One mild morning in June, nearly a decade ago, I received a telephone call from my youngest brother that forever changed my outlook on life. Until that day, my brother and I had never really had conversations that went beyond the general, everyday happenings.
This particular phone exchange altered that for all time. That day, my brother told me our mother had suddenly collapsed while gardening in the backyard. At first, he thought she merely was resting on the lawn; but when it appeared something was wrong, he rushed out to her. After my brother and father helped her into the house, she claimed it was nothing, that it was just a fainting spell and that she would be all right. But they weren’t taking any chances. Medics were called, and my mother quickly was taken to the hospital.
Doctors discovered she had a brain aneurysm, a broken blood vessel in her brain. That day was devoted to talking with family members and peers, all of us sharing our innermost thoughts. I recall hanging up the telephone and sitting silently for hours, the clock ticking, birds chirping outside, as the sun began to set. My mother was in surgery most of the day and again in the morning. For a long while, her chances of survival seemed slim. I understand now that during those painful weeks of speculation as she came out of surgery and was transferred to intensive care, I was reassessing my perspective on my life and own mortality.
Up to that time, my mother and I had always had a mixed relationship. My steadfast independent nature had alarmed and inspired admiration. We had always had mutual respect and affection for one another, if not always the most ideal mother-son rapport. Yet, I suddenly got it. I wasn’t getting any younger, and I could no longer kid myself. This emotional upheaval brought me closer to myself, as I began to look at everything differently, with more focus and clarity. What kind of person had I been up until this crisis?
All our lives are confounded by endless distractions of frantic advertising-triggered shopping; handheld gadgets; phony politicians; greedy entrepreneurship; television and entertainment in all its hybrids; stupid, expensively produced movies and CDs; self-help and health crazes; and so on. When I recently moved into a new apartment, I carried physical and psychological baggage with me on the truck. Hauling my possessions and seeing them in a new setting forced me to take stock of all my material acquisitions that had no discernible association with my enjoyment of life.
But, close self-examination brought me to the unexpected conclusion I was pretty content with myself, life and work. I have learned from my parents of African and Native-American descent to be kind, compassionate and thoughtful in my dealings with others. I believe more than ever that personal ambition should and can work in harmony with the common good. To reflect on how my mother raised her three sons, while working a variety of jobs, until she earned a master’s degree in education, while teaching young children in elementary school, is testament to how we can love and achieve personal goals at the same time.
As my father often says: “It’s not what you know but what you do with what you know.” It seems now that getting older causes me less anxiety, even with a bit of arthritis in the joints and the fact that it takes me a little longer to get in and out of bed these days. What I now see in the mirror is an optimistic person — not merely the overly simplified notion of “the glass is half-full,” but also the reassurance that every day good or bad can happen and that I have the accumulated experience to cope with it regardless.
When my mother finally left the hospital and returned home after rehabilitation, there was still apprehension about “the shape of things to come.” But the more we talked and laughed together, the more I appreciated her indomitable will to live, her love of family and friends and especially her spiritual faith. I take her progress as a beacon, lighting the way to my own tomorrows. More than ever, I aspire to work at my convictions, living a fulfilling existence and to open my heart to those I love. As Winston Churchill once said, “the pessimist sees difficulty in every opportunity. The optimist sees opportunity in every difficulty.”
Leigh Donaldson is a Portland writer. His writings on international, national and regional politics, business, social issues, history, art, culture and travel have appeared in a number of print and online publications.