Love

Letters to My Mother During Covid19

May 10, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

Dear Mom,

Happy Mother’s Day in heaven! I’m not surprised, even in dying you did everything right and God took perfect care of you. Thank you for staying alive until you could see, wave, smile and talk to all our children out the window. Thank you for fulfilling a truth that I’ve often shared with people who say, “Your mother is so beautiful” and yes, you’ve been beautiful your whole life, even on your last day. Thank you to God and to you for dying gracefully, without suffering from the most horrible effects of Covid19 that we’ve all read about. Thank you for driving all around five years ago and looking at retirement homes, when you didn’t think you needed to but you could imagine the future. Thank you for accepting the fact that the day may come when you might need more care than we can give you. Thank you for choosing Wyndemere because everyone there took perfect care of you during these past five declining years. Thank you to all of them, they kept you from dying in a hospital where no one could even see you from outside a window. Thank you for loving all of us so much that you went above and beyond what any normal mother, wife, grandmother, aunt, sister, friend and lover would ever do. Thank you for loving Jesus because you get to be with him today and all the other mothers of history that I’m dying to meet. Thank you for embodying the good, old fashioned true religion and virtue that makes life worth living. Thank you for always wearing lipstick and letting me brush your teeth and hair when you couldn’t do it anymore. Thank you for always being on our side. Thank you asking the hard questions. Thank you for painting roses with me, just two and a half months ago. Thank you for letting me push you at breakneck speed around Lake Ellyn when it was about to rain so we could see all of the emerging springtime. Thank you for laughing with me to the point of actually peeing in our snowpants when we went cross county skiing together for the first time. Thank you for holding on to me to get back up, even though you believed you could get back up yourself. Thank you for humbling yourself. Thank you for buying our children practically every article of clothing that they ever wore. Thank you for taking them shopping when I was working. Thank you for believing in me as a writer. Thank you for reading my books. Thank you for creating a book with me. Thank you believing that art can change the world. Thank you for adoring your extended family. Thank you for loving and accepting our foster daughter, Jessica. Thank you for loving your faithful caregivers, Maria, Margaret and Renee. Thank you for listening to them. Thank you for seldomly answering the phone because you were doing other more cool, important things. Thank you for taking our kids to Oak Brook mall. Thank you for teaching me everything about plants and giving me my first garden. Thank you for loving the color green. Thank you for taking my cousin to Diana Ross in downtown Chicago. Thank you for believing the best in people. Thank you for keeping poetry hidden in the lower desk drawer of your secretary. Thank you for always having stamps in that desk. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for remembering all of us even when your memory was deteriorating. Thank you for keeping journals. Thank you for learning the Bible. Thank you for marching around on rainy days in rain boots and on sunny days in high heeled sandals. Thank you for going to Door County on your honeymoon. Thank you for marrying my dad who I adore. Thank you for loving my husband from the start. Thank you for your precious, astonishinghly strong, wise, adorable, priceless, fearless mother Goggie who still burns a bright light in my heart. Thank you for putting wheat germ in our milkshakes (actually no — that tasted awful) and making us take vitamins. Thank you for caring deeply about health and wellness. Thank you for doing yoga.Thank you reciting this poem, every Mother’s Day we’ve shared together so I give it back to you today. I know you know that you were the best mother and grandmother in the world. For everyone who doubts their mother, mourns their mother or still feels the sting of an absent mother you need to know today that “Somebody’s Mother,” even a difficult mother matters so very much. I love you Mom and I will see you in a blink of your twinkling eye, Happy Mother’s Day.

Somebody’s Mother by Mary Dow Brine

The woman was old and ragged and gray,

And bent with the chill of a winter’s day;

The streets were white with a recent snow,

And the woman’s feet with age were slow.

At the crowded crossing she waited long,

Jostled aside by the careless throng

Of human beings who passed her by,

Unheeding the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street with laughter and shout,

Glad in the freedom of ‘school let out,’

Come happy boys, like a flock of sheep,

Hailing the snow piled white and deep;

Past the woman, so old and gray,

Hastened the children on their way.

None offered a helping hand to her,

So weak and timid, afraid to stir,

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses’ feet

Should trample her down in the slippery street.

At last came out of the merry troop

The gayest boy of all the group;

He paused beside her and whispered low,

‘I’ll help you across, if you wish to go.’

Her aged hand on his strong young arm

She placed, and so without hurt or harm

he guided the trembling feet along,

Proud that his own were young and strong;

Then back again to his friends he went,

His young heart happy and well content.

‘She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know,

For all she’s aged, and poor and slow;

And some one, some time, may lend a hand

To help my mother- you understand?-

If ever she’s old and poor and gray,

And her own dear boy so far away.’

Somebody’s mother’ bowed low her head

In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was: “God be kind to that noble boy,

Who is somebody’s son and pride and joy.”

Letters to My Mother During Covid19

May 8, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

Dear Mom,

I am so proud of you! It’s been a week since the Coronavirus came to your wing of the building and you are hanging in there. The healthcare workers are doing everything they can to get you over this little set-back you’re experiencing. Thank them today! Caleb came by and dropped off Pedialyte so you can get more electrolytes in your system. Please drink lots of that fluid today because you need it and because he walked all the way to Target to get it and then walked over to your place to drop it off. I’ll bet you don’t know that when we drop things off for you they need to sit in a bin for 24 hours to make sure all possible germs die off before they come to you. When we leave a note to direct the package (or hopefully flowers:) we take a pen from the clean pen zip-loc bag to write with and then we put the used pen in the used zip-loc bag when we’re done. So many steps taken to keep you all healthy!

The big news today is that Uncle Jay and Caleb are coming to visit you through the window. Yes, indeed your brother who has never darkened the door of your retirement community is going to do so today. I will email Jennifer to let her know they are coming so that someone can unlock the gate and then they will be able to enter the courtyard and see you and talk to you through the window, so make sure and brush your hair and put on some lipstick for their visit. Mercy can help you with this. Also, just a reminder that no one can come in to see you or see anyone in the building because of the virus. This keeps the virus from spreading further.

I’ve let Reverend Meyer know that you aren’t feeling tip-top and he’s praying for you. So many people are praying for you to get through this little rough patch. It sounds like your worst problem right now is weakness so any food you can get in that power lifter body of yours is helpful, anything — even chocolate pudding! Do you remember how we used to beg you to make us that JELLO dessert called “1-2-3” when we were little? Those three layers of regular, fluffy and whipped jello on top? Lime was my favorite! So eat your Jello today, gelatin is good for strength. Dad drinks Knox gelatin mixed in a glass of water every morning when he takes his vitamins. Dad is praying for you too. If you used Facebook on the computer you could see all the messages people have left who are praying for you.

In that spirit, here’s a prayer for you today from the Book of Common Prayer:

Heavenly Father, giver of life and health: Comfort and relieve thy sick servant Sarah and give thy power of healing to those who minister to her needs today, that mother for whom our prayers are offered may be strengthened in her weakness and have confidence in thy loving care; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

I’ve been working on a project to give to Nink for his college graduation. Can you believe our firery, little drummer boy is graduating from college? The ceremony is supposed to be this month, but they’ve postponed it until August 7th. That is how much time we have to get you in traveling shape to head down to Nashville, two months! So drink your Pedialyte and eat your soft, yummy food today, rest well and then you’ll be coming with us to Nashville, you can see Aunt Myrna too!

We love you so much Mama. Enjoy your visit with those two golfers today. Maybe Uncle Jay is going to play golf after he visits you, but it might be a bit chilly for that today.

You are a McGreevy with Irish blood churning in your veins to help you keep fighting. xoxoxoxoxoxoxo!

Margaret

Jessie’s graduation from Butler University, 2017

This Angel…

January 21, 2020 by Margaret Philbrick 4 Comments

“What happened to your foster daughter?” We hear this question often, for many people knew and loved the Liberian princess who disappeared from our lives unexpectedly.

The short form of the story tells the facts, without the emotional toll. She returned to Boston in the summer of 2018 because that was the agreement we had with her Liberian step-family living there. In July, both of her brothers journeyed by car several hundred miles to retrieve her from her Liberian family and take her to a different home in the town next to ours, rather than bringing her back to us. Their motivation for doing so was their desire that she attend a more prestigious high school, the one where her older brother graduated. Sadly, we learned about this via a phone call from the high school she attended while living with us. They requested that her records be transferred to the more prestigious high school and they needed our permission to do so. We had no idea what was going on. Why did this happen? The whole affair blind-sided us. We thought she would happily live out her high school days in our home and we would help get her to college, but her brothers had different ideas. This is one of the painful realities of fostering a child, you have very little control.

Fast forward to sitting in the musical “Hamilton” this past December. I waited in line for six hours to get tickets and as the date approached, I began to grow skeptical that it could live up to the hype. When the evening rolled around to see it, I found myself exhausted and didn’t really want to go. Watching “Hamilton” felt like a self-inflicted cultural obligation, which left me feeling guilty. The money could have gone to much worthier causes. I fell asleep during the first act. It is entirely possible that I’m the first person in the world to doze off in their seat while witnessing this blockbuster. After a caffeine laden intermission, we headed in for the second act and alas, one of those unsolicited, transforming moments that can only happen in theatre came over me. It happened during the song, “It’s Quiet Uptown.” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vjEoOeXId1k The song is a poignant number in which Eliza Hamilton forgives Alexander of his marital infidelity. During the scene, the chorus narrates the event while we watch them stroll in an uptown park, and we see her take Alexander’s hand. In unison, the chorus sings the word, “forgiveness – can you imagine?” and Eliza extends herself in this simple, but significant gesture. When this music streamed into my heart, I realized that I needed to forgive our foster daughter and her brothers for their betrayal. It was time to emotionally move on, rather than hold onto the hurt.

So, the Liberian princess now lives with her younger brother in a beautiful apartment which I visited shortly after seeing “Hamilton.” She invited me to help her with a project she’s working on for an entrepreneurial club she attends in the city. We sat together at the high top table, just outside of the recently cleaned kitchen discussing product benefits, target market, distribution vehicles and all those juicy aspects of launching something new. She showed me her drawings and designs and asked if she could call the product, “Margaret’s Child.” (Insert here – emojis of shock and awe and yes, how delightful!) I can’t say what the product is, but if she wins the competition she will get the funding to actually launch the product and then you’ll find out ALL the details. Please pray that she wins:)

She looked so grown up sitting at that table with her newly embraced natural hair and enormous smile. I gave her the Christmas present which I add to every year, another piece of the African nativity which is handmade by our neighbor, (see here for details of this beautiful business http://margaretphilbrick.com/your-artistic-corner/) When she toured me around her immaculate bedroom, I saw the zebra from this set on her desk. This year’s piece was an angel, because she is an angel whether she lives with us or not and forgiveness causes the angels to sing (or at least get their wings) not just at Christmas, but every day of the year. May we extend much grace and forgiveness during this election year — 2020 — to those who’ve hurt us and to those we’ve hurt as well.

p.s. I know this post will probably come back and haunt me so if I’m being a jerk to you or you see me being a jerk to someone else, please remind me that back on a freezing cold, snow- laced January night I wrote this and that I need to keep leaning into forgiveness and get over myself. Thanks!

This is the final post in the four part series discussing the tangible and intangible aspects of life that last…”This Couch,” “This Bear,” “This Bed,” “This Angel.”

This Couch

December 3, 2019 by Margaret Philbrick Leave a Comment

A single question, asked on this couch changed everything. Thirty-one years ago today I lived in a tiny apartment in Chicago on Dearborn street, worked in an advertising agency and stopped for groceries at Treasure Island after getting off the El-train. Snowflakes mixed with yellow gingko leaves on the sidewalk as I slushed my boots into 1100 N. Dearborn. I pressed the 19th floor elevator button and checked out my hair in the mirrored glass. We’d decided earlier in the day to go pick out a Christmas tree that evening. After dropping my groceries onto the only counter in my “galley” kitchen, which is a romantic city term for inadequate kitchen, I changed into jeans and a Christmas sweater. This was the end of the 80’s — people wore gaudy sweaters for real, not as a joke at corporate Christmas parties.

Over on Rush street a bar with outdoor seating beckoned commuters, a busy watering hole called Melvins. During holiday season they filled the red-painted wrought iron furniture with Christmas trees beneath multi-colored lights, the old fashioned kind our grandparents hung on their trees with single colored, large light bulbs. The evergreen smell and warm, holiday glow created an oasis in the city rush.

He tucked his gloved hand into my mitten. We found a tree that might fit. I took the top and he carried the trunk. City lights and taxi horns mingled with the “Charlie Brown Christmas” theme song as we carried my first “big” Christmas tree back to my first “big” one bedroom apartment.

“I think I’ll take a shower,” I said. The tree sap pinned my fingers together and I felt sweaty. Radiator heat equals boiling hot, unadjustable indoor temperatures. We’d wrestled the tree into the stand and moved the furniture around to make space for it. “Oh, okay,” he said with a puzzled look.

I emerged in a yellow robe and hair up in a towel, (we’d been dating for six years so this was not a big deal.) Slumping down next to him on the couch I noticed he looked pale, almost gaunt. He gathered my hands in his sweaty palms, “We’ve been together for awhile. We both love family and I want that to continue, to grow. I want us to have our own family someday. I want what we have to go on.” Oh, how I could not believe I’m sitting in a robe with no make-up on at this moment. He slid off the couch onto his knees. “Will you marry me?”

“Of course I will!” I laughed, screamed, and surprisingly did not cry. Being sneaky, he’d tucked the ring box behind a pillow on the couch. After we finished hugging (and of course, kissing) we sat back and stared at each other, he handed it to me. Laughing louder, I opened the black, velvet box and to my shock there was a ring inside, his grandmother’s ring which I knew nothing about. I’d been expecting a cigar band with a cute message written inside, something like, “I.O.U. an incredible ring when I’m a successful lawyer someday.” We’d never looked at rings or even talked about them and he slid his grandmother’s beautiful ring on my finger. My “of course I will” went silent. To this day, it is the most special ring in the world.

The view this morning from this couch is a world of white. First rain, then ice, then snow coated all the trees in our neighborhood and it stuck. Just like his question 31 years ago today. It stuck. In an age of IKEA furniture that ends up out on the curb and disposable Joanna Gaines signs, I hope this Advent we seek after something that sticks, something that lasts. My parents bought this couch on their honeymoon for ten dollars off the porch of the Thorp Hotel in Fish Creek. WI. It still says “ten dollars” in pencil on the bottom. Then it moved to our back porch in Geneva, IL and held many dressed up girls at birthday parties, then on to my studio apartment and down the hall to apt. 1901, my one bedroom and now it’s back home where it began. We changed the color from white to forest green and each spring we take the wicker furniture outside and touch up the chipped paint. My mother and father take naps on the couch they bought on their honeymoon, our friends laugh and cry as we tell stories and drink craft beer around the fire. This couch…his question…the pure joy of something that lasts. And today, “Of course I will, my love.”

Part one of a four part Advent series on the tangible and intangible aspects of life that last.