July 7: New Oblivion, Good Old Days, Matthea Harvey, "The Straightforward Mermaid"

Then the holidays would come and the past would hit Ives like a chill wind.  Memories of his son plaguing him, there came many a day, around Christmas, when Ives would plaintively wait for a sign that his son, who'd deserved so much more than what he had been given, was somewhere safe and beloved by God.  Each day he awaited a slick of light to enter the darkness.  And when life went on as usual, without any revelation, he'd await his own death and the new life or--as he suspected--the new oblivion to begin.

Ives spends a lot of time living in the past.  Memory is his best friend.  After his son is killed, Ives saves the wristwatch he bought for Robert as a Christmas present.  Each year, Ives thinks about how old his son wold have been, imagines him wearing the watch as he goes about his priestly business.  In his old age, Ives still thinks of Robert as a middle-aged parish priest, blessing the Eucharist and wine, distributing communion.  Ives, for most of his life, is a ghost of his past.

I have been spending a lot of time recently thinking about the past.  Every day at noon, I have lunch at the outpatient surgery center my sister used to run.  I sit in the break room with my friends, and we talk about the "good old days."  When my sister was healthy.  When we all worked together.  We share our memories, and we laugh a great deal.

It's amazing how much I miss those times.  I never realized how lucky I was.  How lucky we all were.  Sure, we had our problems.  We pissed each other off and got into fights.  But, above all, we cared about each other.  We loved each other.  And now everything is different.  Someone else is in charge of the surgery center.  I work in a cardiology office.  And my sister is in a hospital downstate, fighting for her life.

Latest news is that the doctors don't think she has cancer.  They now think she has a serious, rare autoimmune disease.  She's still losing weight.  Still has a fever.  The last MRI of her brain showed even more spots.  Bottom line, if she survives, my sister will never be the person she was.  That person is now a memory.  A good, happy memory.

I go through my life, always dreaming that something better is around the corner.  I never appreciate the good things I have right now.  My kids.  Wife.  Family.  Home.  Job.  Friends.  Church.  I'm like the Little Mermaid, yearning for legs, land, and sun.

Saint Marty needs to start enjoying the present more, before it becomes memory.  

The Straightforward Mermaid

by:  Matthea Harvey

The Straightforward Mermaid starts every sentence with "Look . . ."  This comes from being raised in a sea full of hooks.  She wants to get points 1, 2, and 3 across, doesn't want to disappear like a river into the ocean.  When she is feeling despairing, she goes to eddies at the mouth of the river and tries to comb the water apart with her fingers.  The Straightforward Mermaid has already said to five sailors, "Look, I don't think this is going to work," before sinking like a sullen stone.  She's supposed to teach Rock Impersonation to the younger mermaids, but every beach field trip devolves into them trying to find shells to match their tail scales.  They really love braiding.  "Look," says the Straightforward Mermaid.  "Your high ponytails make you look like fountains, not rocks."  Sometimes she feels like a third gender, preferring primary colors to pastels, the radio to singing.  At least she's all mermaid, never gets tired of swimming, hates the thought of socks.

She should just enjoy being under the sea