There Are Other Places To Sing

A reader sent me this story as a response my post on Saying Goodbye.  I teared up as I read it, and now pass it along to you.  My Aunt Corrine passed on last Friday evening — she’s now singing in a different place.

I hope you enjoy it.

THE OLD PHONE

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.

Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was ‘Information Please’ and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone’s number and the correct time.

My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my Mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.

I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the Parlor and dragged it to the landing climbing up; I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. ‘Information, please,’ I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.

‘Information.’

‘I hurt my finger,’ I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.

‘Isn’t your mother home?’ came the question.

‘Nobody’s home but me,’ I blubbered.

‘Are you bleeding?’ the voice asked. ‘No,’ I replied. ‘I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.’ ‘Can you open the icebox?’ she asked.

I said I could.

‘Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger,’ said the voice.

After that, I called ‘Information Please’ for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where  Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.

Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called, ‘Information Please,’ and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, ‘Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring Joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?’

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, ‘ Wayne , always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.’

Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone, ‘Information Please.’ ‘Information,’ said in the now familiar voice. ‘How do I spell fix?’ I asked.

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest . When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to  Boston . I missed my friend very much. ‘Information Please’ belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me.

Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in  Seattle  I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown Operator and said, ‘Information Please.’

Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well. ‘Information.’

I hadn’t planned this, but I heard myself saying, ‘Could you please tell me how to spell fix?’

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, ‘I guess your finger must have healed by now.’

I laughed, ‘So it’s really you,’ I said. ‘I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?’

‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘if you know how much your call meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls.’

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.

‘Please do,’ she said. ‘Just ask for Sally.’ Three months later I was back in  Seattle  a different voice answered:  Information.’ I asked for Sally.

‘Are you a friend?’ she said.

‘Yes, a very old friend,’ I answered.

‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this,’ she said. ‘Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago.’

Before I could hang up she said, ‘Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne ?’ ‘Yes.’ I answered.

‘Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you.’ The note said, ‘Tell him there are other worlds to sing in. He’ll know what I mean.’

I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.

Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.

Whose life have you touched today?

Why not pass this on? I just did….

Lifting you on eagle’s wings. May you find the joy and peace you long for.

Life is a journey … NOT a guided tour. So don’t miss the ride and have a great time going around.  You don’t get a second shot at it.

Namaste,  Jim

Saying Goodbye is part of life

My dear Aunt Corrine (my Mom’s only sibling) was diagnosed w/ a brain cancer in Feb 2007, and had endured many ordeals since.  Throughout the battle w/ cancer, the family insisted she remain in her home, and they marshalled family and friends for around the clock care for two whole years.

Aunt Corrine proved VERY strong.  She made it through another two Easters (her favorite holiday), several family weddings, and made it to her own 50th wedding anniversary.

Today, we received the following update from my cousin:

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Family and Friends,

It has been quite awhile since I last updated you on Mom’s condition.  The reason being is that her condition had stayed the same for many months.  However, it is with a heavy heart that I need to let you know that Mom’s condition has changed dramatically over the course of the last few weeks.  Mom has started to not eat much, if at all, nor drink.  This is causing her to become very weak.

Mom has put up a very tough fight.  She had a diagnosis that gave her 6 months to live, and here we are 2 years later, almost to the day.

As a family, we have decided to have Mom moved up to the Hospice House.  We want to make sure that Mom is being monitored at all times, so that when the time comes, we can ensure that we will all be with her.

Our family asks that you continue with the prayers that you have so generously offered up for us.  However, now we ask that you pray that Mom has the courage to let go, and that we as a family have the strength to say good-bye.

Thank you for all of your continued support and prayer over the course of the last two years.  There are not enough words to let you know how much it has truly meant to each and every one of us..

Love you all,
The Fitzgerald’s
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Having experienced several drawn-out illnesses within my own immediate family, I totally get what Sharon has asked for: that Mom has the courage to let go, and that we as a family have the strength to say good-bye

I hope we all have the strength to say good bye.  But you know, death is part of life.  and I know that at her funeral, we will focus less on her death than on the life she led: a life filled with heartache, sacrifice, hard work… AND many moments of joy, gratitude, and happiness.

Life Includes Death

I learned just minutes ago that a good friend died yesterday.

She was over a decade younger than me, and we had little in common except for our very broad and eclectic interests, an intense interest in curiosity about how people behave and a shared sense of (very dry) humor.  And that was enough.

I first met Melissa in 1996, when I was seeking an HRIS (human resources information system) project manager.  She was my first Generation X hire: cynical about corporate America, fiercely independent, adamant about work/life balance… and incredibly tech-savvy.

She was a lifelong learner — she possessed at least two Masters Degrees at the time, and in her short career she’d already built, run, and sold her own tech company.  She was smart, creative, and knew about 100 times more than I did about technology.  I was scared of her.  And I desperately needed someone like her on my team.  So we began a dance, she and I.

I’ve actually told stories about Melissa on many a stage when speaking about the challenges of leadership and the issues of conflict between generational values.  Here’s my favorite:  She’d been on the job just a couple of weeks at this fairly conservative company.  The norm was that everyone worked 8:30 till 5.  Period.  All parties had to be present during the standard work hours.  And into my office walks Melissa, the new “kid.”

“These hours just are not working for me,” she says.  “I can’t get up this early!”  I’m a mid-generation Baby Boomer, nose to the grindstone and all, and I was working for a boss who believed in form over substance.  So what she was saying to me was… foreign.  She was hitting me with something new: an employee who valued life balance AND who had the guts to speak up about it!  I remember being incredibly stressed.

Let’s keep it short, tho.  I took a couple more weeks to watch how she worked.  She had a computer at home, and had figured out how to tie in to the systems from home (remember — this was 13 years ago, before Wi-fi and broadband) and was sending me emails and project updates at 2AM on Saturday or midnite on Wednesday.  Clearly, she was working hard, just not on what we considered a Traditional schedule.

I knew my boss would never support an off-shift schedule (tho he later came around…).  So we quietly shifted her hours so she didn’t have to arrive till 10:30.  In exchange, she had to take the West Coast calls that used to go in to voicemail.  In no time at all, our Seattle division fell in love with her, and by the time my boss found out, she had proven beyond all doubt her value to the company.

Melissa challenged me on many, many levels.  She would listen to what I said, but then argue with me.  She proposed radically different ideas that made my head hurt.  And over the course of a couple years, she helped me become a much better leader.  She forced me to become a better team player, a better collaborator, and a better negotiator.  She also modeled a better approach to Life Balance  than I’d seen before and taught me a TON about technology.  (She is also partly responsible for my subsequent addiction to doing all my shopping on Amazon.com).

After I left the company to start my own firm, we stayed in touch via email several times a month for the past ten years, and occasionally I talked her into leaving the office so I could buy her lunch.  A few months ago she put out a note about taking a medical leave of absence, and then… disappeared.

Two weeks ago I received a holiday card from her with the following note:

“Life kinda exploded & I got a bit overwhelmed, so I’m sorry if it seems like I disappeared from the face of the earth.  Know, though, that I carry with me your friendship, and it has meant the world to me.  Have a wonderful Christmas and a great 2009.”

I remember that the message gave me an odd feeling… what did she mean?  Where was she going?

On Monday, I sent her a note about getting together for lunch later in the month.  I guess it’s a note she never read.

Today a mutual friend called to let me know that Melissa Joyce died suddenly yesterday.  Too young.

I am sad, right now, thinking about how much I’ll miss her annual (and always unpredictable) contributions to my Summer Reading List.  Who do I have, now, to introduce me to eccentric websites and odd British authors?  Who will have the chutzpah to put me in my place when I’m being jerky?  What will I do with all the cat jokes I used to send to Melissa? Sigh…

Death, of course, is a part of life.  I’m not talking about life after death… I’m talking about how, for those of us who remain behind, death is a part of what we must endure.  People live, people die.  Many people I’ve known and loved are no longer with us, so we work hard to keep their memories alive.

I choose to remember the happy ones, the memories that will make me smile.