The Lost Day

I’ve been sick a lot lately -- colds and headaches, nothing serious, the ailments to which I have always been prone. Yesterday what started out as a common cold segued into a persistent headache that rendered me horizontal on the couch for much of the day with an ice bag on my forehead, essentially incapacitated.

I can handle the colds, as nasty as they are, but I wonder sometimes if I should see a doctor about these headaches. They always tend to emanate from above my right eye, and sometimes they spread down to the back of my neck, which is what happened yesterday. And they linger. It isn’t as though I am doubled over in pain or anything like that; it’s just a low-grade sort of misery that depletes my energy and can’t quite be ignored. The result: a lost day.

It was a crummy time to lose a day, not that there is ever a good time. For one thing, the weather looked beautiful. For another, my agenda consisted of delightful sundry items such as: ride bike, sort out pantry goods, finish Christmas cards, wrap presents, bake cookies for Ralph and Oralee, and prepare downstairs room for Miranda.

I was particularly gleeful about that last one. In less than a week, my daughter comes home for the holidays, newly graduated and headed off to England shortly thereafter, but for two weeks we will all be here together in celebratory mode, and I can barely contain my excitement. What’s more, we get to meet Xander, her boyfriend, who will also be staying with us. We’re even planning a party, which to Monte’s dismay has grown well beyond what he believes to be the capacity of our little house. (Me: “Don’t worry, honey. It’ll all work out.” Monte: “That’s the difference between us: I go by physics. You’re propelled by pure optimism.”)

I guess he has a point, but that optimism has served me well and I’ve always considered it one of my luckiest attributes. Heck, it was optimism (plus a dose of desperation) that got me out here in the first place, a refugee from the Northeast who was tired of the winter and had a hunch there might be another way to live. If the events of our lives often fall into the category of self-fulfilling prophecies, I figure I might as well conjure up some rosy scenarios.

That isn’t to say I’m not forever waiting for the other shoe to drop, but I’m learning to enjoy the lull between misfortunes. And I have a sense that I am in one of the best parts of my entire life right now, and I’m glad to be aware of it while it's happening, and I'm hell-bent on savoring it. (Aside from colds and headaches, of course.)

But in the scheme of things, a headache is a pretty minor setback. So I took another Advil and lay on the couch and had ice cream for breakfast -- Cherry Garcia, as a matter of fact. (Monte: "Have you ever considered the possibility that these headaches might be related to the way you eat?”)

And then Miranda called from Boston, which was in the throes of a snowstorm, and the T wasn’t running, so she had walked to campus -- in sneakers, my California daughter -- to take her final test, only to discover that the building was locked and the class was cancelled, and her computer was malfunctioning, and there was no one to give her thesis to, and traffic was stopped, and flights were delayed, and runways were closed, and at this very moment Xander was flying in from London, and here it was, the long-awaited special day, ruined, ruined, ruined.

“It wouldn’t be so bad,” said Miranda, "if everyone didn’t seem so hysterical. The city is 400 years old -- wouldn’t you think they could put this in better perspective? They act like they've never seen snow. How is it I’ve been in four BLIZZARDS OF THE CENTURY?!”

The worst part of course was worrying about Xander, and the disappointment of possibly not seeing him tonight after all.

How I ached for my girl in the snow! I fretted about Xander, too, flying into miserable weather, the discomfort and uncertainty. Kids faraway, in the cold, in the air, at the mercy of forces beyond our control…and my own apprehensive heart so inextricably linked to these events and so filled with love I didn’t know what to do with it.

We checked weather reports and flight information, talked more, relaxed a bit when Miranda got back to her apartment and could gather herself together. "Don't worry, honey," I found myself saying, "It'll all work out."

And guess what? It did. Xander arrived safely, and everything was fine, aside from the two of them having to take a hotel shuttle from the airport followed by a long walk to the North End on a chilly night. But together. And young. In a city hushed and white with snow.

And the other side of being a mother, the complement to internalizing all that worry, is vicariously experiencing the magic of such a night. My daughter's joy was my joy too. My headache hadn’t gone away, but an incongruous sort of giddiness took the edge off it.

There was still a meteor shower to watch. Monte set an alarm for me, and propelled by pure optimism, I jumped out of bed. I put on a red knit hat, a heavy sweater, and a camel hair coat (my best-ever thrift shop find), no doubt dressed more warmly than Miranda in the blizzard. Then I stepped outside, followed by an eager little dog, and upward did I gaze.

And yes…I saw many shooting stars…and they were bright…and on one of them I made a wish for Xander and Miranda…and the rest of the time I simply stood there, grateful and amazed.