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| With Mom at the Ray Jason Day event |
The melancholy is heavy on me this morning. It is my Mom’s death day. And even though it was on a September 5th
many years ago, I still grieve … deeply.
I was beside her in the emergency room in her final minutes. She was already unconscious and the doctors
were trying to shock her back. I knew
she would not return. She had told me so
the day before.
*******
It had been her first day of physical therapy after a
very severe cardiac attack that left her with only a third of a functioning
heart. With me holding one arm and the
nurse on the other, we tried to gently help her take a few steps. She could not. This just staggered her. When the nurse left us alone we had our last
conversation together.
I tried to encourage her by
emphasizing that the progress back to mobility would be slow, but that it would
come. And I emphasized that her five
children would be able to take turns visiting and encouraging her in her
recovery. My message was that even
though her body was weak, her will was strong, and she could regain a
satisfying and meaningful life. But she
felt – and her instinct was probably correct - that the best she could expect
was the slavery of a wheelchair and a grim future in an assisted care facility,
watching TV with a bunch of other sad invalids.
She did not want to burden her
children with the expense that such an existence would involve. And she was emphatic about not wishing to end
her days as a sickly and dependent woman.
So she confessed that when the next heart attack came, she would “let it
take her.” And she drew me close and
whispered to me in words far more poetic than I could ever write, “My wonderful
first born child, there is a time for fighting and a time for farewell. I’ve been able to say my goodbyes to all of
you kids now. The love and affection
that you blessed me with here in the hospital has been so beautiful and so comforting
that I am…ready.”
Such wisdom and eloquence was so overwhelming, that
all I could do was hug her gently … and cry… as I am doing now.
*******
My mom totally devoted her life to her children. And she was overjoyed by how we turned
out. I too, am proud of what fine,
caring and joyful people my brother and sisters are. And we all realize that most of our best
qualities stem from her selfless nurturing.
Even though she only had a high school degree, her
understanding of the joy and sorrow of human existence far exceeded what I
learned from my college philosophy professors.
Of all the lessons that she imparted to me the most important was the
need for basic human decency. And
she knew that the compass that leads an individual to such enlightened moral
conduct is within all of us. She understood
that we do not need governmental regulations or religious dogma to teach us how
to behave towards one another. She
emphasized that such knowledge is a part of everyone’s core wisdom.
Mom was also very courageous. My dad was a scientist – a smart and
successful organic chemist with many patents to his credit. As the first-born male child, he wanted me to
follow in his footsteps. But I was
always drawn to the arts. The words of
Socrates and Shakespeare sang to me, but chemistry did not. This led to intense emotional turmoil at a
very formative stage of my life. My
mother would always defend me. She
encouraged me to do whatever I wished in life as long as it harmed no one
else.
My contrary to ordinary spirit must have certainly
tested her patience in this regard, but she never complained. For example, I clearly expressed my rebelliousness
during my senior year at college. I had
been elected as the President of my student body. For the yearbook photo, my cabinet all wore
standard coats and ties, but I dressed like Steve McQueen playing a
lumberjack. When I showed it to her she
laughed until she cried and then she hugged me tightly and said, “You just keep
being yourself, son. Don’t ever worry
about them!”
*******
Even when I returned from Vietnam and turned my back
on my college education and became a San Francisco street performer, she never
wavered in her support and encouragement.
One episode from that period is amongst my most cherished memories. After 10 years as a prominent street juggler,
the Mayor of San Francisco honored me with an official “Ray Jason Day.” The award was to be presented at a large
event with thousands of people in attendance.
I flew my Mom out for the celebration.
As the Mayor finished her speech and handed me the ornate certificate,
my mom leapt to her feet and started applauding with her hands above her head,
no less. The rest of the audience
immediately joined her and for a fleeting moment in a sweet, rich life, I knew
what it felt like to be a folk hero.
*******
On that same visit, we went on a road trip. During my childhood, my mom chose Spanish
names for all of our family dogs - Pedro, Jose and Pancho. I was too young to detect how odd this
was. She also had a proclivity towards cheap
Mexican statuary that she used as yard decorations. In her defense, she never went so low-brow as
to buy a muchacho in a sombrero leaning against a cactus.
But as her kids grew up, we did razz her about this in
a good-natured way. Eventually, I
assumed that she must have had a brief fling with a handsome Mexican before she
met my dad. But she had never actually
been to Mexico – and so off we went.
For her very first night south of the border, I had chosen a hotel that
used to be favored by movie stars. I believe
it is called the Rosario Beach Resort.
Upon our arrival it was definitely not as glamorous as it had been when
Clark Gable might have visited.
But it was more than good enough for us. Sitting on the restaurant veranda drinking
margaritas in Mexico, and watching the sun slide into the Pacific, we
clinked our glasses together and shared a glance that was a blend of both joy
and sadness. For it certainly seemed at
that moment that this might be as close as human beings can ever approach to
true happiness.
*******
When I sailed away from the San Francisco street
performing scene to become a full-time sea gypsy, she again was a beacon of
encouragement. She especially liked the
fact that I was helping to pay for my wanderings by writing for the sailing
magazines. She loved being able to go
to the grocery store and pick up an issue with one of my stories in it. I have no doubt that she enthusiastically
pointed out my article to the bored, teenage check-out clerk who couldn’t care
less.
But she loved it even more when I would visit her in
person and regale her with my silly tales.
On one of my visits we went to a Fourth of July fireworks show at the
nearby fairgrounds. The spectacle
started uneventfully with the usual ooohhs and aaahhs on the really good
ones. Suddenly, a rocket that should
have soared 200 feet into the air, exploded after climbing only about 20
feet. The workers feeding the cannons
immediately knew it was a dud and dove for cover. Their dark silhouettes as they lunged for
safety were perfectly freeze-framed by the exploding fireworks.
Through the rest of the show about every fifth rocket
was a dud, and the poor pyrotechnicians had to catapult themselves out of
harm’s way. My mom dubbed it the Three
Stooges Fireworks Show. Even in her
final days, we laughed joyously when we recalled that distant summer evening.
*******
After our mother died, my sister Cindy was kind enough
to go through mom’s belongings. She
found a card that mom had set aside for my 50th birthday. Even from the grave she was encouraging me to
remain faithful to my own Path. It reads:
“Always be
true to yourself, my son, for there is greatness within you!”
Beneath the text there is a watercolor painting of two
sailboats gliding side by side. Even
though I am a single-hander, whenever I am out there, I like to think that I am
not alone and that my mom is back there sailing a watchful parallel course on
that other boat.
POSTSCRIPT: My
mom never got to read my first book, TALES OF A SEA GYPSY, so she didn’t get to
see my heartfelt dedication.
FOR MY MOM
She abandoned her own
wanderlust
in order to dedicate her
life to her five children.
That nurturing sacrifice
allowed
my gypsy spirit to soar.
In hundreds of ports and
half a hundred
countries, her quiet lessons
of compassion, humor and
courage
have smoothed this
vagabond’s Path.
