Jeff, My Son

Jeff, My Son…. 

     Had he lived, Jeff would be 65 this year, on the day after Mother’s Day.  We always celebrated

together.  I smile in remembrance of the special dinners we enjoyed as a family, birthday cake and Mom’s special chicken.  As he grew dinner was moved from one favorite place to another, cooking became passe’, soon, pizza was in!    Jeff  had been a very special baby, he was a great young man, a wonderful son.

     Before we met at the adoption agency, the social worker Janet Jenkins informed us that there was a flaw: Jeff was fat! “We can handle that!” I said without thinking.  In the days of waiting to meet this fat baby, nightmares of an infant elephant with a baby face escalated to the outlandish.  This “fat” infant was indeed chubby, also healthy and happy.

He never suffered with a weight problem.

     The foster mother must have loved him dearly.  When we met, he gurgled and laughed, enjoyed being held and cuddled by his new eager parents.  Janet spoke at length of his special-ness, so special that the Executive Director of the agency wanted to adopt him, agency rules would not allow that; he was so special that his pediatrician said he was the only infant she knew who cooperated during an examination!

     The first night home we played with Jeff until 8:30, hours past his bedtime.  He dutifully slept through the night until 8:30 am. Yes, we checked all through the night to make sure he was alive and well.  Years later, but years before he came out of his dreadful closet, my mother said that Jeff was too good.  He obeyed the rules so accurately that frequently he was seen with his feet clinging to the curb, watching other kids play in the alley. Rule number one was “do not go into the street or alley”.

     He would have been better off if he had learned to break a rule occasionally.  When it came to reading, he started off well in first grade.  After about six weeks the teacher began to explain the “exceptions to the rules of English”.  Jeff turned off his reading button he could not break any rules.  It took two years of counseling to clear that up so he could read.  He had his ups and downs during early school years like most kids. After trying college, he chose business school, thrived there and came out to us, short of his 20^th birthday.  With love and tenacity, his Dad and I supported him and anguished with him…but that is another story for another time…right now Happy Birthday son! Miss you!

STILL IN JAIL

Still in Jail, March 9, 2014…

 

     I cannot imagine what it is like to sit in jail for almost a year, doing nothing.  I must qualify nothing: no occupation, no responsibility, except for oneself, for showers, shaves and good behavior!   Nothing includes three meals a day, bars on the small room where he spends 22 hours each day, two hours of “freedom” every day.  Freedom also must be qualified: two hours in which to shower, phone a friend or relative, shop at the commissary, walk around, watch TV.  How do you stay so calm, I asked, “found the holy spirit” was the answer, accompanied by a shrug.

     I did not ask for a definition, did not wonder about the use of capitals or lower case.  We Jews do not talk much about a specific “holy spirit” and yet there is a special spirit to our worship and our beliefs. My answer to his answer was, “whatever works for you, I’m satisfied.”  “Oh don’t worry, I plan to go to synagogue with you!”  If I was non-plussed,  I did not show it, we went on to talk of other things.

     I cannot imagine what it must be like to wait and wonder what will happen next, have no one to talk it over with.  The attorney has no time. His mom and I visit for a half hour each every other week.  How much real talking can you do in that kind of time, especially when someone else is always listening?  Not much!

     I too worry and anguish over what’s next; I wonder what is going on in his head?   It does not matter that I have almost run out of reassurances.  I never run out of “I love you!”  I hope it and my hopeful spirit are enough.  He was sentenced today and his spirit did not flag.  The attorney said, “He has learned so much in jail!”  Would you believe that, but it is true!

   

Age is a number...a poem

Age Is A Number….

Age is a number Not a stop sign!
   I said I will swim she was flustered, nervous. I’ll get in with you
     You don’t have to yes I do she insisted.
        I resisted I wanted to swim. I did not know if she could
           I knew that I could, I would.
              The aide watched from the side of the pool
                  You can do it she said astonished
                       Impressed but you’re 90 I thought you’d puddle
                            And falter I turned her around
                                    To look at the old men
                                          Playing tennis next to the pool…
Age is a number Not a stop sign!

 9/06/12