Today’s blog
Lynn Murphy Mark
A blank slate
Today is a blog day, only my lava lamp mind has not floated a good topic into my conscious awareness. I could write about the tragic mess in the Middle East. I could write about politics and the fact that neither my Senators nor my Representative are tuned in to my values. I could write about the poll that has gone out at my workplace, asking people who have signed union cards to approve a letter to be sent to upper management this week. I could write about my handful of clients, women from India, who came here with their husbands who were on a special work visa, experienced horrific abuse, and are all in arranged marriages. I could write about being an over-enthusiastic grandmother who needs to curb her desire to send Legos and books to the boys who already have plenty of each. I could write about how proud I am of Jan, who is handling her new diagnosis of diabetes like a champ and is in her blood glucose range 98% of the time. I could write about Mollie Dog and how she has settled in to the good life with us after several years of abuse that made her a nervous wreck.
But after all this, I think I’ll write about having lunch with Rose, my Anam Cara (Irish for “Soul Friend”). She had been out of town all week on retreat – Sisters get to do this – down at Lake of the Ozarks. We decided to meet for lunch yesterday after church, (me going to church not her), at the Zen restaurant that serves Thai and Japanese deliciousness. We each get the same thing every time. I opt for flame-throwing Panang Curry while Rose enjoys a bowl of won-ton soup. It was cool enough outside to ask for Jasmine tea as well. The servers know us by now, and writing this makes me realize what a creature of habit I am. Why not try something different? Maybe next time.
We talked about our week. I recounted the story of the drive to unionize the professionals and para-professionals at my work. We should find out today about sending a letter of intent to the CEO possibly this week. Rose talked about the nice Air BnB that they stayed at, and how relaxing it was, and a great opportunity to rest after both of them got over COVID a couple of weeks ago. I saw pictures of the cove they were on. Rose likes to take pictures of plants and flowers, so there were some of those too.
There was a sheet of orange paper on the table under her purse. I could tell it had writing on it. Rose folded it and unfolded it a couple of times and finally said that while on retreat, she and Mary had each written about aging and preparing for eventual death. After we ate she asked if I wanted to hear what she had written. I did because I knew there would be wisdom in the words. I didn’t because the thought of the world without Rose is too much to bear.
Rose will be 83 in December, on the feast day of the Virgin of Guadalupe. She considers her years to have been growth experiences in her personal and spiritual life. She has traveled extensively, has made friends around the globe, has coached hundreds of women religious on how to best develop and live their mission. She is a sports fanatic that knows more about the rules of the game than the officials do. She has a stellar sense of humor and we have spent many hours laughing helplessly at some absurdity. She has taught me by demonstration how to appreciate things of the Spirit, and how to live a simple, clean life. I could go on. After all this, she considers herself to have lived a good life and is ok with dying whenever it happens.
But one thing she has done that touches the deepest part of our soul friendship is to tell me (not ask, tell) that I am responsible for giving her eulogy when the time comes. Dear God, give me strength on that day. My life will not be the same and I’m going to have to muster all the love and respect that I have for her in order to speak. She tells me I can do it, so I believe her.