Valentine words never spoken

If I had one last thing to say to that delicious man, that confusing day, that day when I was trying to be invisible, it might be something like:  Oh for God’s sake, John, we’ve loved each other forever.  Can we just hug one more time, maybe for the gipper?

After all, I was his Stella and he was my Meera.  We were standups in any room playing off of each other’s humor.  Yet we were fancy scientists.  No one ever knew how much we cherished each other.  It just was what it was.  And so on that day on my way to some boring conference, I looked over my shoulder at Room 21.  He was behind that door but I had promised to be invisible.  If I walked back and knocked on the door, someone might see me and blow our cover.

Cover?  It had been 30 years of cover.  So I just closed my eyes tightly and marched directly to the waiting bus.  He stood behind that door, watching out the window or so I imagine.  We didn’t embrace one last time.  We didn’t say, I’ll always love you no matter what.  We didn’t just laugh together over the absurdity of it all.

A few short weeks later I got an email from his grad student.  John had fallen and the diagnosis was brain tumor, undetermined foci.  She gave me his number at the hospital and I called.  The perennial jokester, he said, “Well,  they always said I had a hole in my head.  Now I have two”…  a burr hole for the diagnosis.

He left us all way too soon.  I didn’t attend any funeral ceremony but I stood in the wings three thousand miles away.  I stood and cried and held my heart.  The love of my life was now way out of reach.  If I had one last thing to say to that delicious man, it would be, Ah John, I’m still here and it’s forever.

Looking Back on Mother

This Sunday, September 4, 2016, Mother Teresa will be canonized by the Roman Catholic Church.  In simple language:  She will be declared a saint in Heaven, as is she didn’t already occupy that zip code a long time ago.

I spent an incredibly powerful time in Kolkata some years back and Mother Teresa featured highly in that experience.

Looking Back at Mother  

We arise at 4:30a.m.

We will be walking the dark streets to Mother Teresa’s house.  Mass begins at 6.

As we pass through the back alleys of Calcutta (now Kolkata), winding through the Muslim sector, we see many people sleeping on the cement. Early tracings of dawn reveal a city awakening to business as usual. Many later up at gushing fire hydrants. goats hang in the market place. Vegetables lie in piles ready for sale. Slowly, locals rise to get their wares organized for yet another day of haggling.

Beggars sift through the eternal trash in line with a dump truck that races them for scoops. The scent of peat, combined with urine and rotting garbage hangs heavily in the air.

As we turn down the alley, we see the door marked Mother Teresa’s.  Entering the main courtyard, a large statue of the Virgin Mary greets us. Nuns move quietly about their business, readying for Mass and their duties which will take them to the House of the Dying, Home of the Children and other centers near Calcutta, including the leprosarium one hour out of town.

We remove our shoes to enter the chapel and a sense of excitement arises. I am at her very door, this precious woman who has guided my heart for so long. Sisters enter quietly while incessant crows squawk outside the windows midst a cacophany of horns and street noise.

Mother, herself, kneels unassumingly. She appears much tinier that I expected. As I gaze at her feet, I see they have hammered toes. This must be painful. Her severely rounded shoulders and upper back bespeak of osteoporosis. Still the very presence of this extraordinary soul inspires all to quiet smiles of awe. Very much present, this little woman adjusts the light switches above her.

At communion, she leads the sisters and then takes the Eucharist to dispense to lines of postulants, sisters and volunteers. Memory of the sight of her at prayer still thrills me. After Mass, Mother leads the sisters in singing and prayer. They seem almost childlike in their recitation revealing a remarkable innocence.

Later, in an uncommon time alone, she takes my hand and holds it for a long time as we speak together. I ask her if I can videotape some of her centers. “Go photograph the children, photograph the living!” she insists. Before I know it, Mother has arranged a nun to personally escort me to Shu Shu Bhavan, the place of the children.

Later, my companion and I take a taxi across town to the House of the Dying. Entering the huge wooden door, I say to my attorney friend, “Be prepared to walk to the edge of your soul.” This sacred place can be a confrontive experience for anyone. The first time I served here twelve years ago, I spoke with Sister Dolores.

“Sister, I hope I haven’t been in the way. I’m new and just followed in the footsteps of the other volunteers.”

Sister Delores smiled and said,  “My dear, you can carry a body to the morgue, feed an old woman, change bandages, paint beds for the Pope’s visit or just stand at a distance and love them with your eyes. It’s all the same”

We find aprons and gloves and quickly immerse in cleaning plastic mattresses and pillows. I stand at times and simply witness the scenes before us. Encounter of the heart, between volunteers and the sick and dying reveal an amazing experience of compassion.

As the morning wears on, we go from bed to bed, offering a hand, sometimes administering medicine, stroking, feeding or just sitting and holding. While massaging an old woman’s feet, I suddenly ask myself, Why can’t I do this for my own mother? Why do I have to go halfway around the world to experience compassion?

Determined to seek permission to somehow invisibly videotape the “Moments of the Heart”, I return to my hotel with a homework assignment from Sister Priscilla, the lead organizational nun. I must write a letter to explain what I want to do, for what use and who, in fact, I am. Late this night, I search my soul for the words.

A rickshaw driver delivers me and my handwritten letter to the convent. sitting outside the door marked “Private”, I gaze at the simple blue checkered curtains separating within and without:  the points between rest for Mother and greeting the ever-present devotees.

Now, sitting in the wings, I’m not seeking photo opportunities as I watch Mother at work, greeting souls, ruffling baby hair, tickling a child. I see some tiredness behind that tiny arthritic frame. Who protects Mother form exhaustion, a personal Jesus? Who sends her energy? Batteries that just keep on keeping on like the Energizer bunny?

Sister Priscilla suddenly appears and sits down beside me. She delivers the permission signed by Mother, which will enable me to proceed with my video work.

On our last day in Calcutta, I’m not expecting to see  Mother but she suddenly emerges from behind the curtain. She smiles and I say, “We’re leaving today, Mother.”

She hesitates and asks, “Where are you going?”

I answer, “Home, to the U.S.”

She takes my hand and holds it gently and look up. “You are coming back, aren’t you?”

I promise, “Of course, Mother.”

Suddenly she asks, “How many houses do you have?”

“One, Mother, why?”

She laughs and answers, “I have over 500 in 105 countries!”

I counter, “Good Lord, I hope you have someone to clean them all. I have trouble with only one.”

We laugh together and then she speaks quietly to me of dying with grace, dignity and love and how important it is to have support.

And….I hold her hand one more time.

She’s gone now like a whisper on the wind, my beloved Energizer Bunny, who kept on keeping on. She’s left me with a smile, her wonderful business card, medals which keep multiplying, a picture of One Moment in Time and her gentle hand in mine.”

 

The House of the Dying

Looking down on the roof, one can view Kalighat, the temple of the Goddess Kali. It abuts the very walls of the House of the Dying. Here, animal sacrifices take place and the energy is quite Hindu.

In the beginning, the head Brahman of this temple, quite opposed Mother’s work and sought to prevent her from proceeding. When he contracted cholera and lay dying, no one in the temple would touch him. Mother collected him and nursed him herself. After he survived and healed, he became her chief proponent.

After washing and scrubbing, we return to the hotel to change clothes. We immerse our sandals in bactericidal solution. Are there risks working at Kalighat? TB, AIDS and other diseases are rampant in the back streets of India. Still, precautions taken can withstand most challenges.

I soak my sandals for two days, hang them up to dry in the harsh Calcutta sun and give them to the rickshaw driver as a gift. By this time, I’ve purchased rubber sandals that are far more practical.  Geri Lennon

I’m a video producer and author who lives in California.  I’m currently co authoring a bio book on Pandemics and working on a video documentary based on the work Mother Teresa began called “Moments of the Heart, the Path of Compassion”. Over the last several years, I’ve worked as a lay volunteer with Mother Teresa and the Missionaries of Charity whenever I can get to India.  I wrote this article after three weeks in Calcutta in 1996.

Another Face of Mother

 

 

 

 

 

 

More than a moment of pause

I have written several op eds on gun control and bigotry.  This morning,
I rose before the sun to pray and then watch CBS Sunday Morning.
I have been traveling and so not in touch with immediate news.
I was shocked to see the news from South Carolina.   There are no words for this author, save “We Shall Overcome”.   In the silence of a Sunday morning even that tried and true, powerful and poignant prime directive leaves me wondering.  WHEN, HOW, WHY?
My heart hurts for us all.  As a friend told me and I quote:  History doesn’t repeat itself, People do……
Later this morning, I will write yet another op ed.  Gun control?  Civil Rights?  Bigotry?  All seem to be mixed in a dismal soup.
I happen to be at home in the Sierras for a brief few days.  I witnessed bigotry yesterday morning from the minister who is judgmental about women, gays, and the glory of war and bring it on, yeah!  Armageddon.  This little white girl didn’t stand still.  I wrote a somewhat strong email to said pastor about it all and his elegant shaming techniques and tricky politicing in this wee village.
We are in a world of strife, mirrored with joy and father’s day and all the media related see saws.  Staying balanced through profound grief is the challenge.
My heart hurts for yet another act of bigotry and gun violence and loss.
I stand in a silent anthem:  Let Peace Begin with Me.  The eery reminder of the 4 little girls so long ago echoes in Charleston.
May God bless all the folks at Emmanuel AME Church.   and may God bless those who will stand and speak for Change.

 

Another Anthem of Sorts

On this the morn of this elusive holiday: Memorial Day,
I sit in silence and honor those who have gone beyond.
Those who valiantly fought wars in the name of?
In the name of protecting a society and a nation and our children.
They, too, were children. May we remember.

Wars have been fought from the beginning of eternity.
When can we stop, and truly take time to remember…
When there were no wars, there were no misunderstandings of nations.
But the beat goes on, and always will…..apparently,
Until heart touches heart, and people simply say NO.
No more war, War no more, and yes, send the children to Canada.
Hide them all under beds emersed in down comforters.
Hide them from the God Almighty audacity that we must invade once again. Once again falls on now deafened ears.

Today, I thank you for the part you and you precious famlies played and it was enormous.

How to Hold the Heart of a Woman

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It’s really very simple.  After all that’s said and done.

After all the bellowing of liberation and believe me suits

and attache cases, we still appreciate:

  1. Flowers that arrive for no reason whatsoever.
  2. Gifts of thoroughly and irrevocably impractical “girl things”.
  3. Being shown how to clean our battery terminals.
  4. Helping to snow shovel the driveway.
  5. Saying “Yahoo, go get em!” when we do something wildly courageous.
  6. Holding hands in public or at least brushing a shoulder quickly.
  7. Finding things that have disappeared on our Hard drive.
  8. Dancing slowly and silkily to an old tune.
  9. Calling on a Thursday afternoon to say, “I love you”.

 

Geri Lennon  1994