Little by Little

What I woke to was sun, streaming through a tall, open-mouthed window that breathed in the cool morning air. Serabi, the tabby house cat that normally shadows Ted was curled beside me. She crept in, to my delighted surprise, and crawled into bed with me on my first restless night. How do animals know so well when we need their warm presence?

Sitting up on this mattress that lies frameless, on the floor, I wrapped one arm around my knees and used my free hand to move aside the white curtains, colored with rings of yellow water stains. Across the street is a high rise apartment of faded red brick, white-faced cherubs engraved across the center, fire escapes descending to the street. “So this is it,” I thought, awareness dawning with the day, “I am living in New York City.”

Most of my significant belongings (clothes, shoes and books) arrived with me in two hefty bags and amazingly, this afternoon, I managed to find a place for them in this sweet little square room (olive green!) with no dresser or closet. There is a short metal rod for hanging and a hip-height book case for everything else. I’ve utilized one of the suitcases as a drawer and tucked it, along with the empty one, into a corner.

Maryhouse Catholic Worker. When I was closing the door this morning to change, my hand touched Ted’s, on his way in to say good morning. We were lucky to have a couple undemanding hours to begin our first morning together. The first of many days in which we learn to share this house, work, life.

The first morning I received a riotous welcome from the children in “Joanne’s Room,” an office and play room on the second floor, and a warm greeting from the adults too. Down another flight of stairs is the auditorium and one and a half more takes you to the cafeteria and kitchen. There I met Marit, “one of the Germans” (many come from Germany to volunteer here for anywhere from a month to a year), had a bowl of soup, and listened to a woman rejoice at the find she made in the clothing room – a striped nightgown, a pair of slacks to wear to an interview – “and now this beautiful food! God is good!” Not every woman who comes for lunch is so cheerful, but there is an atmosphere of familiarity and warmth that prevails.

It’s hard to imagine ever coming to feel as though I am at home here; time will tell. I am willing to try. Driving through the city, from the airport, I looked at the glittering towers and endless apartments as a legion, my opponent. Then I thought of my last train ride in Chicago, watching the city that once seemed so foreign. Outside of my neighborhood, for the most part, it remained so. Yet, having that island of association shifted my perspective, the ocean of strange people and streets and clustered buildings lost its menace and was only an expanse. I could venture into it as far as I liked and know where to turn to swim home. “I found a place in you,” I had whispered to Chicago that day. “I will find my place in you,” I silently declared to Manhattan. We will make peace, my enemy.

*****

I made a rule for myself. Day one, you can hide out in your room as long as you like. Ever after, no more than two hours! Though it’s only been two days since, I am happy to say I’ve followed through so far. Most of Thursday afternoon was spent at Bellevue hospital, visiting Frank, a ninety-four year old man (friend of Dorothy and a CW for much of his life), who had been living at Maryhouse under the care of Ted and others until his condition suddenly, drastically worsened and he required emergency medical care. Frank was so moved to see us, he wept. He never let go of my hand the whole visit and kept saying how wonderful it was to “hold the hand of this special person.” Such an emblem of grace, this utterly unearned love I receive from him though we’d only met recently and briefly. Somehow it is so important to him that Ted and I be together, and so dear to him not only that I have come to the city, but that we came to see him. It is very clear that he wants to be finished – that he treasures his memories, loved ones, and life, but he is weary and hurting. When a friend asked if he wants to “come home,” he responded, “I want to go home, to God.” It is sad and also strangely beautiful, no doubt frightening too, for him. “I don’t know how to do this,” he kept saying, “I don’t know where I am.” How those quandaries resonate with me! Are these questions always with us? Even if one has lived, and lived with energy and fullness, for almost a century?

The events of the evening made a peculiar, poignant juxtaposition to our time in the hospital. We experienced grace in another form, through a mass and baptism for little eight month old Bennett who had been brought by his parents from Germany especially to be baptized here at Maryhouse where they experienced their faith come alive. Bennett laughed through the entire ritual, kicking his feet and craning his head to catch the eyes of his captive audience.

I am tremendously grateful for the Germans volunteering here this month. They are so very friendly and welcoming and somehow, the presence of this handful of men and women who don’t quite belong, yet are temporarily part of the community, helps my own presence to feel more fitting. So far I have had many conversations but not done much work besides some dishes here, some newspaper labeling there, a little ladling of the soup. No one is demanding much and I have allowed myself to take these first few days easy. I am hoping soon to push toward a more assertive embodiment of myself and begin taking on more responsibility. I know the help is needed.

Ted has an endless list of things to do and seems so tired yet in the midst of the madness overcomes weariness and grumpiness to be tenderly present to me, to his friends, to guests, to workers and volunteers. A good man is hard to find – how is it that I happened to be found by one so wonderful?