But It's Alright Ma, I'm Only Cryin'

My mother died in 1998. She was only 67. I say 'only,' because I'm 53 now and 67 doesn't seem old.

In 1998, I was unemployed and suffering from something a doctor called 'chronic fatigue. I called it depression.

In my spare time, which I had a lot of, I was volunteering at the Blacksburg United Methodist church my mom went to and my dad goes to to this day. I had become friends with the senior minister, Rev. Herb Hobbs, who was also the the chaplain for the Virginia Tech football team. He recommended I pursue a career in ministry.

A good friend at church, Dick Arnold, had lived in New Jersey and recommended the seminary at Drew University in Madison.

New Jersey? The armpit of the nation. A place where being a jerk is a point of pride. But Dick Arnold was persistent. I needed to visit Drew University, he kept saying.

So my Dad and I drove up to New Jersey and visited the campus. The campus was set in several acres of forest. It was peaceful and serene. The administration building is so magnificent it has been in several movies. Many people get married on the beautiful lawn behind it.

Still grieving, but needing to get on with a career, I thought three years in this bucolic, spiritual setting could heal as well as prepare for a career in ministry.

What happened in the next three years changed me in ways I didn't think possible. I lived in off campus housing, sharing an old home with four other graduate and seminary students. My bedroom was a converted closet. Please don't ask if the closet had a closet.

But I was single and didn't care. I pared all my belongings down to a couple of suitcases and moved in. My roommates and I got along great. It all started out well. Too well, the cynic in me warned.

It was. After several months, I began to suspect that gregarious Keith was a pedophile. What transpired with Keith deserves its own pages and will be discussed at another time. Socially, I was my usual awkward self and botched a couple of stabs at relationships. Academically, I almost flunked an oral exam and had a professor refuse to grade a final paper for reasons only academics care about.

I was in turmoil by the end of the academic year. I was lonely and confused.

Back home in Blacksburg for the summer, I was too depressed to explain to family and friends the changes I was going through. One day I went to my mother's grave. She is buried in the town cemetery in the middle of town. There is a big, beautiful tree that gives her head stone shade during the hottest part of the day.

I sat there, under the tree, in the shade, crying, wondering. I was at a loss for what to do next. On the walk home from the cemetery I thought of writing someone I had met in one of my classes. At the end of the year, we exchanged addresses. I went home and wrote her a letter.

Even though I was submerged in my own grief, I remembered she seemed sad last time we talked. It's helpful to remind oneself that other people have struggles and tragedies, too. She had talked about how one of her good friends had lost her young daughter after a long illness. I sensed her sadness had other levels, but chose not to pry.

So I wrote her a letter asking how her summer was going. Two days later I got a letter from her. I was shocked. I looked at the postmark. She had mailed it the same day I did!

It was the same kind of letter I wrote,with the "hi, how are you stuff." But at the end of the letter she said her marriage was ending. That explained some of the deeper sadness.

We exchanged letters all summer, getting to know each other better. We explained our theological philosophies and shared family details. Then it was fall and time to go back to school.

I was worried, concerned and excited about what would happen next. I enjoy the company of intelligent, strong women. Most of my female friends were married or lesbians. I have always been comfortable with that, it kept me from falling in love and ruining a good friendship. My track record in love had been one disaster after another. I didn't want to add one more failure to the list.

Tomorrow: Meeting face-to-face.