I Ran Away From Home and Joined the Navy

 While in Florida for spring break with Perri, we visited my Aunt Helen for lunch. Three years younger than my mother and now a spry 90-year-old, she still complains about being the middle child and the "abuse" she suffered as a youngster at the hands of my mother (the eldest) and her youngest sister, Miriam.

Aunt Helen, 1943
Pensacola, Florida

"I had a terrible temper when I was younger," she told me and Perri. She relayed the story about being teased by the other two while they were all cleaning the house. "I got so angry at them that I threw a chair and broke the leg. Of course, Garie told on me and I got in trouble."

As the eldest, my mother (Garie) was the only one who got the opportunity to go to college. Aunt Helen decided she had enough of being picked on. "I decided to run away from home and join the Navy. When I told my parents, they said I couldn't do that, but I told them I was 21 and I could. Nana said they would never take me because I had crooked teeth." But after a physical exam, she was, indeed, accepted and was stationed in Pensacola, Florida.

"I was trained to work with the pilots who photographed strategic positions during the war. I also did secretarial work and wrote training manuals. One time, my boss brought another officer into the room to show him how fast I could type. The other officer said that when I finished my tour with the Navy that I should contact him, that he had a job for me. It turned out he was a professor at Princeton. But when I got out, I never contacted him. I wonder what would have happened. Maybe my life would have been different." 

Aunt Helen in her dress blues, 1943

"Do you still have your uniform?" Perri and I asked. "No, when we got out I was so glad to get rid of it and not have to wear it again." She told us of wearing her dress blues for special occasions, while most of the other girls wore dress whites. "I couldn't afford the whites," she said. "My parents saw a picture of me in the blues, while almost everyone else was in whites, and asked why I wasn't in white. I told them that I couldn't afford the whites."

A few weeks later, she said, a package arrived from up North. In it was a white uniform that her father (a tailor) sewed. "He did all that for me without even having me there to measure anything out," she reminisced. "I was very close to my father."

Aunt Helen always wanted to go to college, but thought she never could because she didn't have the high school language and science requirements. "Because I was a veteran, however, they accepted me," she said. Unfortunately, she didn't enjoy her first round of classes so stopped. "I wonder what would have happened had I tried a different class, if I hadn't given in so quickly," she said. "Maybe my life would have been different."

Throughout the afternoon as Aunt Helen reminisced, she ended each story with "maybe my life would have been different if..." She's probably right; her life would have been different...if she had followed her passion, if she had not played it safe, it she had not chosen the path of least resistance, if....

So, the lesson here is to have no regrets. We can't go back and have do-overs. We can, however, choose to be daring, choose to try the road less travelled, choose to dream and go for it, choose to be happy with our paths in life.

Happy New Year

January 1, 2013

In years past, a few minutes after the ball dropped in New York City's Time Square I called my mom to wish her a happy new year. Last night was the first time in 55+ years that I have been unable to do so. All those wishes we shared for each other at 12:05 (after kissing our husbands and whatever friends we were partying with at the time) are now just memories. I have so much I still want to say to her but am unable to express.

In years past, I wished her another year of good health. While she has a strong will, each week that I visit I notice she is fading a little more, that muscles that once helped her sit up straight can no longer support her shoulders, that muscles that helped her smile are causing her mouth to droop. Thank goodness she can still express herself through her big, bright blue eyes. They light up when her grandchildren enter her room. They go large when there's something she agrees with, unable to voice the words. They cringe when she's in discomfort or doesn't like what she's being fed. I'm realistic enough to know that wishing her good health is fruitless; her health will not improve. But I wish her comfort and painlessness. I do not wish to see her suffer as she makes this final journey.

If my mother could speak, she would be wishing me good health as well. She would caution me about those extra pounds, about what I eat, about my much too sedentary lifestyle. So in her honor, I will try to be more mindful about my health, though red wine (supposedly good for the heart) will remain on my list!

In years past, I wished her another year of happiness. It was easy to make my mother happy—shopping, a visit with friends, an art show or trip to the museum, eating out or take-in Chinese, Scrabble games with anyone who would play with her (but especially with Marilyn), calls from her grandchildren, a good movie on tv, visits from her children, talking on the telephone with her friends, going to Florida in the winter, a whiskey sour. Unfortunately, her options are very limited these days. Partially deaf, bed bound and unable to speak, move, or eat anything but pureed food, she can't take pleasure in much. I know that she still enjoys hearing about the accomplishments of her children and grandchildren; she was always happy when we were happy. And I can bring her a whiskey sour the next time I visit!

If my mother could speak, she would be wishing me a year of happiness as well. She would tell me to look at the bright side and treasure the moment—the here-and-now. She would tell me to make more time for family and friends and to enjoy all the earthly things I can because our time here is so limited. She would tell me to travel, to read a good book, to go to a museum or ballet. So in her honor, I will live in the moment, cherish the rain as much as the sun, and even share that whiskey sour with her.

In years past, I wished her another year of dreams. My mother always said that being alive meant dreaming. It meant having a wish, a goal, something to strive for. It's what kept her going. A few years ago she shared some of her dreams—she wanted to see the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade from the viewing stands and she wanted to go to a fancy cocktail party on a yacht. More recently, it was to drive again. My brother understood that and insisted on keeping her car in her driveway after her brain surgery three years ago because he knew that it gave her a goal, something to strive for. He knew that it gave her hope.

If my mother could speak, she would be wishing me a year of dreams. She would tell me to aim big, to do something different that I hadn't done before. She would also tell me to enjoy the small stuff, because it is those moments that daydreams emerge. So in her honor, I will dream large and in multi-color...including orange.

In her honor, I wish you a year of health, happiness and dreams!