“Would you like
a picture of the three of you?’
Dave asked. Naturally, they
were delighted by his offer.
After they’d checked out Dave’s shots from their perch on
the rock, the woman in cornrows, Ann-Marie, I soon learned, twisted toward me
and said, “Is he a photographer?
Just has a way….”
Her friend, Maxine, slid to the ground and strolled over to
where I sat nearby on the grass. “We have reason to celebrate,” she
volunteered. She nodded toward
Ann-Marie and said quietly, “A year ago, I was with her when she had surgery.”
A few years back, I would have left it at that, but since
I’ve had cancer and Ann-Marie is a woman, I said, “What kind of surgery?” Given the statistics, it was almost a
formality.
“Breast cancer,” she replied, and the sadness is, I wasn’t
surprised.
When Ann-Marie joined us, I told her of our bond and hailed
her as a sister. Her
nice-stranger-smile deepened to one of connection, and she hugged me tight, a
hug infused with shared fear, relief, hope, and gratitude, then she settled to
the grass next to me, just barely loosening her hold.
I was half in her lap, my hand in hers, as the five of us
spoke for close to an hour.
“During diagnosis and treatments, it was the circle of love that kept me
going,” Ann-Marie said as she smiled at Maxine. “The circle of love is essential.” With our hands still clasped, her eyes locked on mine, she
added, “There is no coincidence in our being here, together, in this
place.” And I knew she drew
strength from our companionship in cancer, just as I had from Joanne, Dede, and
Wendy. The disease and fear might
have been ours to fight as individuals, but we were not alone.
Nor were Dave and I alone this weekend; we had a date on the
hill above New Harbor, so it was time to mount up. Dave took group pictures, we exchanged emails and hugs, our
three new friends headed to the lighthouse for a tour, and Dave and I retrieved
our bikes for the ride back to the hill.
For over a decade, our September Block Island gathering has
served as escape and celebration. In 2008, the route to Point Judith was tagged
with evacuation signs and cars, countless cars, heading the opposite direction
as a hurricane blew in. Did we
postpone? No! Otie and Janet made the trip from
Pittsburgh a day early just in case, and our Connecticut contingent barreled
ahead, thrilled at the prospect of howling winds and pounding surf. There was one brief moment on the way
up, after we’d passed the third evacuation sign, when I thought, are we
being stupid about this? Forget about it! All aboard!
In 2009, the weekend fell during my second round of
chemo-loser days. I’d just lost my
hair and felt logy and sad, plus it was windy and rainy and I worried about
errant gusts stealing my scarf. Dave
had thrown out his back and we were a gimpy, pathetic pair – not our usual BI
selves. The Friday ferries were
cancelled, so we made the crossing on Saturday; the rest of the group – Hallie,
Buck, Steve, Deb, Len, Mary, Otie, Janet, and Joan – had taken an earlier boat. They met us at the dock, a receiving
line of loving friends. They relieved
us of our backpacks, and Dave and I rented a mo-ped, a motorized means to
free-wheeling, so we could keep up.
Every year, on the Friday of departure, there’s the ordeal
of the white-knuckled drive down I-95, zipping along at 15 mph through rush hour
traffic to make the last ferry.
Once that ferry pulls from the pier, however, there is water between us
and …everything else. Water
between us and worry. Water
between us and doctors. Water
between us and the ability to take care of to-dos, commitments, and concerns. Through
Steve’s diagnosis, Colombo’s strokes, hurricanes, and my cancer, Block Island
has been gloriously and blessedly AWAY.
I hesitate to speak to my Sylvestros of God, but this
weekend, that of Steve and Debby’s 40th anniversary, I sensed His
hand in the brilliance of the sun, meadows of golden rod glowing yellow,
sapphire seas, and blue skies swirled with playful wisps of clouds, a setting
fit to honor four decades of marriage.
By the time Dave and I pedaled up, most of the others were
on the hill, spreading blankets on the grass, hauling a ponderous picnic table
to a level spot, opening bags of chips - tortilla and potato - and the
requisite containers of hummus.
While mudslides – a frozen chocolate/coffee/rum confection– are always
the drink of choice, Hallie was also chilling champagne.
What would be the afternoon’s format? No one was sure. While this time together on the hill
was a given, the anniversary layer was uncertain. A few weeks before, Deb mentioned to a few of us her wish to
renew her wedding vows. “When we
got married, I said the words I was supposed to say, but I was a kid. I didn’t
get it. Now I do. It’s not always easy. You have to work things through. It really is ‘in sickness and in
health.’ After forty years, I know about commitment. I’ve lived what I vowed.”
Steve, I’d heard, was not so sure about the renewal of vows
piece, but he’d bought Deb – forty years later – an engagement ring, and today,
he would present it.
Others had planned their own presentations. Moo had flown in from New Mexico, her
first trip to the Block. She’d
done some research on traditional 40th anniversary gifts and had
something hidden under a sweatshirt in her bike basket. Nelson and his wife Ann had also joined
us, and Nelson had worked with the island to create an appropriate gift.
Steve and Deb’s son, Trevor, had thought the celebration was
the next day. Oops. So, as the rest of us chatted and
sipped mudslides, Trevor sat eyes and fingers to phone, working on his toast
while his wife, Lisa, and soon-to-be-three daughter, Ava, spilled packets of
colorful sand on paper, preparing a bee-u-ti-ful picture.
Because Dave is an online-ordained minister of the Church of
Spiritual Humanism, a justice of the peace, and Steve’s brother, he was chosen
to orchestrate events, whatever those events might be. After Ava changed into a pale blue
princess gown and donned long pink gloves with the help of two young courtiers
enlisted at the playground, Dave rose to chorale our attention.
Until he spoke, we were scattered, small groups on blankets
facing this way and that, but when Dave began to speak, we naturally formed a
circle, a circle of love. Deb and
Steve were the focus, at the head of the circle, but in a circle, actually, there is no
head, so all the words spoken of lasting love and friendship were spoken for
all of us, everyone in that circle.
Steve’s white mane, Deb’s river of blond hair, a circle of
sunglasses, a circle of soul-deep smiles that have beamed at each other and at
these two people for most of those four decades. There have been losses, hospitals, worry and nursing homes,
but there’s been traying at Trinity, cheering at races, work at Eagle Hill,
hunkering down for hurricanes, dancing at Captain Nick’s, trips home for the
holidays, weddings, Trevor and Christopher’s concerts, strumming guitars, playing with Ava, and this shared weekend on the Block. How does that translate into words?
We tried… with laughter, stories, tears, and hands to
hearts. We spoke of Steve and
Deb’s love, their courage, their example, and their role in bringing us all
together. Dave, who accompanied
Steve and Deb on most of their dates and followed Steve to high school,
college, and Eagle Hill, relayed a dream in which Carolyn, our recently
departed friend, told Dave “True love is a gift,” thus giving him his message
for this day. With great ceremony,
Moo unwrapped her offering: an eggplant engraved with “Happy 40th
Anniversary.” Nelson unveiled a
rock-solid symbol of love, a rock, in fact, found on the beach, shaped like a
heart, and signed by each person in the circle.
Trevor waited until everyone else had said their piece, then
mused aloud, “How do I say thank
you for all the love and caring over the years? How
do I repay all the sporting events, girlfriend advice and all the hours you
lost when
I was late coming home (or would fail even to come home)? What can I give
you for all the times you supported me in my triumphs, and provided a shoulder
when there were losses? What present is there for all the times we just sat
together and shared…whatever? How do I
thank you for the guidance when I was
unsure of my way, and your restraint to allow me to find it myself? You nurtured
my growth, yet allowed me my independence. So… what gift is enough for
two kickass parents?
The answer came to me today. And no box can hold it, no wrapping can cover it. No store had it on a shelf. My gift is not to you, it is to my little girl. I promise to care for her the same way you did for me.
And
someday, just maybe she'll say, ‘How can I thank you -- for all you've done for
me?’
Hopefully
I get the chance to tell her, ‘Don't thank me. Thank your Mimi and Poppy.
Because I'm the product of their love.’”
Whooshhhhhh. Tears. Tears around the circle. Every one of us wiping eyes and cheeks as Steve and Deb
reached out to their boy for hugs.
And then, thank God, Deb requested a bathroom break before the
boys brought out guitars to sing.
Trevor called his brother Christopher, in Arizona, who spoke to his
parents and sang along via speakerphone, as Otie, Dave, and Trevor played the
Wedding Song, as it had been played at the marriage forty years before.
And that would be a good place to end, a moving place, but
Nelson emptied and upended a beige plastic ice bucket, now a drum, and joined
the musicians. Steve whipped out
his harmonica and Len scrolled through words on his cell for round two of the
festivities: Sloop John B, The Boxer, and Shanty. A gleeful blond princess whirled to the music, arms
outstretched as her own kickass parents looked on.
7 comments:
This gave me chills. Thanks for sharing, as always, Lea! Lots of love! Linds
This one got right into me Lea. That is a beautiful story. Not the first time you have written about your illness if I recall correctly, but you still wear this positive and glowing gown of loving support and understanding. How blessed I am to know you and Dave. Thank you for sharing this with us. Much love. Billy.
Lea - what a great piece. Loved it, so beautiful and love the generations sharing in an anniversary.
Gorgeous - the day, the sentiments, the serendipitous encounters, the planned (40 years!) reunion, the son's perfect toast - very moving all. xxxx Tricia
Thanks for capturing this spectacular moment, Lea! A highlight among the many highlights that BI has offered us over the years. Your words brought that incredible occasion to life again today. Renewal.
Loved it, Lea. What a wonderful way to spend your 40th anniversary. It sounds like you and Dad have much to celebrate. I like the way you're adding more pictures.
Love this!! Trevor's words are so true...all of us of this generation have a lot to live up to with all of you and you've been great role models for our kids and us...many happy memories :) xox...love reading your blog!
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