Catastrophes and Comebacks

I don’t even want to go into all the crap that’s been going on around here (clearly I am going to). We’ve been wrestling with mortality, I guess. Kidney stones for my husband, a bad fall where I cracked my head on a concrete step for me. Emergency room visits and the kinds of medical bills that mean everyone is getting a big hug for Christmas, to quote a recent meme. Then my sister had a medical event that almost took her out. But she’s here. My husband is here. I am here.

When did all the doctors get so young?

I’ve had some moments.

I took my sister to see Bonnie Raitt in early October, and we loved it. Bonnie is still going strong, as skilled and beautiful and rich a performer as ever. She lost too many people during Covid. That added an edge of bittersweet mourning to the show. When she started to sing “Angel from Montgomery,” I lost it. That was one of Brother Steve’s songs, one of his standards, and I sang the harmony on it more times than a person could ever count. So I sat and sniffled and my sister sat and sniffled and it was cathartic, but what I really wanted was to have my brother back.

My youngest daughter took me to see Maggie Rogers on the 20th anniversary of my mother’s death. I had decided to let the day pass without any public expression of grief because I wondered, after twenty years, if anyone needs to hear me beat my breast over the sparkling, complicated woman who gave birth to me. I have done so much of that.

As the concert started, a very short clip of “O mio babbino caro” filled the Moda Center. I was washed over with chills. My mother was a tremendous fan of opera. This was her favorite aria. It has popped up on important days, including the wedding day of Mom’s first grandchild, my oldest daughter. Again, chills and tears. I took my daughter’s hand, squeezed it tight, told her what was what.

Yes, I felt the presence of my mom. It had to be enough, but it was not enough. I want to have her here. To see these wonderful women I’ve raised. To meet her last grandchild, to meet her great-grandchildren.

And then there’s the election of course.

So yeah.

It’s been a rough go the last couple of months. But I’m still here. Still plugging away. Wondering how it is I got to this age, this place, with these people in this time. I’m glad to be here, make no mistake about that, but please forgive me if I’m not graceful about these changes and pains, these small triumphs and huge disappointments. I am new to getting old. It crept up on me while I was busy living. I have never done this part before.

Hey, I have a new poem out there in the world: The Red Thread

Also, I am on Bluesky now. karentheberry

Here’s a beautiful Maggie Rogers song for you. I hope it does for you what it does for me, which is to fill your already brimming heart with the pain and beauty of being alive.