I’ve planted a garden. In pots and rectangular planters. We picked out seed packets together at Home Depot a few weeks ago, choosing simply by picture or name. I chose forget-me-nots like choosing a racehorse at the track. I just loved the name. Sweet William and Teddy Bear Sunflowers also made the cut. The herb of the season will be cilantro and just for fun, some catnip. I’ve decorated the planters with small disco balls from a New Year’s champagne display. Funky versions of a classic gazing ball.

This morning, on my day off, I was outside on the deck watering these little pots of soil and seed. Cloudy and cool, I heard a guttural yell. I looked out to the street and saw a man I didn’t know fall on the sidewalk against a rough brick retaining wall. I saw him seizing and shaking. I ran inside to get the phone. My pink pitcher of water had spilled over the side of our deck as threw it down in a panic. I heard the water hit the ground  one floor below as I dialed 911.

I ran down the stairs in my bare feet, down the asphalt driveway. “I don’t know him but he’s having a seizure! Hurry!” I ran across the street and saw his eyes, bulging and vacant. He was vomiting and foaming at the mouth and hitting his head in convulsions on the sidewalk. I was still on the phone with 911 and was touching his crew cut hair, trying to comfort him in some way. But really I was comforting myself as I said “It’s okay honey, it’s okay,” over and over as I would comfort Miriam or Hal. He stopped for a minute and went back into a second seizure and I was able to grab a folded newspaper from the curb to place under his bloodied head. The police arrived. And then the ambulance. And then I held back my tears as the situation slowly got under control.

His name was Jamie. He lived two houses down, across the street, with his girlfriend Colleen. He has epilepsy and yes, this happens. Yes, he took his medicine. No, he’d rather not go to the hospital. He was confused and then lucent. And then confused again. His hand was bleeding and he was unaware of the blood and vomit on the side of his face. The police were gentle with him. Jamie quietly, almost embarrassed, said “thank you’ to me and a little tear squeaked out of my eye.

I stood and watched as they checked him and talked to him until he was 100% coherent. One of the uniformed guys, the one with the kindest face, came over to me as the medics did their thing. Jamie was resting on the retaining wall and I just wanted to put my arm around him.

The kind faced man saw I was shaken and simply said, “I’m Michael. I live a few houses down on your side of the street.”

“I thought you looked familiar, ” I smiled back.

“I’m the deputy fire captain in town for 12 years.” He paused. “My wife just died 3 months ago.”

I reached out immediately and touched his shoulder and said how sorry I am to hear that. I was so touched to hear him say this to me. A stranger. I could see his sadness behind his bushy moustache. “How are you doing? It’s only three months? That’s so recent. Are you keeping yourself busy with work? How are you handling it?”

I knew he wanted to talk. And I wanted to talk to him. I gave him some unsolicited advice of doing whatever feels right, taking care of yourself as best you can, staying busy or doing nothing. Blah, blah, blah.

I want to bring Michael a plant or something for his garden, since plants are what brought us all together. Me and my attempt at gardening created this situation. Jamie could’ve hurt his head even worse, undiscovered on our quiet, dead end street. I never would’ve heard him yell from inside our house. I most likely wouldn’t have met Michael. A few houses down but a world away. I think this attempt at a garden will grow into something bigger than I planned. More seeds, more pots and planters, more sunshine and water. I’m ready for more.

 

When I think about my stage show, I hear it starting with a sound. A startling sound. And then I’ll walk out. Slow and awkward. Maybe I’ll sit in a big comfy chair. Dark green velvet sounds nice. And I’ll start my story time for adults.

I think I’ll start as a five year old me. Kindergarten, helping my mother set the table nightly, learning to love beets as they were the first food placed on the table every night. And I do love beets still. Meals of tuna fish on iceberg lettuce boats and pizza, quite delicious and still a comfort food. There were sleepovers and lunches at my grandparent’s house, a mile down the highway. Old Russian Jews sitting around the vinyl tablecloth, each with a bowl of blueberries and sour cream, a spoonful of sugar, and two slices of rye bread and butter. My grandpa’s chair was closer to the refrigerator but my grandma still had to get up to get him anything else he needed. I questioned that situation one day and the  slightly angry smirk on my grandpa’s face was overshadowed only by my grandma’s  proud grin. And yet I’ve grown up the same way. And it feels ok.

 

I traveled back in time last night.

Just for a moment.

Where everything flowed freely in my mind and body. No ugly fears or visions jumped out in front of my mind’s train, driving it to a screeching halt.

I just was there. I just was.

I playfully chased Miriam through the apartment with a warm washcloth to wipe her sticky hands and face. This wild blonde blur ran to take refuge with her Daddy in our bed. I attacked with the little blue square of terrycloth and sweet smelling coconut soap. She fought me, with a smile.

She wiped her own face

and hands,

her arms,

her feet,

her knees.

“Daddy, you wipe your face!” Daddy draped the washcloth over his face and Miriam burst into

surprising,

innocent,

crystal clear laughter.

She pulled the washcloth off, exposing Daddy’s face. I hadn’t seen this face in a long time.

His eyes were clear.

His smile lines were taut. His eye wrinkles were soft and true.

I traveled back in time last night.

Just for a moment.

I was Mommy. He was Daddy. The fears, the hurt, the memories of tortuous days and nights had disappeared for just this moment. We were there. Just there.

I want to plant a willow tree,
Weeping to be exact.
The sweeping branches will tickle the memories of all our years together,
Weeping atop the ferris wheel with the joy of declarations of love.
Weeping with tears of laughter through hours and days spent together.
Weeping with tears of relief as we realized THIS WAS IT!
Weeping when the glass shattered and everyone shouted MAZEL TOV!

I want to plant a willow tree,
Weeping to be exact.
Weeping when the stick showed the blue cross +
Is that what we think it means?!
Weeping in ecstatic disbelief.
Weeping when he was born, black head of hair.
Perfect and crying so loud.
Weeping in those early baby days. It was all so hard.
Weeping with tears of joy when it all got so good. So perfect it all was. So perfect.

I want to plant a willow tree,
Weeping to be exact.
Are there enough branches for the tears we’ve cried?
Weeping, heaving, heaviest of aches…
You held me and I held you that first night. How did we ever wake up?

I want to plant a willow tree,
Weeping to be exact.
Here we are under the swaying branches tickling our memories.
Grow willow tree, grow!
Weeping to be exact.