Old friends Sat on the park bench like book ends. --Simon and Garfunkel
Appearance is a funny and misleading thing. I visited an old college friend in New York this weekend, because I was giving a talk and I needed a place to stay. This is a guy who was actually so dear to us that he was one of the ushers in our wedding party. He was one of my favorite people in my dorm way back when. Ned's too. He could imitate Mick Jagger and many others -- and so could I -- and that was something we used to do often into the late hours of the morning. For my birthday once he rented "Funny Girl," my favorite movie, and gave a viewing for all of our friends in his dorm room, where he had a VCR (no one owned those back then!) and a large t.v. Another time, he got us all to watch "The Shining," a movie that had scared the crap out of me the year before (freshman year), and he got me to appreciate it and even laugh at it. Ned and I had so many great times with him.
He and his partner own an apartment in the Dakota, and when he invited me to stay with them, I was very excited. I was also surprised by how intimidated I felt at first! Partly because I am not used to staying with friends without Ned, because it has been decades since I hung out with this friend for so long, but also because of his amazing digs and lifestyle. I am a creature of comfort, I love beautiful things, and I get kind of swept away by fame sometimes, I'll admit it. And this place! The apartment itself, the square footage, is bigger than my house. Same era as my house, a time of heavy dark woodwork, large spaces, high ceilings, sumptuous fittings everywhere. A shower bigger than my entire bathroom at home. First apartment building on that part of Manhattan. John Lennon lived there. Yoko Ono still does. Central Park, literally across the street, is the view from most rooms.
I was full of excitement and a little dread over all the glamor, but I got back to my old feeling with him, however, within minutes. We walked a little in the park, and then had a fun dinner in Trump International Tower. It was a heady feeling being there, too, in this restaurant where celebrities dine, and where everyone knew my friend. But in the end it was just a good place to eat, very friendly and warm, not at all snobby. Later we walked home in the light rain. Tons of people going places, because it was Saturday night in New York.
I think one of the best moments was waking up, my heavily shuttered enormous window open slightly to the sounds of the rising city on a Sunday, the sun lighting up the trees below; each one seemed to be a different shade of green. I felt like Eloise. My friend was in the kitchen making a pot of coffee and emptying his dishwasher. Sitting with him and talking during my favorite time of day before doing one of my favorite things (give a talk) was just bliss. It is just so bittersweet to reunite with an old, old friend and see what is the same and what is different. I was so happy for him, to see him, to get to know his partner and see how well-matched they were, finishing each others' sentences, laughing so much, having New York at their feet. But it was, in the end, the same old guy.
When I walked outside to catch a cab, there were tourists photographing the building. I was standing in the front gates with my sunglasses on waiting for the cab and some of the tourists were looking at me. I have to admit I felt kind of like a star at that moment, but little did they know -- it was only me, on my way to Queens!
Hey Neddy, you got the love I need maybe more than enough Oh darling, darling, darling Walk a while with me You got so much, so much...
Over the Hills and Far Away, Led Zep (and me)
That is what I ran to this morning. Thinking about Ned. So special. Golden, commanding, quiet, brilliant. Loyal, true, like a fairy tale prince. I was thinking, how is it that love lasts? Given all the mistakes and human ugliness? I hear so much about how it fades. You merely coexist. For the sake of continuity, for the sake of the kids. For something else. But I feel so, so, so grateful that for us it is not like that. Sometimes I cannot believe the blessings in my life. (Knock wood).
It is my turn to help him. I want his birthday to be great, fun, exciting, peaceful, whatever he truly wants. I want his Father's Day to be fantastic, because he is such an amazing father. But those events always coincide, and are also the same days as Nat's State Games. How do I make each celebration really count for him? How can I make him as filled up with me as I am with him?
I don't know if it's the terrible tragedy that occurred here, that I wrote about in my last post, or if it is Nat's imminent move-out, but I feel like I was hit by a ton of bricks. I could not exercise, I could barely meet my good friend for a walk. It is a painfully beautiful day, but I spent about an hour crying. I was thinking about Nat. I am sorry to be so emo about it, but it is just huge to me. This is not about my having doubts. This is about the separation, pure and simple.
It has been a year of looking at little babies and swooning with motherlust. A year of joyful teaching of little girls and getting to know them, pouts and all. A year of watching my Max become a man, full of healthy skepticism, rebelliousness, and contempt for us, his parents. At the same time, he is still my Little, Little, with wide blue eyes and an all-knowing smile.
And I have experienced Benji becoming a more empathic, sweet and thoughtful person. He actually said to me today, "I am happy today."
So even though I was burdened by my own depression, I could smile in sweet relief at those words, and at all the things going on in my life. I look at Natty, my Natty, my firstborn, and I want him back. I want those days when he was a baby, and I want to enjoy them this time. I want, I want, I want. But I can't have. I have to work on pushing him out of the nest, I who once dreamt of constructing a nest of iron and ten-foot walls, with nothing but the softest pillows inside...
Okay, okay, I'm letting my ultra-sticky morose meanderings drip all over you all. Please forgive. This is how it's going to be for awhile, while I step around yet another Big Thing in the path.
An Anonymous reader left a comment on a recent post about Brookline, tipping me off to a terrible crime that occurred just a few days ago in town: an autistic 12-year-old girl was apparently raped right in a nearby park by her van driver. You can read the horrible story here.
This man, who was arraigned today, also drove Nat a few years ago! I never thought anything negative about him. And of course he has yet to be proven guilty. That aside, this is every parent's nightmare, particularly if you have a child who cannot readily communicate. What a horror.
I can only hope and pray that this family can heal, especially the little girl. God only knows what this is like for her.
Every now and then there will be a moment where Max still opens up and shares himself with us. I try so hard to give him his space to let him grow, and sometimes he gives me glimpses of the complex and thoughtful man he is becoming.
Max and his friend A worked for weeks on this claymation film for AP French, where they are studying French African and Middle Eastern countries, and learning about the Muslim influences there. They did a lot of research and were particularly moved by the abuse of women there. He was blown away by the repression in Afghanistan, the high percentage of arranged marriages and also the high number of women who die in childbirth. And I was blown away by Max's talent and of course, so happy to see what's going on in his life and mind.
I am working on Nat's new IEP goals, taking the residential move into account (coming in July).
I can't bear it!! Don't tell me it is good for him. I feel like I'm abandoning him!
Don't remind me of my other two sons. I feel like Sophie, in Sophie's Choice. Any way I choose, I lose.
Everything I write down for the team to take into account, I feel a pang of , "Will they take good care of him? Will they know what he needs and wants? Will they make sure his bed is the way he likes it (sheets totally untucked, pillow mutchered). Or will they take advantage of him somehow? How will he address his private needs there safely and appropriately? Will they make him stop stimming? Will he like the kids he is in there with? Does he prefer "higher functioning" kids? How horrible is it, to wonder that?? I am horrible.
I feel like I should convert the basement into an apartment, find a great person to live there with him, let him transition slowly to living apart from us. Just like when he was little, I wanted to take him out of school and teach him myself. Keep him from the nasty world. Teach him everything in the safety and warmth of our home, until he was ready. Until I was ready. But Ned told me I was crazy, I couldn't do it myself. I was too scattered, not a trained teacher. Just a loving mother.
And now, it's the same. I worry that the rest of the world doesn't understand him and love him like I do and he will be sad. I can't stand the thought that he would be sad and no one would know, that they might just think it's behavior or something to "reduce."
Old Friend
