Holiday Pool of Light
By: Molly Secours
Tennessee Tribune
Originally posted 12/19/2005
Just as I felt myself diving head first into the holiday blues, the phone rang. Before revealing what transformed the triple gainer with a twist into a belly flop, allow me to expound on the annual holiday fantasy.
Every year it seems at some point between November 15th and December 25th, I succumb to the commercial advertising that creeps into my consciousness and catches me unaware. The imagination takes over and I -- unconsciously -- begin to measure my life's worth with the amount of gifts and wishes given and/or received.
It is mortifying to admit that regardless of the promises I make not to capitulate to the commercialism obscuring the deeper meaning of the season, I inevitably begin to scramble for trinkets to offer my friends and family.
Immersed in the reverie, I begin to compare my happiness with imaginary characters walking arm-in-arm inside a snow-flaked paradise down a street paved in white. Generosity is abound and there is no end to the warmth that radiates from within and is projected outward.
And then there are the parties. Although I don't actually suffer an endless stream of invitations -- one of the backlashes of writing about controversial subjects -- I do however, hear my friends lamenting about the incessant obligatory holiday gatherings. And although some complain about being forced to choose between one event over another--due to business advantages that might be 'gifted' them as a result of their appearance—often they are spoken of with the reassurance that being seen in sequins is proof all things are merry and bright.
In forgetting the reason for the season, I begin to position myself for the dive into the pool of delusion until the phone rings and the pool is drained in ten and a half seconds flat.
It is my best friend calling to ask me if I can help move her friend Gretchen -- again. In the last several years Gretchen has moved numerous times and each time she must start over because her departure often happens in the middle of the night when there is no time to gather dishes, bed clothing or other necessities. The last time Gretchen moved, it was out of public housing after a home invasion which left her bruised and pistol-whipped.
But Gretchen is no stranger to misfortune. Both of her parents died the year she turned 13 and after a brief and tumultuous stay with her older sister she quit high school and moved to the streets to earn money as a prostitute. For several years Gretchen lived with extended family members off and on but her addiction to crack cocaine alienated them one by one and she found herself alone -- until she had a baby boy. The child's father is unknown and could be any one of a hundred men. And now the only father her 18-year-old baby knows are the men who surround him in prison -- where he will most likely live out his life.
It wasn't until Gretchen found her way to a half-way house that she began to catch a glimpse of who she really is outside of the tragic narrative that kept her imprisoned for the first thirty some years of her existence.
For the past seven years, she takes a city bus to attend 12-step meetings and works in an assisted living facility making minimum wage where she nurtures elders with the love and tenderness she remembers in another life -- before her parents died.
Because compassion and gentleness are undervalued in our for-profit world, Gretchen's paycheck is barely enough to cover the rent and often times she eats every other day to assure that her bills are paid on time. In addition to the financial burdens, her health is further compromised because she suffers from high blood pressure and cannot afford the medication to control it. Several weeks ago, Gretchen had a minor heart attack and as a result, her heart is permanently damaged. Without proper health care coverage, it is only a matter of time before Gretchen finds herself in an emergency room she can't afford with a prescription she can't fill. And because recovering from her illness is a luxury and an impossibility, Gretchen is back to scrubbing toilets and emptying bed-pans for the holidays -- all the while caressing and caring for the elderly patients who rely on the sweetness of her voice to elevate their spirits.
As I hang up the phone, I back slowly away from the holiday pool of delusion and consider how I might find more of Gretchen in myself. And that's when it hits me. There is no separation. And it is clear. In spite of her own suffering, Gretchen offers all she has -- and is -- without hesitation and expectation. And because of that others experience her light. And just like that, I remember the reason for the season.
Molly Secours is a writer/filmmaker/speaker and frequent co-host on "Behind the Headlines" on WFSK 88.1 FM. She can be reached at: mollmaud@comcast.net or www.mollysecours.com
|
