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Published on 07/21/1999 All articles from this issue

Above the clouds - a journey of love

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By Charlotte K. Jarmy

Reflections

What am I doing 39,000 feet above the earth? I always ask myself that question when we take off for a vacation planned long before the roar of the engines propel us up into the blue sky, innocently lovely with a crown of meringue-like clouds. In my imagination, our huge airplane gets treated the same way any winged creature would be. Turbulence is not meant to be anger, just a normal swooping and bouncing of the air currents. I hate it!

My answer to my own question has to be that there are times when it is important to face the challenge of my fears. But the really logical reason is that distance makes any other form of transportation a burden. I am pulled by love and compassion to touch bases with my childhood friend, Bernice. Although we cannot really hold a conversation because of her inability to speak, we hug, kiss and look into each other's eyes with the boundless love that true friendship has given us. I help her remember the inane laughter and the whispered talks we had about boys, growing up and the wonderful life we knew we would have.

Each time I return to New York, I hope for a miracle. And each time I have to accept that she will never speak again without a desperate struggle to eke out a single word once in a while. Only three of the five Hunter "girls" will meet this time. The others could not be with us for personal reasons. Much has changed over the years. Only my old album holds the magic of a friendship that will remain young, smiling and hopeful. Some of those hopes have been realized, but I must bring myself to accept the reality of our lives today. Along with our successes and happy years, there have been losses, pain and the inevitable changes that time brings.

We traveled through the air carried not by jet engines but by our need to hold onto the ties that bind. Five days have passed since we made our journey. I came home physically weary and emotionally bereft. Bernice's inability to voice her locked-in feelings brought on rages that distorted her expressive face and made us feel as if we were all swept into the eye of her personal hurricane. Oddly enough, her 100-year-old mother, who is also part of my childhood memories, sat upstairs locked as well into a world of silence that she breaks only sporadically. I was able to reach into the deep corners of her mind and help her to remember those wonderful years when she and her daughter lived happy, purposeful lives.

It was hard to say our farewells. At this time, I'm not sure I can ever return. What I hope for is that Bernice can still hear our young voices in memory, can feel the laughter we shared in those days when our friendship made everything seem possible.

Charlotte K. Jarmy , a Los Altos resident, supervises teachers at Stanford University and is a free-lance writer.