A good day to be a mom

Yesterday was "flight day" in the Carrier Dome where the senior aerospace engineers fly the model planes they designed as their senior projects.  Although there had been tense moments in the past week, my son and his team performed beautifully. Their plane flew well.  But, to watch the excitement of these 25 kids was the best part of the day.  The whole group was a bundle of nerves and the sense of relief and accomplishment afterward was palpable. You felt proud of all of them.  I can wish many things about my son; that he had a job already, that he had gotten better grades, that he had done some things differently, but to watch his face yesterday was a true gift.  I'm so glad that he has enjoyed college, made good friends, persevered through the challenges, and was able to have this experience. I know he will always remember it and I will, too.

Last year I supervised our sociology department's senior thesis projects. Working with a dozen young women, I got to see up close the joy and sense of accomplishment they felt as they presented their finished work to the department. The night before, as they emailed me their presentations, I could sense their nervousness.
Here are some of their messages, filled with exclamations and emoticons...

"Attached is the final draft of my thesis presentation!!!!!! See you bright and early :)"

"Here is my PPT. I have attached it as a PPT file and a PDF because I figured it is easy enough to attach both!
Thanks for all the help. I hope my presentation is worthy!"

"I have deleted the lit review slides. While I think these are of utmost importance, they just made my presentation so long! Sorry for the inconvenience! Taking them out allowed me to more thoroughly go through my own research though :)  See you in the morning!"

Like my son and his peers, they performed beautifully.  It was a day I know they will remember and I do, too.

Professional Friends

I've been in Ann Arbor for a few days at a meeting with my professional friends. It was a good place for me to be right now. They care about me, respect me, and want what is best for me, in my professional and personal life. They make me feel valued, they seek me out, they listen to me.  Over the course of 2 days our conversations moved nimbly from survey design and measurement to spirituality and family.  

A few weeks ago I was in New Orleans at our population association professional meetings and attended a 50 year anniversary reception for the Penn Population Studies Center. I was able to spend time with my grad school mentors and friends and felt the same way, I belong. I am continually struck by the different types of friends I have and the varied roles they all play in my life.  

I wonder if those kind of friendships develop in other types of occupations, like accountants or assembly line workers.  Certainly one of the nice things about academic life is that you can have contact with the same group of people for years.  These are the people who have seen me "grow up."  I think there is something to be said for these kind of relationships, they are a nice complement to more intimate, personal friends.  

April

I realized I hadn't written in the month of April yet...so I will write.  I had a wonderful time on Sunday hearing  Brahms Requiem. If I were a musician or a poet, even a painter, I would have so many ways to express feelings.  Words sometimes feel very inadequate. The program notes said that Brahms wrote his requiem after the death of his mother. If I were Brahms I could have exorcised all my "mother demons" by writing my own requiem.  I'm not, but he is. He wrote of patience, comfort, and rejoicing not to be taken away. 

Later I stopped to visit my hospice patient, a woman about my mother's age. I have had four significant hospice patients and they have all taught me something.  Joyce was very agitated and paranoid when I first met her. She grabbed for my hand and never let go. Chris was severely disabled, blind, and non-verbal. Touch was the only way to communicate. MaryAnn didn't ask to be touched, didn't reach for me, but over time, as she declined or was in pain, I found that holding my hand seemed comforting for her. Betsy doesn't seem to like for me to hold her hand. It is subtle, but my efforts to reach out to her are politely rebuffed. But today I was there later than usual, she was sleepy, and I needed to hold her hand. We sat quietly, my hand lightly resting over hers on top of the blanket, our eyes closed, both lost in our own songs.