Why do I grieve?

A friend of forty-plus years died this morning. She was a few years older than me (not that many!), had a progressive degenerative condition, and had no quality of life, I’m sure, at least for the last couple of years. It would be easy for me to say that, paraphrasing Ann Lamott, her part in my life was done several years ago when she moved to assisted living in Dallas and virtually dropped all communication. A friend and I went to see her a few times, and I called occasionally. The last time I called, she responded to questions but initiated no conversation, and while she knew who I was, I can’t guarantee that the call meant much to her. So why is her death rattling around in my brain?

She was a strong woman. Widowed young, with three small children, by a tragic domestic military accident, she put herself through graduate school and was founding faculty at the Texas College of Osteopathic Medicine. I was there too in those formative years, both as staff and a wife, and that gave us a world in common. That world brought us together and probably was the basic glue of our friendship. But after I divorced, we were both single parents who enjoyed dining out—and we did. We traveled together just a bit, although she traveled extensively. We went to the same church and shared many friends there.

Tragedy struck again when she lost her college-age daughter to an accident. I’m not sure she ever knew sustained happiness after that. Her sons were attentive, and she adored her grandchildren, but you know the saying, “A son is a son/Until he takes a wife/ A daughter is a daughter/All of her life.”

In some ways we were odd friends. She boasted she could watch paint dry. I am happily impatient and want action around me, want to be part of the action. In later years she walked so slowly I thought I’d scream—because I needed to walk rapidly to keep my balance. She told me there was no hurry. I thought she was picky and outright critical, and sometimes her narrow idea of right and wrong irritated me; she probably thought I was a lax parent, careless and frivolous in my ways. I thought the skeleton-to-sophistication history of the osteopathic college was a marvelous story; she wanted to forget the skeleton years and was incensed when I included them in a book I wrote on assignment

But she was always there, always a part of my life. Even in her Dallas years, I knew she was there. And now she’s not.

Rest in peace, Mary Lu, and rise in glory. I hope your soul finds Bob and Tracy. You’ve waited for them a long time.

At the Water’s Edge by Sara Gruen—a book review

I wanted to read this book because the blurb billed it as about a search for the Lochness monster. As many of you know, I am fascinated by Scotland, all things Scottish (okay, even haggis), and particularly Lochness. The ancestral lands of the MacBean clan (of which I am a member) lie in the hills above Lochness, and I’ve been there.
Nessie is almost a deus ex machina in this excellent novel, with its hints of the paranormal. The story features Ellis and Maddie Hyde and Ellis’ best friend, Hank. Ellis and Hank could be straight out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel moved into the 1940s and WWII. Both 4-F. Ellis has disgraced himself in his father’s eyes and been cut off from family funds, so he decides the thing to do is go to Scotland and solve the mystery of the Lochness monster, a mystery his father tried desperately to solve years earlier, failed, and made enemies among the locals. Ellis has no trouble convincing his wife and Hank to go along with the scheme and the three carefree partiers set off for Scotland.
But this is less a novel about Nessie, than it is about Maddie, who tells it in her own voice. It’s about her growth in maturity, compassion, and understanding of other worlds than that of privilege which she married into, about discovering a world beyond that she has known in her marriage. Ellis and Hank have no comprehension of the horrors of the war that rages on continents near them, although there are occasional air raid alerts in the small Highlands village. They stay in an inn which is clearly not up to their standards—either in accommodations or service. But while the “boys” are off chasing monsters, Maddie gradually comes to know the villagers and the starkly beautiful land around her and becomes fast friends with two young women who work at the inn. The story unfolds from there—one of love, and growth contrasted with selfish self-interest. I was drawn into its world, stealing every minute I could to read. Maddie almost become my alter ego.
Not so the “boys,” who remained spoiled, petulant and deceiving. They still referred to the innkeeper at “the help” and urged Maddie not to become too friendly. Gradually Maddie grows away from her two companions and closer to the Scottish people around her.
No spoilers. It’s a story with tragedy, passionate love, war, danger, and intrigue. But it held me spellbound. My only complaint is that while the war was always omnipresent, in the conclusion suddenly too much focus is on the details of the end of the war and the discovery of concentration camps--really removed from the world of the novel--and there is too much afterstory—but that would be another spoiler.
Nessie? Maybe she’s real, maybe not. It’s enigmatic. But strange things happen at the water’s edge of Lochness. I’d give this one four stars and recommend it highly.