"i will never grow so old again"

           Last night I was listening to Astral Weeks.  I've been listening to Van Morrison's growly voice float off the stereo singing about "gardens all wet with rain" for as long as I can remember. That record is linked to so many happy memories from drastically different periods of my life and it has this way of muting whatever problems are currently nagging at me and instead causing me to reflect.  My birthday is next week, and when I look back at the last year, I'm smiling, and I'm smiling as I move forward into the next one.  This is not because I didn't make a whole lot of mistakes last year, and it is not because I am perfect and it is not because I have everything all figured out.  My contentment doesn't come with being 100% satisfied with myself and it does not mean I am finished improving.  I have made a lot of mistakes and unfortunately there have been many times I have acted selfishly and times I have hurt people when I could have helped them.  Yes, I am proud of the ways in which I've grown, but I am still determined to try harder and grow stronger.   This ease of mind does not come with surrender; instead, it comes with acceptance-- accepting that I am extremely blessed, accepting that there is a time for everything, and accepting that I can always find a reason to smile. 

Photograph by Audrey.

mom's story

Mom on the Long Island Sound, 1966

When I was little Mom would read stories to me.
Mom was the only one who seemed to understand how much I loved stories.
She’d let me read much more than the assigned reading,
And she’d sit out on the porch with me in the sun and we’d both read our books together.
She introduced me to Gandalf the Grey, and Mariel of Redwall,
And Peter and Susan and Edmund and Lucy.
And she’d read aloud to me and try and make sure all the characters had the right voices.
Sometimes she’d make a mistake but for the most part she was spot on.

On Tuesdays we’d go to the library and we would get piles of books,
(And sometimes I’d get to play a little Oregon Trail on the library computer.)
Mom knew so many good books and would always have a recommendation.
She and I both thought Ramona and Beezus was a riot.
And Fox on Wheels.  Fox was always up to something.

One day I carried home a big pile of books from the library,
And I sat in the living room and put my nose to each one,
Because each one had a distinct and delicious book smell.
Mom laughed at me but I knew she understood-
Because mom loves a good story as much as me.

Mom is turning fifty years old, and she still loves stories of all sorts.
And I still love stories of all sorts.
But I think my favorite one is the story Mom has been writing all this time.
The story where she raises four children,
And reads to them on the couch in the living room.
The story where she has a husband who is her best friend,
And they go on adventures together.
Mom has a whole slew of people who respect and admire and look up to her,
And that’s because Mom has true character.
Mom’s story isn’t near finished yet, but so far it’s really, really good.
I can’t wait until the part where Dad takes her to Australia (hint hint, Dad),
But most of all I can’t wait to see how much more love Mom can write into this world.




- Michal Benik, March 2012

a reflection on the closing year and a commitment for the future

         Christmas is in two weeks, and then just one more week after that before our year wraps itself up.  Although I don’t expect to wake up on January 1^st and feel much different than I did on December 31^st, I can’t say I am sorry to mark 2011 off of my calendar.  The past year has been full- full of change, and loss, and learning to find joy amidst difficult circumstances.  Don’t get me wrong; I am blessed.  In March, I was lucky enough to spend a whole week in London visiting my best friend.  Just a couple months later I was able to go back to Slovakia, (this time with my family in tow), and see my grandfather’s face glow as he soaked in the language, cuisine, and community of his parents.    I made new friends, and strengthened relationships with old ones.

        But there were rocky patches.  My spring was consumed with trying to save an important and long-lasting friendship that was quickly and unexpectedly falling apart due to circumstances outside of my control.  I remember breathing a sigh of relief as I boarded the plane for six weeks across the ocean, because I had never wanted to separate myself from life back home as much as I did right then.  For those who know me, my cell phone and I are pretty damn close.  Those six weeks in Europe without a cell phone or reliable internet connection were exactly what I needed.  Then merely days after I returned home, my pug Cricket and my brother’s pug Roxy died from heatstroke on my watch.  I felt so guilty and heartbroken, but thankfully was surrounded my family who texted and called and visited and assured me that terrible mistakes happen and it wasn’t my fault.  Cricket was the first pet (besides a goldfish) that I’ve lost and it was so, so, so hard… and it was really hard to learn to forgive myself.

          Then not even two months later, my cousin’s cousin was stabbed to death.  He would be turning eighteen this Christmas.  He would be graduating high school this Spring.  It was a silly fight over money.  I will never forget the shock I felt upon hearing what happened- the shock, followed by disbelief, followed by anger and many tears.   This sort of thing doesn’t happen to people I know, it just doesn’t happen.  But it did.  I saw him a lot more when we were kids, but our lives had drifted apart over the last few years.  I’m grateful that I happened to run into him and see his smile one last time, just one week before we got the news.  It goes without saying that it was tough for all of us, but the pain for my cousin’s family was excruciating, and I knew it was up to the rest of us to be the support they needed so badly.  My extended family became closer over those first few agonizing days than ever before.  Amidst the horror and shock and seemingly endless tears, there was so much love.   As my father officiated the funeral that steamy August morning, it became clear to me how blessed I am to have a family that is as supporting and caring and devoted to one another as mine is.   Life can be very dark.   I thank God that he’s given us himself and one another to help us through that thick and heavy darkness.

           I started writing this earlier today, and now it’s almost ten o’clock, and I just got home from dinner and a movie with some friends.  The movie was one of those sobering psychological thrillers that left me in a daze from my brain working overtime… and then I got into my car and noticed my parents had called me. I quickly returned the call, only to hear my mom tell me that her dad has been moved to hospice, and has chosen to be taken off insulin.  My parents have been celebrating their thirty-second anniversary in Manhattan, but now they’ll be leaving for Virginia tomorrow so that my mom can see my grandfather one last time.  The doctor says that Grandpa Ed has two or three days to live and it will not be long before he slips into a coma from lack of medication.  I haven’t seen Grandpa Ed for a few years, but this is still so hard.  It’s hard to not be with my mom right now.   It’s hard to just stay home and be strong for my little sister when I’d much rather just sit in my car and cry into my steering wheel.  

        If there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself this year, it is that I’m much better at dealing with my own pain than anybody else’s.  What I mean by that is, I can be physically hurt or someone can be cruel to me, and I will take it pretty well.  It’s when I see anyone around me suffering that I start to break up.  It’s when I see someone suffer loss, or know that someone I love is in pain, that I feel hopeless and small and weak and broken.  Seeing someone else hurt, or knowing that I let someone down, hurts me so much more than when the same happens to me.  I know that empathy is known as a positive quality, but sometimes I ask myself if it can be too much of a good thing.  Sometimes the pain I feel for the victim overwhelms my ability to stay strong for them.  Sometimes I feel so deeply I think I might explode. 

           Life is short.  It can be gone in a blink of an eye- that is something else that 2011 taught me. I’ve learned that this life is but a vapor.  We need to get better at dismissing all the small stuff.  We need to move past all the little roadblocks that make up day-to-day life, and enjoy each day and the beauty that fills it.  I’ve realized that if you don’t have something to live for, you die for nothing.  This year has taught me the importance of relationships.  Whether or not I live another hour or another eighty years, I hope to always remember one thing.  God placed so many beautiful people on this planet, and my love for them is what makes this life worth living.  May I never let my hopes, dreams and ambitions get in the way of “each other”.  As we focus on the coming year, let’s vow to make 2012 significant- not because of a new car, or a new trip, or even a new job- but because we truly and selflessly loved one another. 

Michal Benik

December 12^th 2011

Update:  Yesterday evening my grandfather passed away, surrounded by his wife and children.  RIP Edward Gertz, December 14th 2011