Beginning to See the Light by Martha Thomases – Brilliant Disguise

December 20, 2008 Martha Thomases 10 Comments

It can’t happen soon enough.How was your 2008?  Mine sucked.  I lost one of my favorite jobs that I ever had, thanks to the clunky economy and assorted other awfulness.  That’s not the worst thing, however.  Jobs come and go.  The economy will pick up someday, and I’ll work again.

The worst thing is all the people we’ve lost.

Every year, either this weekend or next, the New York Times Sunday Magazine is comprised entirely of essays about those who died in the last year.  It’s a tribute and a labor-saving device, since the articles can be written in advance, allowing writers, editors, production designers and the like to take time off for the holidays.

It’s sentimental and maudlin.  I hate it.  I love it.

I love it because obituaries inspire some of the best writing in journalism.  I hate it because they never get it right.  They might get the most prominent names, but they never get the people who mean the most to us (and by “us,” I mean “me”).

Last year, I lost two of my oldest friends, Karl Bissinger and Ralph Digia.  They were old friends in all senses of the word, people I had known since I was a teenager, when I was learning about the anti-war movement.  Both made incredible personal sacrifices to dedicate their lives to pacifism and the War Resisters League, and both were sweet, funny and brilliant.  They both lived into their 90s, so, while I miss them, I celebrate their long, productive lives.

Through my volunteer work, I met an amazing young man.  He was 17 years old, had a bunch of brothers and sisters, and he loved to knit.  He would make presents for his siblings, and smile even as they ripped out projects in progress.  A smart, good-natured kid who had the patience that works so well in a large family. The last time I saw him, he was helping his friends with their homework.  A week later, he was dead.  That’s hideously unfair.

The worst, though, was losing my step-mother.  She had been a part of my family since she married my father in 1981, but I knew her as one of the moms in the neighborhood when I was growing up.  This is a woman who really loved being alive.  She loved art and food and travel and kids, and she threw herself into everything she loved.  I couldn’t have asked for a better grandmother for my son (except for my own mom, of course), nor did I ever expect to find such a friend for myself.  She brought me three new sisters, and, eventually, a horde of nieces and nephews.  Jane joyfully hosted her daughters’ weddings and attended every bar and bas mitvah.  It still staggers me that she’s gone.

That’s enough darkness for 365 days, I think.

Some events are both happy and sad at the same time.  My son moved across the country to pursue his career.  I’m proud of him, because he’s working really hard to accomplish his dream, and your children are supposed to grow up to be independent, ambitious adults.  Still, if I want to talk about this week’s comics, or the latest bone-headed presidential antic, I have to allow for a three-hour time difference.  It’s way less fun.

We’re heavy into our empty nest, my husband and me.  We can walk around naked, if we want (not as exciting when there’s no one to catch you).  We can run our lives around the needs of our cat, as nature intended.  We can really get on each others’ nerves, which you would think, after 30 years, we would have grown into and out of a few dozen times.

There are plenty of new people in the world, including a bunch of Bakers.  And the friends we’ve lost aren’t really gone.  They live on in our memories, and in the good effect they had on the world.

This year, we’re not doing gifts.  When you’ve been with someone for those aforementioned 30 years, that’s 240 Hanukkah gifts.  Throw in birthdays, anniversaries, and Valentines Day, and I’m incapable of thinking of an original gift.

Instead, we’re spending the money on our annual Hanukah party.  We invite our friends and family to join us for donuts (a traditional holiday treat, although I don’t think they had Dunkin’ Donuts in the shtetl), champagne, and cartoons.  It’s something we started doing when our son was young, so he’d have a festival to share with his Christmas-celebrating friends.

It makes us clean the house.

It reminds us that we’re blessed with many fantastic people in our lives.

Thanks for being part of it.

—
Martha Thomases, Media Goddess, is schlepping refreshments.