Happily Ever After . . .

In my desire to pass on my love for reading to my granddaughter, Madelyn and I enjoy a “read to me, Grandma” book that includes some of the classic children’s stories that existed long before Disney Studios. It’s a challenge to get all of the words on the page spoken before her three-year-old fingers seek out the next illustration, but when we get to the end of the stories, Madelyn is quick to utter the tag line – “and they lived happily ever after.”

O, dear Madelyn, how can I break the news to you that Cinderella may have flashbacks from her years of abuse at the hands of her step-mother and siblings, and that marriage to a prince can be demanding, especially when she’s only known him for a few hours? Snow White will surely miss the support of the seven dwarfs when she moves in with the prince, and the traumatic stalking by her mother figure, as well as her time in the glass coffin, will not easily be forgotten.

I’ve thought about that “happily ever after” wish as the story of Amanda, Gina, and Michelle has unfolded on the near west side of Cleveland. Day after day, their kidnapping ordeal was horrific, and while we hope and pray that these women find a sliver of peace in the days ahead, we know that there’s no Prince Charming to rescue them and no magic wand to obliterate their past. It will take hard work, extensive support, and determination to move ahead with their lives.

 It’s especially ironic that the public’s desire to know the gory details threatens to keep these women bound in the days and weeks ahead, at least until their fame fades from the media’s spotlight.  One long-time kidnapping victim, Jaycee Dugard, understands: "These individuals need the opportunity to heal and connect back into the world. This isn't who they are. It is only what happened to them. The human spirit is incredibly resilient. More than ever this reaffirms we should never give up hope."

How their families have suffered as well. Those who knew Louwana Miller, Amanda Berry’s mother, believe she died of a broken heart, and all three mothers walked through some of the darkest days of motherhood – the disappearance of a child into the abyss of the unknown. Upon her visit to the hospital, Gina’s mother, Nancy Ruiz, described her reaction: “We just grabbed each other and held on. There were no words - just hugging and kissing and crying.”

I watched the news broadcasts with a well of compassion for the mothers whose children haven’t returned, the children whose faces used to stare at us from milk cartons, but whose bodies may be buried in an unmarked grave by the side of a road. That’s the more likely scenario – while we celebrate the release of Amanda, Gina and Michelle, we know only too well that for every miracle story, there are all too many unresolved cases and tragic endings.  

As much as I wish otherwise, we live in a world with no promise of happily ever after. Even as we celebrate Mother’s Day, with its slobbery kisses, breakfasts in bed, and framed handprints in multi-colored splendor, we can taste the bitter-sweetness of the holiday. For amidst the joy of the day, the reality of life is that infertile women, bereft mothers, and grieving orphans of all ages will experience deep sorrow as well.

As a high school student in the early 70’s, I was drawn to the writing of Kahlil Gibran, and his words make sense on the subject:  “Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.”

And so it is. We contain our own joy as we cherish our mothers and our memories, but we too are mindful of the losses, and listen for the whispers of lament in the air. As Ruiz reminds us, sometimes all we can do is grab each other and hold on. Here’s to a joy-touched Mother’s Day.