Soul Searching

A brilliant shooting star illuminated the vast expanse of pinprick dots as we nervously leaned into the windshield and willed the darkness to part for us. We witnessed this vivid marvel leap across the heavens as the love of my life concentrated on rushing me to the hospital to touch my Mama after a frantic call from Daddy. In that mystical stargazing instant, I whispered, "I love you so, and I will see you soon," to my precious Mama through the early morning dew, then the tears flowed as I choked out to my husband, "That was it. She is gone."  I needed no one to tell me; that star immediately revealed it. 

You see, when I was a little girl, my parents blessed me with a wondrous subscription to the Scholastic Book Club. This highly contributed to the fact that I am now a nerdy English literature teacher, complete with dark-rimmed glasses, pencils stuck through my curly brunette updo, and a vast knowledge of insane Shakespearean trivia. As a youngster, I would stay awake as late as I possibly could every single night absorbing the ideas that arrived in the mail from the Scholastic Book gods. My parents would scold me for sneaking flashlights and burrowing under the covers so that I could explore a different reality when I should have been unconsciously dreaming. My destinations through my devouring of written words were marvelous, and I cherished every adventure my mind went on. My love of tales was not limited to when I should have been sleeping; I soaked up pages of paragraphs during most daylight hours too. My Mama loved words as well, so she would find herself reading aloud to me or together with me. It was common for both of us to hold down separate ends of the sofa while reading different books, then we would have discussions dissecting our findings.

One of the books Mama often voiced to me was Nana Upstairs, Nana Downstairs by Tomie dePaola. This book is told from the perspective of a young boy, Tommy, who adores his golden-aged family members. Nana Downstairs is his grandmother, and she is always on the lower level in the kitchen cooking when Tommy's family visits on Sundays. Nana Upstairs is his ninety-four year old great-grandmother, and she is always one flight of stairs on the second level resting in bed and being doted on by Nana Downstairs and Tommy. He dearly enjoys his first day of the week visits with them and his Grandpa Tom. Nana Upstairs passes away when Tommy is still a boy, but his Nana Downstairs lives until he is a man out on his own. At the time each grandmother departs, Tommy beholds a shooting star and views it is a sign from the grandmother that has just left. When he is a boy, his mom suggests to him that maybe the falling star is a kiss from Nana Upstairs. When he is a man, he thinks, "Now you are both Nana Upstairs." Because of this text connection, maybe my school teacher Mama knew her literature loving daughter would understand the "I'm safe" message. Maybe God knew just what I needed in that split second to be at total peace. Maybe it was purely galactic coincidence. I believe now that Mama's affinity for this book was centered on preparing me for the fact that I would not always be able to just go and visit with my own sacred grandparents. How apropos that this point would come into play as Mama also left this life behind. This is the first book I ever read to my babies, who are now teenagers. They know it well, for the most important stories must be told and passed down.

My history and science obsessed Mama was abundantly fascinated with all things involving creation and the exploration of it. NASA, moon-walking, E.T. watching, and the widely unchartered universe surrounding our blue marble were some of her favorite things to ponder. If you wanted to know about Neal Armstrong or Buzz Aldrin or Christa McAuliffe or the latest shuttle launches from Cape Canaveral or how progress was going on the International Space Station, Gayle was your girl. She proudly participated in Space Camp for teachers at the U.S. Space and Rocket Center in Huntsville, Alabama, and of course her team held the most successful simulated mission above all of the others competing. When she forgot about her red lipstick stuck deep in the pocket of her camp space suit, the sky blue fabric came out of the washer all blotched with oily red spots. Without flinching, she declared it her Halloween costume, promptly drove the seven mile trip to her all time favorite store , the Dollar Tree, and purchased rubbery, angry looking, pint-size reptilian replicas. She then triumphantly and strategically sewed them onto her NASA uniform so that they appeared to be violent, out of this world creatures who had attacked and bitten her during her treks to the far reaching realms of lunar territory. This inventive plot twist was a hilariously huge hit with her middle school students on All Hallows Eve. My attempt at explaining some of the colorful quirkiness of Miss Gayle's extroverted, eccentric ways can in no way truly show her to you, but it will suffice to say that she dreamed of being one with the stars. I will also not make any real attempt at scientifically explaining this wonder of THE shooting star, but this surreal occurrence was undoubtedly one of the most amazing and profound moments of all my days. 

Since then, I am much more bewildered by free meteors burning brightly through the cozy, opaque blanket of night, but I only recall seeing just a few in my lifetime before Mama moved on. Now such surprises seem more prevalent, or perhaps I am more acutely alert. Whatever their cause or purpose, it sure is serene and lovely to have these reminders of Mama Gayle. I often meander out onto our porch steps, just like I have now, to sit and soak in the enormous galaxies. The night sky is so breathtakingly close and vibrantly humming out here in the peaceful countryside. From the center of my soul, I anxiously await a breath of dashing luminosity from her.