Translation!

Tuesday, May 19, 2009 at 11:43am

I asked Alex's lawyer to translate the card from Greek to English. In short, this is what it reads:

I took
the M from Honey,
the T from Song,
the H from Hope,
the R from Rose,
the A from Love
and I made the word
Mother.

It was really nice to get a card from him... Now that the shock has worn off, I'm smiling about it. I've written him a Thank You card, already!

<3 <3 <3

How Do You Spell "Happy Mother's Day" in Greek?

Monday, May 18, 2009 at 6:55pm

Mother's Day this year, as last year, and the year before that, was spent without much fanfare or even recognition.

But, today, I received a letter from my 9-year-old son, sent from Greece, where he lives with his father. Inside the envelope was a hand-made Mother's Day card, no doubt created in school at the table where Alex sits with three other students.

I wonder what went on in his head as he made that card, so diligently copying down the text from the whiteboard, so carefully coloring the illustration? Was he thinking of giving the card to his Oma, my ex-mother-in-law, whom, in my presence, my son had often referred to as "mother"? Was he perhaps sad that he couldn't give this card to his real mother, because he had been brainwashed into believing he didn't want to have anything to do with me? Did he, for one single moment, wish he could celebrate Mother's Day like the rest of his classmates? Or even just to go home at the end of the day, knowing Mommy was there waiting for him with a smile on her face and a bear hug in her arms, meant for him and no one else?

Does he miss me? Does he love me? Why is his father suddenly encouraging (seemingly) Alex's contact with me and his grandparents?

I don't know. But today, I received a letter from my son, and inside the envelope was a hand-made Mother's Day card. When I opened it, so many questions formed in my mind.

Not the least of which was, "What does this say?"

It was written in Greek.

Rest in Peace, Grandma

The call came and mom walked in on my while I was undressing to give me the news. My dad is doing well, though I noticed his hands were uncharacteristically cold and clammy when I hugged him while he was making phone calls last night. I was sad. I cried. But mostly I felt... relieved for her. She's happy with Grandpa, now, and the rest of her family and friends.

There will be no Chicago service for my grandmother. She'd asked to see everyone on Mother's Day, so we all came. Aside from the immediate family, there's no one left who has survived her.

She'll be cremated, then Dad and Karyn will go to Clearwater, Florida, to hold a service in her community there. She and Grandpa had lived there since 1977 or so. In 1994, Grandpa died, and Grandma stayed on. Then in 2004 or 2005, Dad and Karyn moved Grandma back up to Chicago to keep her near. When they take her ashes back to Florida, she'll be interred beside Grandpa.

My beautiful, gentle Grandma, with the blue eyes and pink lips, a love for music and dance, who walked with grace in a scented aura of face powder and perfume, and religiously ate chocolate chip cookies and milk at night before bed.

I love you.

Some wishes do come true

Thursday, May 7, 2009 at 9:04pm

It's my mom's 63rd birthday today. I was busy this afternoon getting her stuff ready for later on: Found a cake, flowers, balloons, putting the finishing touches on a necklace I made for her using her favorite color combination and wrapping it, writing out her card.

Most importantly, she received a happy birthday phone call this morning from my Alex, her estranged grandson, at the behest of his father. I think that's what made her day, that phone call. She even got a clear and certain "I love you" out of it.

I know she's felt utterly betrayed by Alex and his father. She'd bent over backwards to give Alfi financial and emotional support. She adored (still does) Alex in her quiet, unassuming way, took him to movies, drew with him, read with him, did her best to ease the pain of divorce in his so-tender little-boy heart. And Alex loved her very much, in return.

Though it's clear that Alfi is behind the words Alex has uttered against his grandparents, the pain and sense of betrayal is very real, and no less than my own. Walking through my own pain, I sometimes lose sight of my mother's. That phone call--that I Love You--gave her a much-needed and well-deserved sense of validation, much more than any card, cake, flowers, or handmade gift ever could.

Happy Birthday, Mom! I Love You, too!