AAs she hung laundry on the line, Mrs. Mead remarked, "The wind is just right for a clothes drying day."
Ream was in his swing smelling and feeling the breeze. It was fragrant with cedar, juniper and pinion pine.
The Sedona winds emanated from cinnamon canyon hallways populated with stone muse's and velvet evergreens, sage, and golden yucca too, all receiving a daily serenade of sunlight. Because of his special ability, Ream knew deeper meanings in the wind. Recently he sensed a fuller participation in all that surrounded him.
Today the wind reminded him of his childhood. Lately he had given a lot of thought to his younger, sighted days, savoring their memory. He now knew the full significance of the old saying, "You don't appreciate the water until the well runs dry." He smiled inside as he was struck with the irony of a blind man looking back. He remembered gusty days when he flew kites with twenty foot long tails and five balls of string. Or sandstorm days when, with playmates, he made sail schooners from red wagons and his mother's old sheets.
He remembered the sound of his mother's whistle when it was time to come home for dinner, or to do chores. It wasn't a two finger whistle but a regular one, just loud, first up then down. There was only one like it. It was time to come running.
His mother, like his father, had passed on. He imagined what a heaven might be like with her greeting him when he arrived. There would be that whistle, and her in the distance, waving, with tears in her eyes. And he could see her.
Memories were wheeling past now like spikes in a giant carnival wheel of fortune. There was the thrill of putting a penny on the railroad track, feeling the ground shake as the engine thundered by. But what really shook the hardest were the butterflies in the tummies of a bunch of ten year olds. It wasn't just the excitement, but the impatience of waiting for the rusty caboose to pass, which signaled the race through the smoke and dust in search of an old squashed flat penny.
They were good days, one of a kind days. Perfect days. Now, life had become a puzzle with him trying to feel his way back to these pleasant memories.
The breeze on his face, the fragrance in the air, the image of his mother, and the happy memories of childhood brought Sally's childhood to his thoughts. He decided to call her. He easily remembered her phone number before dialing, it seemed his memory was improving for such things.
"Sally, it's Ream. I felt it was my turn to call."
"I'm glad you did," replied Sally. "I have been thinking about our last conversation and would like to continue the discussion. The things you mentioned about marriage made me realize I was a mother to everyone, even my husband. I did this because I wanted to be the mother I never had."
"Boy, that's a big one to uncover."
"Tim and I never really knew each other. Worse, we didn't know how to. Since my talk with you and my friend, I've come to some big realizations."
"Sounds like we may have found some keys to your locks. You said you didn't have a mother? That must have made for a difficult childhood."
"I didn't have a childhood; I had a bad dream."
"Oh?"
"My mother put me in an orphanage when I was five, and then I lived in several foster homes till my aunt Myrtle adopted me. She always seemed to think I was a burden the good lord gave her to carry. She was a staunch God-fearing woman, and she told me my mother was a bad influence and a sinner."
"What happened to your father?"
"My mother never told him she was pregnant, and I was born out of wedlock. In those days abortion wasn't legal, or I wouldn't be here now. When I was in college, Myrtle told me my father's name was Clarence Peck. I had to pry it out of her."
"Did you ever contact him?"
"Yes, I went to see him. He didn't know he was my father before that. When I told him, we both cried. He wanted to make it right for me; he still does. He feels very badly about the whole thing. Turns out he was a neighbor, and even knew me as a child."
"That's an ironic twist. You mean he was right there all the time?"
"He lived just down the lane from Myrtle in Camp Verde. He was a kind man and still is. He let me ride his horse once, but it was a really bad experience. I fell off, got stuck in the stirrup and had terrible dreams about it for years afterward."
Ream remembered his own nightmares which were still only too vivid. He said, "I've had them myself. I still do sometimes. They can get triggered during the day time too."
"Yes, that happened to me. In high school English class I had to make a speech. I began to get nervous. This reminded me of the fear I had experienced with the horse. Then I really choked and couldn't get my breath. My voice cracked, I stammered, I became paralyzed. Thankfully, the teacher came to my rescue before I drowned altogether."
"How do you get on top of it now?" asked Ream, recalling his Boy Scout hike.
"I have heard that you should go back and confront the original fear after you gain some perspective about it. I'm not in a big hurry to do that; I'd have to force myself to get back up on a horse."
"I understand. What happened to your mother?" asked Ream.
"She moved away. Myrtle refused to talk about her."
"I read somewhere once that there are ties to our mothers which are bigger than life itself. When we are very young, it's impossible to conceive of our mother doing any wrong. Even if our mother abandons us, we still believe she is perfect. That's a big thing to reconcile."
"Ream, Sometimes what you say is so true it astonishes me, even frightens me."
"In what way?" he asked gently.
"You know how a new truth may appear and so obviously true, that you look at it and you think, I knew that?" she asked.
"Yeah, I've had the same experience. I mean you can encounter something 20 times and not see it. But on the 21st time, you get it. Then you say, 'It's so simple. Doesn't everybody know it?' The truth can be screamed to you until you're ready to hear it."
"Or someone finds a set of words for it that expresses it. Words that just define and complete it. That's what it feels like to talk to you."
"Does that make you feel a little spooky?"
"Yes, sometimes, but I then like listening to how you express things. You're different. When I'm not around people who speak like you, I seem to say things which just pass the time of day. I talk about weather, ball games, TV, all of which is very boring."
"We seem to bring out the best in each other, " reflected Ream
"I know sometimes when we talk, new ideas spark inside me that I never knew were there. Things so true come to life inside me."
"A friend of mine says that sometimes two people awaken the god in each other."
"You may be right, Ream."
"There's something else too."
"Oh?"
"It's like we share a bunch of secret things only you and I have been allowed to know. Or am I hearing the music by myself?"
Silence.
There was a smile in her voice as she stated, "There you go again, finding just the right set of words for it! Are we becoming addicted to our talks, or is it that for the first time two people are really on the same planet? Did you know there was a full moon last night?"
"I didn't notice."
"I thought maybe it was helping us along."
"I wish it were that simple, Sally. I wonder how you and I have come to feel this comfortable with each other in so short a time. Especially since we haven't met."
"Uh huh. It is as if you and I could get together for hours and never have to say a word," reflected Sally.
The following week, Mrs. Mead had finished hanging clothes when the postman arrived. It was a note from Sally, which Mrs. Mead read.
Dear Ream,
I was discussing our
conversations with a friend. She helped me develop some thoughts, which
I jotted down. It seems to be an extension of what we have discussed. Thought
you might enjoy it since you sent me the "North Star."
Best Regards,
Sally
As children we need supportive nurturing love to develop our own identity. Love in the form of unconditional acceptance gives us confidence to individualize.
In early relationships we search for a "friend" and lover to trade supportive nurturing love. We insist "Love me for what I am, accept me as separate and apart." The hidden reality is that we continue to use our partner as a parent to further individualize and complete the process of identifying ourselves.
There's a distinction between this parental love, which helps us grow apart, and intimate love which lets us merge together. A mother's love helps a child who is one with her become separate, while intimate love allows two adults who were separate to become one.
Too often marriages fail because spouses demand love that pushes them apart, rather than pulls them together. If we haven't completed the process of identifying ourselves we may not want this kind of love, or we may not be "ready" for closeness or oneness. It requires taking down walls with abandon."