Maureen

While I ventured out into the world beyond the confines of my hometown, Maureen remained firmly ensconced and rooted to Danvers. Everyone in town knows her or about her. Today she would be diagnosed as special needs but then, when we met in Junior High School, there was no such thing as special education. She, too, was called to break down barriers of discrimination. As I've stated before, I am a champion of the underdog.

Yesterday I received a phone call from her. I was already in a dither, given the up and down changes in the barometric pressure. I'm as sensitive to these changes in weather as I am to the stages of the moon and change of seasons. Yesterday, as I wrote, it was a beautiful, sunny 60 degree plus day. This morning it was snowing and made for a tricky commute as the snow clung to the trees giving it that fairyland appearance. Talk about a bipolar spring week.

Maureen's phone call startles me with her directness. I could take a few lessons from her about asking direct questions. She pegged me perfectly. Her memory is prodigious. She could name every concert she ever attended and who she went along with. She recalled where we met, when we met and she asked the most amazing questions. It was if she was able to fully capture and understood the pain of having a diagnosis of bipolar disorder. She knew enough to know that it was something I had, not who I was. She is friendly, smart, very smart, and deeply insightful. If you can allow yourself to get beyond the stutter and to concentrate, she respectfully yet powerfully emerges. Maureen never hid in the shadows and for that great blessing I applaud her. Her family and her family of friends and the faithful are her champions. Count me in.

This was not our first conversation but it was our first-ever phone conversation. It lasted an hour or so. There is no escaping her interests. Religion, politics, health care, townies, music, you name it, we covered it. Maureen makes friends and she has signaled that we are to be friends. I get it.

She opened my heart further than I was to realize. I knew it was occurring as we spoke because I could feel the sharp pain of an opening heart. I knew there was no escaping it. She knows who I am. Then she invited me to Mass (that's something no one has done in ages) and out to lunch. How could I not agree? Palm Sunday was always a favorite of mine. I no longer am a church-goer and don't expect that will change any time soon. The Church and I just absolutely differ about most subjects but its rituals endure.

I felt the tears welling-up inside of me as we talked, just wanting to escape. I heard my voice change accordingly. I felt the pit in my stomach rise and knew I was in for some trouble. Later that evening, the tears  burst through like an overflowing dam. I found myself rocking back and forth to comfort myself. Where is everybody when I have a good cry? Where are those strong comforting arms of another? Do you ever wonder why women cry? We just do. Some of us are simply more sensitive than others. And that's a good thing, as Martha Stewart would say.