It didn't come for my birthday or Christmas or Mother's Day or as a reward or treat.
It wasn't wrapped or bagged or accompanied by a card or gift receipt.
It was an experience, a lesson, a feeling.
For 23 days, my parents have been in Connecticut helping me recover by looking after me, the kids, the house, even Mama. It is the longest amount of time I have spent with them since I left home to pursue my Ph.D. in 1995.
And it was a gift.
To all of us.
The experience of living day-to-day for an extended period with my parents wasn't something I'd thought I'd have again. Sure, we do a week here or there, at the bay in Texas, here for Christmas, a few times a year. But this was different--there was no holiday, no long to-do list, no rush, not even a deadline; no sense of having to squeeze in several months' worth of living into 7 days; no feeling of it being out of the ordinary, a special occasion that had to be recorded, photographed, remembered. This was no vacation. It was just normal. Well, as normal as it could be under the circumstances. Just all of us in our house on our regular schedule, here, with them blending into our routine, our family life. But sure, not normal, or comfortable, or easy for them, who were taken way out of their daily lives. And I just think how special that was for Sis and Bud, to essentially get to live with their grandparents for three weeks. They ate three meals a day together, went shopping, ran errands, went to school, went to kung fu, had rest time, read, played, heard stories. It's as good as we get, living 1700 miles apart. The closest I remember coming to that with any of my grandparents was spending weekends with my great-grandmother by myself, which made me feel very special and very grown up. Of course, the kids are only five years old, but I think they will remember the experiences--of watching Robin Hood with Errol Flynn or Kiki's Delivery Service or My Neighbor Totoro, of playing catch or knights or hide and seek, of drawing, of baking monkey bread, of eating ice cream for my dad's 70th birthday, of playing dolphin in the swimming pool, of grilling in the backyard, of playing in the mud. The nature of the visit and my injury prevented me from spending much time with my parents, but we did have our moments. And while I've long had more of an adult's understanding of my parents, instead of my childhood opinions, there is always something more to discover, to learn. Because, of course, parents can change as much over the lifetime of their children as their children do, I believe, and not just from the child's perspective but in actuality. My mom has become more of a worrier, more contemplative, than I recall. My dad does more housework, is a caretaker, more than he was. In the last few years, they've discovered hiking and become regulars at the National Parks; travel is one of their favorite activities. Dad still loves keeping up with current events and politics, reading histories of the Civil War, WWII, the great Mississippi Flood, you name it; Mom, as always, enjoys books and ideas and experiences and her friends. And they love having grandkids, the two here, the one on the way.
I learned so much from them. Not learned as in "skill," like Mom's recipe for baked squash (like mine but with onions) or Pop's pots of green beans. Life lessons, parenting lessons, those intangible teachable moments when you learn something that they aren't trying actively trying to teach you. The way, I suppose, kids always really learn from their parents. Like how when someone needs you, you go, you do; no hesitations, no questions, no complaints, no expectations. Like love sometimes means sacrifice, of plans, of time, of comfort, of money. Like how it's best to do what is needed--the dishes, the gardening, the cooking--right then and there even if you would rather sit down or play or leave (Mom's "bohemian" work ethic). Like how two partners can grow older together (it's 46 years for them in a month), becoming closer friends than when they began, because they truly love, like, enjoy, and respect one another. Like how to take the grief of loss (the death of my aunt, my dad's sister), the fear and pain of injury and illness (remember that my mom has a broken foot!), the frustration of limitations and changes in plan, in stride with equanimity and calm amid the joy of family, the companionship of friends, and the routine of the everyday. Like how being a parent really never ends because you worry, take care, enjoy, are needed, are loved, regardless of your child's age or circumstances.
There's something about having my parents around that was so comforting. It reminded me of being a little girl. You know the feeling, it's dark or stormy or you have a tummy ache or hear a noise but you know your parents are there so it's okay regardless. In our relationship, Mama has often been of similar comfort to me. But these weeks, with her at work, my parents again fulfilled that traditional role of caretaker which took me back to when I was Sis and Bud's age. And it wasn't even the bringing up of my lunch or my heating pad or my medicine or helping me roll over, stand up, go to the bathroom, just the physical, proximate presence of love, care, support, generosity, loyalty, protection.
I don't know what my parents would say they got out of the last few weeks. What would the tree say she got from the boy in The Giving Tree? (And while this last three weeks has been very one-sided, I don't want our whole relationship to be quite as unbalanced as the boy and the tree). I know what I hope they got: the comfort and satisfaction of knowing that they really provided tangible and effective help by taking care of us all--the kids' daily needs, Mama's need to keep going to work and have help around the house without burning out, my need to get better; a sense of what our lives are like here so that even when we are apart again, they can better picture us; the joy (mostly!) of spending an unprecedented amount of time with their grandkids; the experience of two seasons in New England, almost simultaneously--the end of summer and the beginning of fall; all the wonderful produce, especially the green beans and tomatoes, that they relished from our CSA; oh, and that one day they got to explore the Hudson River Valley, their single "day off."
And how do you say thank you for all of that? How do you express your gratitude? How do you repay them (while at the same time realizing that's not the point at all)? How do you give back to them what they gave you? How do you let them know how much you love them, not just for what they did but for who they are?
I guess, as with all gifts, you start with a smile and say thank you.
And then show how much you appreciated it by giving such a gift to them or to your children or your family or your friends.
Thanks, Mom and Dad. :)
