Pushing Back the Clouds

It’s been cloudy today; overcast, misty, gray. The air is heavy, almost oppressive. Cool air is on its way, but often here in Florida, this time of year, this is typical weather. I am pensive; thoughtful this morning, reflective and reminiscing on days gone by. I knew when I first got the message, that when I returned the call it would be bad news. I knew Maryann – Nanny, was sick; deathly so. I did not expect the news to be that John – Papa, had died suddenly. It seems that he had received news some time ago that he had liver cancer. He chose to keep it to himself, and he chose to focus on Maryann, his life, his love of 50 odd years. I never thought of him as self-sacrificing, but I guess I never had reason to think that way. Now Maryann lies on her own death bed, hospice coming in and making her as comfortable as possible, knowing her husband lost his life and that she will soon follow. There must be some comfort in that; such a long life lived together and neither having to live very long without the other.

When I first met them I was 19, and newly arrived in Florida, newly in love for the first time, full of new impressions and a new life wide open and gorgeous in front of me. The finer details of their lives elude me now, with the passage of time, but I knew their hearts were huge with the capacity to love. They lived just down the road – not even quite a mile, and yet we would often spend the night, crashed in this bed or that, sleeping off the massive party we had celebrated the night before – their only concern that we stay for our own safety. Often John was the one downstairs first, drinking coffee, smoking a cigarette, enjoying the peace of the early day, and me, always an early riser, relished those quiet moments of fulfilling conversations. They were more like friends than the parents of a friend. They laughed at our crazy antics, and they had more than a few themselves. We partied, hard, with them, and around them, and we stayed safe and sound. Those were crazy, chaotic days filled with a lot of alcohol, a lot of laughter and silliness, yet I remember them fondly as some of the most peaceful, carefree days of my life.

Maryann and John worked hard and their lives were not easy, but they never lost their spirit or determination to fill the world with their love. They wanted a lot of children, but God had other plans for them. Maryann had Ricky and John adopted him; together they fostered and adopted, and extended their family, picking up stray people left and right. None were strangers and all were considered and treated like family. I could not now even begin to untangle the webs of love and care they extended and cast over so many people. I know I am just one little soul in the arms of their care, and through them I came to know and appreciate so many people. 

I’ve known them a long time now – 33 years. They were such a large part of my early days here in Florida; until after my marriage, until after Steve drifted away from his friendship with Ricky, their son, for various irrelevant reasons. Similarly, Steve eventually pulled away from everything in his life, leaving it all behind with barely a backward glance. For the years leading up to Steve’s separation from Ricky’s life, we could stop down at their house at any time, be welcomed with open arms, a warm friendly hello, a great conversation. After Steve left I was in such an odd position. I was close with his sisters, his aunt, all of his friends prior to my arrival in his life. I made the choice to not contact them all, to not force them to take sides, to not stay in touch with so many of them. It was not until the last few years that I began to realize Steve did not just leave me and our life, but he left his entire past behind, including people. By that time, so much living had taken place and I had moved in such a different direction than the others, it was hard to step back in and pick up where we left off. It was hard to rekindle, but it is not hard to remember how vital those years and friendships were. 

When Ricky died seven years ago I nearly did not go to his funeral. I wanted to go, to express my condolences, to share memories with the entire extended family, but I was afraid I might be stepping on a place where Steve belonged, rather than me. His reaction to Ricky’s death was terrible for me to take. He was blasé, almost uncaring, unfeeling. Oh, that is sad, he said. My heart cracked even wider. So I went, he did not, and he never mentioned it again. In their mourning, Maryann and John were so kind and gracious to me, about Steve, about the missing years. And I have meant to go back and see them, yet somehow I never did. I have kept in touch with the girls; their granddaughters, but I have not physically been back to see them, and now it is too late. I can remember them with love and gratitude, but truly, the past is past.

Maryann and John. Hearts of gold, hardworking, hard living, rough around the edges by some standards, but if you ever spent any time with them, all that was obvious was their devotion to each other and to the lives of the children they had accumulated through the years, picking us all up like strays, giving each one a safe harbor, reigns to live and make choices, guidance if needed, along with chaotic, peaceful to nest. They lacked judgment over people, unless their loved ones were wronged.  Their house was messy and big and overflowing with pets and kids and craziness, yet they thrived. They had a chance to buy a new house, to buy the bait shop Maryann had worked at so long, and they did. They moved, lock, stock, barrel, and the new house became the same safe, messy chaotic, safe-haven the old one was. John continued to travel – he was a long distance truck driver, and Maryann continued to run the bait shop. A few years ago they sold the shop – it is gone now, but it was on the corner of a busy, developing area. Instead of enjoying those retirement years, their health began declining. Ricky died of a heart attack, and I know their lives took a terrible turn. Looking back and reflecting on life, it is amazing when we consider the people who have touched our lives, unintentionally, unplanned for, unexpected. And yet, oftentimes, those are the very people who we come to realize have made powerful impressions on our hearts.

This morning the clouds hung low in the sky. It’s a gray day. But a little while ago the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, and the day brightened. It occurred to me that John has his angel wings now, and maybe he is the one who helped push back the clouds. He was always, always, a ray of sunshine in my life. I always wanted what he and Maryann had; a loose, easy relationship, complicated by family and bills and craziness, but a true dedication and devotion to each other. I admired him for his ease of friendship, his bawdy humor and great big laugh. He was an amazing hugger, and incessant flirt, and a sweet, caring, kind, teddy-bear of a man, rough around the edges, but matter of fact and kind, deep down to the core. John Hunstman, thank you so much for gracing my life for all the years I have known you. You are a true blessing to everyone who ever had the pleasure of knowing you. You will be missed.