In Minnesota two weeks ago, on a chilly fall day, having buried my dear friend's momma, we arrived back in her childhood home. To life without her mother. It was there that I got the call from my momma and heard her say, "I'm cancer free!" With tears streaming down my cheeks, I shared the news (mindful of their oh-so-fresh loss, wondering if I should) and my dear friend and her dad, the new widower, cheered. Right there on the day of their loss. Right there in the kitchen I grew up in. They cheered for my mom.
Because I was unexpectedly in Minnesota for the memorial, I was near my parents' home. Within an hour I was with them in their cottage home on Green Lake, hugging and crying. We celebrated that Thursday night at the Swedish Inn in Center City with what's affectionately called "Cheap Chicken"--- quarter fried chicken, real mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans---and popovers the size of momma's head all for $3.50. There was even an old woman playing the accordion for tips! When I mentioned to our teenage waitress that my momma just got the news that she's cancer-free she looked right at momma and told her how happy she was for her. My momma said, "You're gonna make me cry!"...and then the tears rolled. Dad was beaming at her side. A few minutes later, our waitress appeared again and said, "The owner wants me to to tell you that your dinner was paid for." More tears.
We still don't know who paid for our supper. Was it the owner (if so, thank you!) or another of the many friends she was hugging and reuniting with after months of reclusive living? We may never know the answer to that question. But---what we do know is this: it is in the sharing of all of life---the sorrows and the joys---that we unleash a flow of humanity and possibility that is far beyond the wildest imagining of our shuttered selves.
