The voice was familiar, but I was having trouble placing it. In past conversations that occurred in my head, the participants were deceased, but still chatty. There were talks with my husband, Tommy, and with my parents, Min and Irv. While all of these episodes were tinged with the sadness of loss, I relished my brain's ability to bring these characters back to life, even if briefly.
I was narrowing in on identifying my imagination's latest
speaker: it was a woman's voice, young, and definitely not coming from the
afterlife. When she continued talking, I felt as happy as if I were welcoming
home a long-lost relative.
"I know that emotion you're feeling," she said.
"It was the same one we experienced in other parts of our lives. Think
back."
She was my 25-year-old self who had evidently decided
to reappear at a critical juncture in my journey. How odd that a youngster like that felt it
necessary to counsel the 76-year-old she had become. But, I was delighted to
see her. I took a moment to bring her full force into my vision: her brunette
hair, her pretty green eyes covered by dark-framed glasses, her
sweetheart-shaped face, and her welcoming smile.
I patted the empty side of my bed, inviting young Elaine to
take a comfy place next to me. She slid in and I sighed as I took note of the
extra inches of height awarded to the younger me. "What brings you
here?" I said.
"Well, I could see you struggling with your decision to
leave Chicago for Los Angeles. I watched you tossing each night, and wrestling
with second thoughts. It was painful for me to witness that, so I thought it
wise to reappear and help you out."
"It's not really second thoughts," I told this
cutie pie sharing my bed. "I know I want to be closer to my daughters, and
it's important to do it now, when I'm untethered and in good health. But after
I enjoyed lunches and dinners with close friends, I felt sad, and wondered how
I'd get along without these people in my day-to-day life."
"Yeah, I saw that," she said, "and I felt
your sadness. You may not remember, but you've experienced the same emotion
several times over the years. It's called 'separation anxiety.'"
"Hmm," I said, "that's interesting. I thought
it was the separation from my daughters that was pulling me towards the West
Coast. Now you're telling me the same feeling is tugging me back?"
"Think 1963," she said, pausing a moment for me to
envision calendar pages flipping to that year. "Your -- or should I say
'our' -- first husband was called up to serve in Fort Devens, Mass., and you accompanied
him. Remember how you cried at the thought of leaving your mother behind? Separation,
sweetheart, separation."
So that's why it was my 25-year-old self who had volunteered
for this lecture. She was present. Married just three years earlier, leaving
the home she shared with her widowed mother. No wonder she felt so
vulnerable."
"I have another," I said, grateful I could
contribute to our memory bank. "There was the time when he and I left our
daughters behind with sitters and travelled to London. We were supposed to stay
for two weeks, but I missed the girls so much, I insisted we return after one
week."
"Separation," she repeated, "separation. You felt
it with Faith and Jill when they were toddlers and you've continued to have a
hard time with their absence. But the important thing to remember, dearest, is
that these feelings are natural; they're what make us human. We love, and
become attached to people, and we feel pain when we leave them."
"Another thing to keep in mind," said my guru
"is that in those earlier experiences, you didn't lose the people you left
behind. When you moved to Massachusetts, and said goodbye to your mother and
best friend, you phoned them regularly. This time, along with calls, Skypes,
email and Facebook, you can periodically fly back to Chicago for reunions with
special pals."
"Thanks, sweetheart," I said, "You've really
made me feel better. Is there anything I can do for you?"
Young Elaine contemplated my question, then said, "I do
have one request." She grabbed my hand as if to insure my attention. "Don't let separation anxiety interrupt forward
moves. I -- and all of your younger selves -- would be so bored if you
suddenly decided to just stay put."
I gave our clasped hands a shake, kissed her adorable
forehead, then turned over to sleep peacefully the rest of the night.