Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Jane

Born on Christmas day with flowing red hair, intense green eyes, and a dusky voice, Jane was always ready for any holiday. Her mother was an actress, giving her offspring a true sense of drama, and comedy. Jane could walk into a room and her bright smile was incandescent. Her Streisand-like nose was a topic of concern, but she was a great beauty. We met in spring of 1976 when I lived upstairs in a Queen Ann-style grand dame of a house we named; “La Maison Blanche,” converted into tall ceilinged apartments. Jane lived downstairs with two roommates, waitressing for the summer. She was a regular on the Elon University campus, with a wide circle of friends because of her sense of humor, comic timing and empathy.

She met a close friend of mine that summer who had also taken an upstairs apartment, and they were later married. BJ and I traveled many weekends to their North Myrtle Beach home at the very north end, with the endless dunes beginning only blocks away. We spent many lazy afternoons overlooking the ocean playing dominoes and drinking Jane’s signature frozen daiquiris, always laughing and feeling a sense that the moment would last forever.

In May of 1983, we gathered at Myrtle Beach for the wedding of a college roommate. On the afternoon of the wedding, I drank too much champagne, and while running errands, spied a player organ like the ones that were always on display in malls those days. This organ played loudly, and I made Jane sit on the bench with me, singing along while the organ played Todd Rungren’s,  “I Don’t Want to Work, I Just Want to Bang on My Drums all Day.” That tune became our theme song, our mantra, and we sang it to each other every time we visited or talked. 

When our daughter was small, Jane came to visit in our first home; and we laughed over youthful stories, while she held our child, making her squeal with laughter. She was our collective memory, and could remember details of events long after we had forgotten, and could tell stories as well as any comedian. Being around Jane was just always a good time.

Over the decades, we lost touch, communicating through Christmas cards, phone calls, and visits; but she was the kind of friend you could just pick up where you left off, and we would  laugh every time. I saw her last a few years ago at a funeral, and she was still lighting up the room with her humor; now re-married to a fine new man, with a new last name.  Jane loved children, and inherited an instant family with her new husband. She had become a respected Myrtle Beach realtor and community fundraiser at the local hospital.

We spoke recently on the phone, after I became aware of her condition. Ovarian cancer had taken its toll, and her time in this world was ticking away. I told her how much happiness she had brought to our lives; how much BJ and I loved her, and how we treasured every single memory. In her weakened voice, her only concern was about us and our lives. We never spoke of illness, but sang together, “Bang on the Drums,” and spoke of our shared good times and joys, and we laughed. Jane ended our chat with this comment: “there are many good times yet to come, Rod Cooper,” spoken in a voice that sounded like a thrown gauntlet.  

Jane passed a few days later into the great infinity, and I know the better angels have gently guided her through the grand mystery. I will forever remember her loving spirit, and yes indeed, dear Jane, there ARE many good times to come.


Friday, April 25, 2014

Failure to Thrive


In cleaning out drawers, I came across death certificates of my parents, and the cause of death stated in each was, “Failure to Thrive.” I watched my parents die slow, horrific deaths, so I know what failure to thrive means on a death certificate. I didn’t pay any attention to the phrase at their demise, but now; after a decade, approaching my birthday, I wondered what the phrase really means in life. I looked up thrive in Webster’s, and knew that to thrive is ‘to prosper, or to grow vigorously,’ but was surprised to see this third definition: ‘to progress toward or realize a goal despite or because of circumstances.’ My question then became what exactly is failure to thrive? When does failure to thrive begin… at seven, forty, sixty -three?

So stated, our main goal is life, and we progress despite or because of circumstances.  We begin the journey as innocent children, and pass through many portals; never knowing what magic or terror is around the next corner. There are thrills and chills along the tour.

My grandson turns seven this month as I became sixty-three. His path is beginning as he learns extra languages, swimming, and reading.  I listen to him talk about goals that include making movies, building rockets, and maybe becoming an artist. I can remember some of my dreams of life at his age, and some have come to pass over the years, and been expressed in incredible ways. Some dreams died on the vine, and some were destroyed by my own mistakes and circumstances. Webster had that third definition correct.

My body will not do some things it would at seven or at forty, and there are disorders that can confuse and confound as they manifest with my family. My mind believes I‘m young, but mirrors are  truth- tellers. The memory fails; but my brain still learns, and my heart grows in wisdom, as I peer back over my shoulder. I spent my entire birthday month celebrating my grandson’s young life, and my own, “despite and because of circumstances.“ He and I played hard.


Failure to thrive? I think not. I’m still here, and thriving.