The Pockets

One of the most transformational moments of my life occurred  in my 30’s when I attended a retreat at the Silver Penny Farm in Petaluma, California called Woman Song.  I still get goose bumps just thinking about it all these decades later.  It was lead by my mentor and trusted friend, Dr. Ilene Cummings.  She is now 91 and my own mother turns 91 in December.

When we were at the retreat,  Ilene told us a story about her mother, Ellen Gertrude.  All these  years later, I still remember her mother’s name and the story about her that she lovingly referred to as “pockets.”

In the metaphysical book and gift store where I work, we have been selling some dresses like hot cakes and they just happen to have pockets.  They reminded me of Ilene’s touching story about the pockets in her mother’s dresses and I shared the stirring story with some of the staff.  Now I will share it with you…

Ellen Gertrude lived in a mental institution for 18 years and my dear friend Ilene visited her regularly.  I could relate a little bit because my grandfather had a lobotomy and lived in a state mental facility .  When I was a young child, we visited him sporadically over a couple of years before he died.  To this day I remember the stench and the stares.  I cannot image the dedication and courage it would take to make that journey for almost two decades, but this is what Ilene learned about pockets.

The pockets in Ellen Gertrude’s dresses were the only privacy she had.  In the chapter entitled “Pockets,” Ilene writes in her book, The Truth Is At My Front Door, Spiritual Direction on Aging Beautifully, “I came to understand that the two pockets sewn into the side seams of a dress contributed to her sense of place, a tiny, innocuous region she could call her own.  They were little sanctuaries hidden away from the peering eyes of others.  The pockets symbolized my mother’s heart-wrenching attempts establishing privacy in a world that offered none.  She could hide her Camel cigarettes, cherry Life Savers, and collection of thick rubber bands inside them or slide her nicotine-stained fingers into the miniature chambers for a momentary feeling of comfort.  The pockets were a grace announcing, they have not stripped me of everything.”

Ilene went on to inform us that her mother taught her invaluable lessons and showed her life in raw form.  She taught her lessons about freedom and how to enjoy the little things in life.  Ilene said, “My mother spun gold by making simple things blindingly vivid, and I have benefited every day of my life from those lessons.”

In a later chapter in the book Ilene talks about her loyal father and how dedicated he was to his wife even through all the devastation of the mental illness.  I was reminded of my own dad and his devotion to my mother who has severe Alzheimer’s.   My dad is 91-years old and has been the primary care-giver of my mom for the past couple years as she struggles daily with the demons of the hideous disease.

My mother recently fell and broke her femur and while she was in the hospital having surgery, my dad was admitted with pneumonia to the same hospital – only on a different floor.  For the past couple of months I have had the privilege of helping with the care of both of my beloved parents.  Has it been easy?  No, however, like Ilene, I have benefited every day from the lessons I have learned and the love I have witnessed and experienced.

The “pockets” reminded about Ilene’s story and the story reminded me of her book.  As a result I re-read the chapter about the pockets, which lead to rereading the entire book – twice!  I read the book twice when it first came out and just read it twice again.  I am now adopting it as my “bible” for life and invite you to read it too.  The power of pockets can be astonishing!