Written September 29,  2013

Do you wanna be a poet and write?


Do you wanna be an actor up in lights?


Do you wanna be a soldier and fight for love?

Do you wanna travel the world?


Do you wanna be a diver for pearls?


Or climb a mountain and touch the clouds above?

Be anyone you want to be


Bring to life your fantasies


I want somethin' in return

I want you to burn


Burn for me, baby


Like a candle in my night


Oh, burn, burn for me, burn for me

Songwriters

Sean Michael Anderson

Orlando Jahlil Tucker

Robert Rihmeek Williams

Mari wakens and wonders why her alarm has not broken the stillness as yet.  Quickly she spins the clockface towards her and sighs in relief that she the gift of an hour’s sleep remains.  It doesn’t matter.  Mari can’t sleep anyway.  It is too momentous a day. She slips from the covers and creeps down two flights of stairs contemplating the time this happened five years before. 

Then it was because her mother at age 88 was leaving.  The memories fold about her like the warmth of the quilt she just left behind.  She is still lying in the twin bed positioned adjacent to her mother’s full size bed, sobbing into the pillow. 

            “It was never supposed to happen this way.  You were supposed to live here until heaven called you home.”

            “It’s still not too late,” says Mom, “We can still change our minds.” 

            But that is stating the impossible.  When a river has been released, it can be channeled down one pathway or another, but it cannot be pulled back and re-harnessed in the same place.

            Today it is not her Mom, but her daughter. Mari wants to climb into that full size bed beside her baby daughter, now age 25.  She wants to cradle her in her arms the way she did years ago, stroking her curls, synchronizing their breathing, and savoring each moment in the wee morning hours of solitude when no one was about to disturb the moment.  In infancy Mari rocked her in the red rocking chair, recognizing that this was the last of her babies, every sigh, every heartbeat, every coo was to be savored, to be imprinted on this mother’s heart.  It was Mari’s goal that the unspoken love overflowing in her heart would find expression in the physicality of a mother/daughter hug.  That hug would have to linger for four months until Chryssa would return again.  But when Mari reaches the bottom step, she finds the bedroom door closed.  The wondrous peace of the nighttime’s calm is palpable and she cannot conjure the nerve to disturb it.  She knows Chryssa is resting right inside that bedroom door, but to turn the handle would be to disturb the calm for which lullabies were created.  Why begin the separation steps of the day any earlier than needed.  Instead Mari hears the dryer humming, one last load that Chryssa has set in motion to be ready for the coming day.  Mari allows the dryer to be her vehicle of action.  She folds the few items, a routine repeated over and over in the many years of child-rearing, as a standard and reassuring act of motherly love.  Chryssa will have one less thing to do in the morning.  Mari smooths the shirts and shorts as if caressing Chryssa’s cheeks.  She lays the patted pile in a position where it will be easily visible in the morning.  She steps back into the hallway and blows a kiss through the bedroom door, tiptoes back up to the third floor and repositions herself next to her husband as if she had never left.

            At 2:30, the alarm chirps repeatedly.  This time it is not as easy to gather the ambition to rise from slumber.  Mari snoozes a few extra moments before bounding out of bed and leaping down the stairs to offer help.  Bill is already in the kitchen, dressed and brewing a cup of coffee.  He acknowledges Mari’s appearance, but she is already halfway down the second flight of stairs to Chryssa’s door.   She opens it to find a bright beam of the bathroom light flooding the space and Chryssa hefting a 50-pound suitcase onto the scale for the 3^rd time to verify that it will make weight.

            It has been a marvelous three days.  Chryssa arrived Thursday from California to spend the long weekend with her family before departing for Uganda.  On Friday, Mari had invited many of Chryssa’s high school friends and their parents to relive some of their precious Holliston memories.  It was a lovely gathering of about 25 friends, all of whom brought a gift of encouragement or some special words of wisdom to share before her departure.  It mimicked many similar events of years past, such as graduation nights, prom nights, senior class play nights, and softball team picnics.  The barbeque, salads and desserts created the aura of encouragement and fun that carved right through the palpable worries.  Every guest was so proud of the adventure Chryssa had elected to take on next.   

            The questions were the same from everyone.  Why was she off on this adventure?  Her husband remained behind in San Francisco, but Chryssa had committed to spending a full year in Uganda.  Was there a problem in the marriage?  Did they need some time away?  Was Chryssa running away from the fear of managing a demanding accounting job with a top firm?

            "You're raring to go!" said Mari.  In her mind she was wondering how she could share her fears of sending her daughter off alone to a third world country when she was a beautiful, but light weight 27 year old female.  The possibilities for danger seemed overwhelming.

            "Why not?" retorted Chryssa.  "I've been planning this for 3 months."