I Shall Be Released
Nov. 5th, 2006 01:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947Mary Cavanaugh died on Monday, October 30, 2006, at approximately 11:30 A.M. at Huntington Memorial Hospital in Pasadena. She was 85 years old, and she died of a cerebral hemorrage, following a stroke she suffered earlier in the morning. At the moment her spirit was released from the slight and failing body she inhabited, Mary was surrounded by her family, which constituted the alpha and the omega of her life as an adult.
Mary was the only woman whose scoldings and commands I always took very seriously. If she detected a sarcastic or mocking tone in my voice or conversation, she would immediately interrupt my discussion with a sharply phrased, “Tony, cut that out!” If Mary said it, I would obey. While I might dismiss such warnings from my own mother, Kathy, or Prisa, I always took Mary at her word. I don’t think I obeyed out of fear, because Mary was never scary or frightening. I think I did it out of total respect for this straightforward, honest, and no-nonsense lady. Plus, I never wanted to jeapordize her fierce love and acceptance. I always wanted Mary on my side.
I remember a saying my Dad told me before he died: “When you meet the girl you love and want to marry, look carefully at her mother. In her mother you will find the core and essence of the wife she will become”. I saw something special in Mary the first time I met her in 1973. I saw a lean, attractive, and charming woman, who immediately demonstrated a tough, independent, and intelligent character. She asked direct questions and did not brook foolishness or evasive responses. I formed an immediate dual impression of Mary; she could be a fierce lioness, protecting home and children, and a sweet and tender madonna, soothingly, wiping away the tears of her hurt children.
When Kathy told her mother that she loved me, and I her, Mary embraced me with the love she reserved for her own children. It was a passionate, all-encompassing, but conditional love. If I fulfilled my covenant to love and respect her daughter, she was on my side forever. It was a love that I never wanted to risk. So, I accepted the scoldings and her fiesty commands when we visited at Weddington, Capistrano, and Pasadena. I heeded them as sage advise that would make me a better husband and father.
Much of that feistiness diminished after Debbie’s death in 2003. Up until that calamitous event, Mary remained vital, strong, and ageless. Always a lovely woman, she maintained a beauteous grace through her 70’s and into her 80’s. However, everything seemed to change after Debbie’s death. Mary became ill, suffered falls, and had accidents. For the first time, she appeared more and more elderly, tiny, and frail. With the growing loss of sight and hearing, she seemed to be disconnecting from this life. But she never lost her love of family and friends, or her joy in their company.
On October 21, 2006, Kathy and I surprised Mary and the Doctor with an unexpected visit to their El Mirador home. We encountered Frosty, an old college friend of Kathy’s, at the wedding of a daughter of another college friend, at Holy Family Church in South Pasadena. Acting on inspiration, Kathy suggested that we make a quick visit to her parents, before the wedding reception. Frosty asked to be included. She had not seen them in over 15 years, and she wanted Mary and the Doctor to meet her adopted daughter, Mia. I remember Mary glowing with energy on that day, and being completely present to her guests. She sat next to Frosty and Mia, intently looking into their faces, and asking sharp, concise questions about their lives, family, and events. She took Mia’s innocent face between her gentle and weathered hands, and stated that she was the most beautiful and intelligent girl in the world. It was the happiest of days, and Mary seemed ageless.
The next time I was at the El Mirador house was after leaving the hospital on the day of Mary’s death. I remember sitting with Greg, thinking how different Mary had looked on her death bed that morning. It occurred to me, that perhaps Mary had died today, because her vital core of fierce and tender love could no longer be contained in such a tiny, fragile, and delicate body. I told Greg that the song “I Shall Be Released” kept coming to my mind as I thought of Mary. He looked at me quizzically and reminded me that the song was written by Bob Dylan, about a prisoner in jail. I told him that I believed prison was a common metaphor for our life on earth, and that the song had to be about something more than a convict’s lament. Later that day, on the computer, I found the lyrics to the song that had been haunting me all day:
“They say ev’rything can be replaced,
Yet ev’ry distance is not near.
So I remember ev’ry face
Of ev’ry man who put me here.
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east.
Any day now, any day now,
I shall be released.
They say ev’ry man needs protection,
They say ev’ry man must fall.
Yet I swear I see my reflection
Some place so high above this wall.
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east.
Any day now, any day now,
I shall be released.
Standing next to me in this lonely
crowd,
Is a man who swears he’s not to
blame.
All day long I hear him shout so
loud,
crying out that he was framed.
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east.
Any day now, any day now,
I shall be released”.
The light of Mary Cavanaugh has been released.
God bless you, Mary. I will miss your loving scoldings, and your generous, tender commands. You made me a better man, husband, and father.
Mary was the only woman whose scoldings and commands I always took very seriously. If she detected a sarcastic or mocking tone in my voice or conversation, she would immediately interrupt my discussion with a sharply phrased, “Tony, cut that out!” If Mary said it, I would obey. While I might dismiss such warnings from my own mother, Kathy, or Prisa, I always took Mary at her word. I don’t think I obeyed out of fear, because Mary was never scary or frightening. I think I did it out of total respect for this straightforward, honest, and no-nonsense lady. Plus, I never wanted to jeapordize her fierce love and acceptance. I always wanted Mary on my side.
I remember a saying my Dad told me before he died: “When you meet the girl you love and want to marry, look carefully at her mother. In her mother you will find the core and essence of the wife she will become”. I saw something special in Mary the first time I met her in 1973. I saw a lean, attractive, and charming woman, who immediately demonstrated a tough, independent, and intelligent character. She asked direct questions and did not brook foolishness or evasive responses. I formed an immediate dual impression of Mary; she could be a fierce lioness, protecting home and children, and a sweet and tender madonna, soothingly, wiping away the tears of her hurt children.
When Kathy told her mother that she loved me, and I her, Mary embraced me with the love she reserved for her own children. It was a passionate, all-encompassing, but conditional love. If I fulfilled my covenant to love and respect her daughter, she was on my side forever. It was a love that I never wanted to risk. So, I accepted the scoldings and her fiesty commands when we visited at Weddington, Capistrano, and Pasadena. I heeded them as sage advise that would make me a better husband and father.
Much of that feistiness diminished after Debbie’s death in 2003. Up until that calamitous event, Mary remained vital, strong, and ageless. Always a lovely woman, she maintained a beauteous grace through her 70’s and into her 80’s. However, everything seemed to change after Debbie’s death. Mary became ill, suffered falls, and had accidents. For the first time, she appeared more and more elderly, tiny, and frail. With the growing loss of sight and hearing, she seemed to be disconnecting from this life. But she never lost her love of family and friends, or her joy in their company.
On October 21, 2006, Kathy and I surprised Mary and the Doctor with an unexpected visit to their El Mirador home. We encountered Frosty, an old college friend of Kathy’s, at the wedding of a daughter of another college friend, at Holy Family Church in South Pasadena. Acting on inspiration, Kathy suggested that we make a quick visit to her parents, before the wedding reception. Frosty asked to be included. She had not seen them in over 15 years, and she wanted Mary and the Doctor to meet her adopted daughter, Mia. I remember Mary glowing with energy on that day, and being completely present to her guests. She sat next to Frosty and Mia, intently looking into their faces, and asking sharp, concise questions about their lives, family, and events. She took Mia’s innocent face between her gentle and weathered hands, and stated that she was the most beautiful and intelligent girl in the world. It was the happiest of days, and Mary seemed ageless.
The next time I was at the El Mirador house was after leaving the hospital on the day of Mary’s death. I remember sitting with Greg, thinking how different Mary had looked on her death bed that morning. It occurred to me, that perhaps Mary had died today, because her vital core of fierce and tender love could no longer be contained in such a tiny, fragile, and delicate body. I told Greg that the song “I Shall Be Released” kept coming to my mind as I thought of Mary. He looked at me quizzically and reminded me that the song was written by Bob Dylan, about a prisoner in jail. I told him that I believed prison was a common metaphor for our life on earth, and that the song had to be about something more than a convict’s lament. Later that day, on the computer, I found the lyrics to the song that had been haunting me all day:
“They say ev’rything can be replaced,
Yet ev’ry distance is not near.
So I remember ev’ry face
Of ev’ry man who put me here.
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east.
Any day now, any day now,
I shall be released.
They say ev’ry man needs protection,
They say ev’ry man must fall.
Yet I swear I see my reflection
Some place so high above this wall.
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east.
Any day now, any day now,
I shall be released.
Standing next to me in this lonely
crowd,
Is a man who swears he’s not to
blame.
All day long I hear him shout so
loud,
crying out that he was framed.
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east.
Any day now, any day now,
I shall be released”.
The light of Mary Cavanaugh has been released.
God bless you, Mary. I will miss your loving scoldings, and your generous, tender commands. You made me a better man, husband, and father.
