In
Münster, Germany
June is one of those months, you know! Weddings, graduations, and
more weddings.
Did you know that in the Netherlands, when you graduate from secondary
school, you hang your backpack outside your bedroom window…or somewhere in the
front of your house, even on the flagpole! The other day while walking in
nearby Utrecht, we saw four backpacks hanging from a row of houses next to each
other. They’ll be friends for life, you can be sure.
Oh, and don’t forget all those June birthdays. In my birth family, 3
of us 10 were born in June. Yesterday Mom would have been 98.
Tomorrow brother Bennett would be 66, 3 years my junior. He made it to
47.
Which leads to death, of course. We don’t like to talk about this
rite, even though it’s the surest of them all....
But where Astrid and I live in our senior community, it’s closer than I’ve
ever experienced, except for when working in assisted living. And it's
here, surrounded by those so close to death, where I am learning to cherish the
beauty of this rite, especially after a life well-lived.
For instance, Pie (pronounced pee), at age 98, is one chic lady who
attends every Friday’s Happy Hour with the grace and stateliness of a
queen. If you ask her how she’s doing, she might mention the pain in her
back but will add, with a serene smile, “Other than that, I’m just fine.”
And there’s Arend, age 86, who walks past our apartment two times every day
to eat with his lady friend, Bettie, who’s 91. He’s a widower, she a
widow, both still wearing their wedding rings from past lives. They do
everything together, including cruises, bus trips and flights to nearby
countries. Though she’s quick to tell you they are NOT married, they are
definitely companions…a right they both enjoy.
Speaking of Arend, I’m quite sure he is the model Shel Silverstein used in The Giving Tree for the caricature of the Boy who became the Old Man. Every time I
look at Arend’s wrinkled, gnarled face at Rummikub on Fridays, I see the boy a
tree loved....
And I see death as a rite that is…a beautiful right to
cherish. Our last rite. Our last right…even if
totally unexpected (as with Marcie’s mother) or seemingly before its time (my
brother)!
But way before that…and the Holy Communions and bar/bat mitzvahs, the
sweet-16s, the driver’s licenses, the coming of age, giving birth, the
marriages and divorces, job promotions, retirements....
It’s this Pacifier Tree that stops me dead in my tracks.
I suppose we chose the rite of birth for our own children but did we know
then anything about these trees popping up all around the world today?
They’re usually in neighborhoods near schools where the youngest siblings of
school children get strolled by their parents.
When exactly the light goes on that the binky in the child’s mouth is like
those up in the tree, I don’t know, but one day the wee child “gets” it and
decides it’s time to “hang it up.” Whether encouraged or prodded by others,
she’s lifted up on the shoulders of Mommy/Daddy and SHE does it. SHE
gives it up. I don’t know if she’ll remember it the rest of her life
but…it’s as much a rite of passage as any that will follow.
Let’s call it the first rite of passage: giving up the
pacifier. Do you suppose it'll be a good kick-starter for those other
rites/rights to follow?
