things to see who my sister is.

      Aren't we all lonely in some way? Longing to be witnessed as we really are?

      For every person, I believe there is something I can relate to, if only I listen right, and long enough. I discover myself when I listen to another's story. Finding out how we are the same is the thing. I disappear, and then I find myself in a new way.

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  3. Sweet Ruth,

    you ask, "what have I done with my life?" My guess is you've been translating it into your own expression, different from, but as valid as, Susan's. "Each specific," as Erin says. And each universal in its specificity, I think. Thank you for this beautiful reflection. Can't wait to talk soon.

    Ing

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    1. Dear Ing, yes, the universal and specific, the mystery revealed in billions of different ways! It's fantastic.

      We will talk tonight! I'm so glad.

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  4. It's all so astounding- this aging business. Your beloved sister's 70th becomes the chance for you to see her in her larger than family context and celebrate her life. What you have done with your life is always a good thing to contemplate whatever the impetus. Maybe you see something from her life that you want to add to your life, that's good. But, maybe you're called to do a very different translation, essential to a whole different group of someones. Gratefully, I'm in that group.

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    1. Mary, and I am grateful to be in yours. Thank you.

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  5. In another context altogether (writing another story), I was thinking how you will be 70 in 2026...and I immediately said to myself, "I hope I'm still alive to see it!" So that is my wish, to see YOU at 70, dear sister. The one two years older than myself is the one I should probably know much better than you, but you already know her better. And I know you better than her....

    I paused while reading your poetic take on this special celebration. Susan really was a mother for us on so many levels. I wonder who mothered her? Did she feel mothered?

    And yes, I know of no one in so much pain who smiles and giggles more often than she!

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    1. Ginnie-Boots, there are many things in your comment to talk about, think about, feel about. I love them, and I love you.

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  6. Once again you put your thoughts into words that linger with me. I will stop and reflect on how I am translating life having read this. At my age I too find myself thinking forward 20 or so years at many moments and feel it is my last opportunity to translate well.

    Watching my children amongst their friends or at work gives me the same feeling of not being of their world and then I see myself in another one of their spheres.

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    1. It's true, GailO! It happens with our children too! And will happen with our grandchildren too. :)

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All responses are welcome.