I’ve been weighed down for at least twenty months by the stresses in my life: taking care of my husband; writing and teaching and doing my professional job; feeling that I never have a moment to rest; no time for myself. When the annual fall Northeast Milton Seminar came up, and a couple of close friends were going, I thought maybe I should try. I needed “respite care” for my husband and a respite for me.
In order to attend, I arranged for one of our aides to move in for the weekend. I even hired an extra nighttime aide so she could get some sleep. Then Friday morning, September 6th, I got in my car, and off I went. A five and a half or six hour drive—alone. And it was just what I needed.
But during the trip, just north of Hartford on 91, the traffic suddnely stopped and was backed up as far as the eye could see. The southbound lane had been cleared and firetrucks streamed by with sirens blaring as they headed north, then came ambulances. Slowly I crawled passed one of the worst multi-car accidents I’d ever seen. I don’t know how many cars were smashed, but there were at least two that were totaled. A baby car seat was hanging out the back window of one and I just started crying. It was horrible and I couldn’t stop thinking of that child, or what happened to the mom, or any of the other people involved. So many ambulances! I prayed, please God, at least may that baby and mother be okay.
I was so shaken, but had to pull it together and drive safely. It made me think of how each time I leave our apartment, my husband always says, “be safe.”
Then I thought, what if I have an accident too? What if I’m killed? Who would know? I had bought grave plots for myself and Tony late last winter, but where were those documents? Please God, I prayed again, let me live so I can get home and find them and tell my son where they are!
So, I finally get to Dartmouth in time for the meeting. It was good to be with these people, especially to attend a pleasant communal dinner Friday night. Everyone was feeling friendly and I was glad I came. The next day there were papers to review by two young women, one in the morning, one in the afternoon. Our group of about twenty sat around the long table and discussed them (though I noticed the guys tended to give mini-lectures of their own, and I had to fight a bit to get my two cents in). Still, I thought, it’s a great group.
When it was all over, late afternoon, I walked across the street to window-shop—something I never have time to do anymore. And there was a little store called Simon Pearce with the most beautiful lamp in the window! Pale bluish-green sprinkled with gold in irregular patterns, like flowers or constellations. It gleamed; it reflected the light in ways that made it seem like a living thing. I fell in love, but thought, “no way I can afford this, especially when I’m paying thousands and thousands a month for my husband’s care.” I coveted that lamp but ultimately, stayed away from it until the next day before I left, going back to the store for about twenty minutes just to soak it up, fill my heart with it and then drove home.
Well, of course, I just couldn’t get that lamp out of my mind. I’m obsessive about my husband’s care and diet, about work, and . . . about beauty. Several days passed, and I thought, “What the hell, I spend all this money on his care and there’s nothing to show for it. Maybe I should splurge, bring some more beauty and light into our apartment which is increasingly filled with medical equipment and supplies.”
So I called the store— they just sold that lamp the day before! I went to the internet, only to find the lamp out of stock, indefinitely. Then I found a Simon Pearce in Greenwich, Connecticut, about thirty-five miles away, called, and a woman named Sandy went to work. In seven hours, an employee named Kristy called me from Vermont. They have three of these lamps, “celestial crystaline, in jade.” Don’t you just love the name? Heavenly, crystal, jade, the color of happiness and good fortune. All the things I needed, I thought. She sent me three pictures, I pick out the one I like best, paid the small fortune, and she promised to ship it to me right away. I’m ecstatic, if just for a brief moment, having found solace knowing that my lamp was coming!
Two days later, the concierge calls from downstairs. “You have a large heavy package.” Great! It’s the lamp! Even more beautiful than I imagined. I carefully took it out and put it on the big carved oriental rosewood table of my father’s. The whole thing looks gorgeous. But as I try to put the shade on, I notice there’s something wrong with the light socket—it’s loose and the whole thing wobbles. I call the Vermont store. “Oh you just need to tighten it.” Okay, but how? Well, there’s a little screw. No screwdriver I have will fit, so I run down to the hardware store, get a smaller one and the guy tells me it’s really easy, just thread the socket on the metal post that comes up out of the lamp. Well, it doesn’t work. In fact, it’s falling over even worse. I’m getting frantic. My daily life feels like a rollercoaster.
I call the Vermont store again, ask for Kristy, but am told there are three Kristy’s! How can there by three Kristy’s in one little store? I’m told to haul this big lamp to the Greenwich store; they will send it to the special lamp repair guy in Vermont, and probably six weeks later I’ll have my lamp. God willing.
And all l wanted was a little light in the dark.