February 21: Allie, Disappearing, Angels

Anyway, I kept walking and walking up Fifth Avenue, without any tie on or anything.  Then all of a sudden, something very spooky started happening.  Every time I came to the end of a block and stepped off the goddam curb, I had this feeling that I'd never get to the other side of the street.  I thought I'd just go down, down, down, and nobody'd ever see me again.  Boy, did it scare me.  You can't imagine.  I started sweating like a bastard--my whole shirt and underwear and everything.  Then I started doing something else.  Every time I'd get to the end of a block I'd make believe I was talking to my brother Allie.  I'd say to him, "Allie, don't let me disappear.  Allie, don't let me disappear.  Allie, don't let me disappear.  Please, Allie."  And then when I'd reach the other side of the street without disappearing, I'd thank him.  Then it would start all over again as soon as I got to the next corner.  But I kept going and all.  I was sort of afraid to stop, I think--I don't remember, to tell you the truth.

This passage comes near the conclusion of The Catcher in the Rye.  Holden is almost at the end of his rope, headed toward a mental breakdown that will land him in a hospital.  He's physically ill, feeling abandoned/alone.  In an earlier part of the novel, he describes how he wants to be the catcher, saving children who are about to plunge off the cliff at the edge of the field of rye.  Now, Holden is at the edge of the cliff, and he's calling on his brother, Allie, to save him from going down, down, down.  To save him from disappearing.

I think we all have angels we call upon in times of great stress and trouble.  Holden's angel is Allie, his brother who died of leukemia.  I always find this moment in Holden's tale a little heartbreaking.  Allie's death was, in a lot of ways, the start of Holden's downward spiral.  The amount of love and loss that are expressed in the above passage are immense.

My mother-in-law died before my wife and I married.  She was a wonderful woman, full of laughter and life, and she loved her three daughters fiercely.  When we put the decorations on our tree every Christmas, there are certain ornaments that receive special places.  Those ornaments were made by my wife's mother.  A picture of her hangs on our living room wall.  She's laughing, her face a vision of joy, no shadow of her future illness present.  That's the way I remember her.  Joyful.

Last night, my daughter was sitting next to my wife on our couch.   We were watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.  Sirius, Harry's godfather, had just been killed, and my daughter looked up at my wife and said, "Do you miss your mommy?"

My wife looked up at her mother's picture hanging above the entertainment center.  "Every day," my wife said.  "I think about her and miss her every day."

My daughter leaned her head on my wife's shoulder.  "I'm glad you're still here with me," she said.

"So am I," my wife said.  "So am I."

I know my mother-in-law would have loved my daughter and son just as fiercely as she loved her daughters.  She would have laughed with them and played with them.  She would have been in the front row at each of my daughter's dance recitals.  I have no doubt of that.

My mother-in-law's memory and spirit are guiding angels in my house.  From the times we share just sitting on the couch, watching TV together, to the trips to get ice cream on hot summer nights, she's watching over us.  I truly believe she has held my family together, through my wife's mental illness and sexual addiction, through the lean times and the times of abundance.  She's with us.  Every day.

She has kept Saint Marty's family from disappearing.

She's there.  Evey day.