It’s Not For Me

I think about a lot of things and many people during these dark December days. I do wonder if this is happening because soon I must approach an end to my complicated journey.

I know now that it has taken a lifetime to appreciate the scenery and fellow travelers who shared my trip in time.

I am certainly not wiser today, but definitely more honest in evaluating both the yesterdays and the realities that now only I recall.

Finally, I must and can admit my life hasn’t been the traditional milk and honey of beloved storybooks.

Rather there have been ripples in the road that caused blood to stain and tears to flow. I have learned to love, but it also has taken decades to understand that this gift is invariably wrapped in pain.

I have made mistakes, big, small, minor and yes, several monumental.

I would prefer to wear the cloak of innocence, but when I retrieve it from the closet of memory, I see it is stained with both preoccupation and spotted with passive aggression,

I was unable to admit my garment of choice was not pristine until quite recently.

I wonder if that can be attributed to age, low blood sugar, or even called an long overdue confession. Possibly, a Mea Culpa, which sounds far more poetic.

I reflect on the sacrifices of those who chose to love me, and wonder if I ever truly appreciated not only their gift of love but life which is unretrievable.

My earliest memory is my hand being held by a young man with red hair. Each evening for the first six years of my life, we walked six city clocks to our tenament home where my young Father cooked and fed me dinner.

In the lingering aftermath of the famed fiscal Depression, Bill Donlon was certainly weary after a long day’s manual labor. His small privately owned auto parts business had been one of the first to admit bankruptcy. Now he was a mere employee of a competitor.

Yet somehow Dad (The Magician) always found time (after reading aloud a fairy tale,) to also listen to his daughter’s nightly prayers and encourage her to believe an angel always guarded her while asleep,

Years later, his tired hand was replaced when I noticed a new juncture in the road ahead. Suddenly another firm hand reached out for mine.

Without doubt or fear, I accepted the hand of my beloved, my Annum Cara, my lover, my husband, my life’s companion.

And from that moment on, I never knew a second of regret nor fear.

However, life eventually teaches humans (one and all) the same lesson. Soon I heard both their names announced for that final voyage home.

When much later the tears had finally dried and my heart was empty, I heard another quite different voice and surprisingly supportive.

It was not a familiar sound, but yet the words of encouragement traveled across the miles from Chicago to another metropolis, New York

The words I read of honest critical advice came in the mail from a man garbed in black and committed to his vocation. They also gave me the courage to follow another separate and distinct path in life.

Andrew Greeley believed I must share the music, the pain and the love God allowed to flood the days I have been granted on this earth.

I have taken his advice and hope today that none of the words, memories or diverse opinions I have spoken in print ever have given pain to another.

The road I have traveled has been rocky, filled with surprises of sunlight, embraced by amazing companions and insulated from clouds with the arms of love.

I hope it endures a bit longer, I hope to go to Katherine’s beautiful wedding.

But that is not for me to say, is it?