Two Pieces of String

I have written in here before that me and my mom have one of those classic mother-daughter realtionships, where we drive each other NUTS. I'd like to blame it all on her, but sometimes I catch how unbelievably ADOLESCENT I get when I am around her. I all but roll my eyes dramatically and cry out "SHU 'UP!" Like every California teenage girl of the 1980's.

When I was in my twenties, I was so busy being wronged and tormented by her that I neglected to notice how much I tormented her. Now we are like that old image of two porcupines trying to embrace. We do it carefully.

Today, I sent her this postcard because it's an old joke between us. The joke itself is one of those jokes that is so bad you don't laugh. I cannot remember how it started, but years ago, when I was in high school, and I would call her and swear the world was coming to an end, my mom would quietly start telling this joke. It would make me CRINGE and then I would roll my eyes and say SHU'UP!

Now, this joke has taken on a life of its own. I've said it to my brother in moments of crisis and so has she, and it makes us all WRIGGLE and WRITHE so much that we can't help but laugh and feel better. Each of us likes to pull it out when everyone least expects it. So today I sent one to each of them. I didn't sign it, but somehow, I think they'll get the joke.

George

I grew up in many different households and none of them were religious. I went to church twice in my childhood, and they were with relatives. The closest I ever got to discussions of faith, was my mother telling me about her Guardian Angel, named George. George, according to her, had gotten her out of more scrapes than she could count. I didn’t take too much stock in George, as the name seemed too 1940’s movie starring Jimmy Stewart soaked. Also, my mother has been someone who has lived her life on the edge (so to speak) and has sustained tragedies and nights in the darkest places. Her “near scrapes” would seem like amputations to some. I wondered at George’s track record, and what exactly he had saved her from.

So this is the part when I tell you that over New Years this year, my mother lost her house and about 90% of her belongings to the floods in Sonoma County in Northern California.

I haven’t talked about this for a number of reasons. One mainly is that you could say my mother and I have a diffucult, at best, relationship. Up until the flood, she and I hadn’t been in touch in almost six months. But when you read a headline and see that the worst of the damage was at the intersection where your mom lives, difficulties and six months aside, you call and see if she is okay. Since then, we’ve talked about 5 times a week, while she deals with the aftermath of what is nothing short of devastating circumstances. She was out of town when it happened and when she got home, her house was under four feet of water. After it was drained, she found the remains of her home scattered all around her property.

She fortunately took care of herself and has both homeowner’s insurance and flood insurance, which will eventually cover the cost of reconstructing her home. Until then, she is dealing with the clean-up and living in a trailer on her mud soaked property, without running water.

As in all occasions of crisis, a lot of miracles have occurred. A friend that owns a restaurant in town has fed her on several occasions. Friends have offered showers. And then there is Sal. I am not entirely clear where Sal came from or how she knows him, but he has been the true lifesaver. He comes with coffee every day and stays with her until night, working on all that is entailed of salvaging a home destroyed by water. She never has to doubt whether or not he will be there and just hearing his voice every day as he arrives, calling “Good morning!” sustains her. She says, when she hits a wall and can’t think of an answer, Sal will look at her and say, with palms open to a shrug, “What can we do?” It makes her laugh and able to continue on.

Last night, we were on the phone and she was talking about the amazing things that have occurred in the wake of this situation. She talked about Sal, and all that he provided for her. Then it hit me:“You know who sent him? George did.” She started to cry. Thinking I was mocking her, she protested, “No, he DID send him!”

“I know!” I said. “I’m not kidding!”

I realized that was what George did all these years. He was just with her. He was with her in the aftermath of all her natural disasters. Just the idea of him has helped her through the years. When I hung up the phone, I knew that he was with her in that moment, in her small temporary trailer, with her two dogs, saying, “It’s okay, Bee. Sal’s coming tomorrow, and there will be coffee, and me too.”

Thanks, George.