Chiddies is Glenn's mom's nickname. Her proper name is Ellen. But I've always called her Chiddies. I first met her at Christmas break in 1979 when I was a freshman in college. Glenn and I spent our first Christmas together in her house in Huntington, Long Island. Chiddies is a contraction - a combination of "children" and "kids". One time, long before my time, she called to gather her kids and visiting friends and said, "chiddies". The nickname stuck. To this day. She is now 86. And dying. Glenn drove up to Vermont to sit vigil with her and his sister. She could pass at any minute. I'll drive up today with the dogsto join them.
Her impact has lasted a lifetime. She was a social worker, a psychotherapist. She was the first person I ever met who seemed interested in how I was - REALLY. By that time - age 18 - our unfolding family tragedy was epic. I didn't even recognize the extent of the damage. I was a walking shell. Just barely functioning. I suffered in silence. I never really said anything about my inner world. I just talked fast, smiled and laughed, partied, and explained myself in an off-hand manner and everyone would say how "strong" I was. Not so. Not by any measure. I was really damaged and broken. She was the first person who did not accept my story as told, but began to ask. And with her, my facade began to crumble. As time went on, she'd say, your mother is alive but you don't talk to her? Why not? She encouraged me to contact my mother who I hadn't seen since age 10. Other than my father's funeral when I was 14. When I saw her, I literally tried to hide under a table. That's another story for another time.
So with Chiddkes encouraement, I wrote a letter to my mom. She (of course) wrote right back. And we corresponded for about a year. THen we talked a few times on the phone. We had planned to meet but I lost my courage at the last minute. My mom understood. But she was killed in a car crash just a few days later. So I never saw her again.
And yet I've always credited Chiddies with helping us to reconnect. It still gives me comfort to know that we tried. And that we had come to a better place. It still hurts. All of it. But Chiddies was a bridge to what took decades to learn - to connect and open, to grow towards self-compassion and empathy for others.
And now she lies dying. She might have passed. It's still very early morning. I've kept my phone on the last few nights. Glenn hasn't called or texted. I hope to get there before her light goes out. She lived what I'd call a good life. Such a loving presence. Who loved to dress up with impeccable hair and nails, to drink proseco and eat Chinese dumplihgs. She always came for the holidays, loaded with gifts, Long Island bagels, meatballs an Danish pastry.
She loved fully. And she will always be loved by those whose lives she touched. Her therapy patients, her friends and her family.
Wishing you peace, dear Chiddies.
