Mary Poppins

Disney always writes the happy ending...I wish I could say the same. Perhaps I am writing this as a kind of eulogy, but I am getting ahead of myself.

When my oldest daughter was about 6 months old, I returned to work part-time. At that moment, I found an acceptable in-home sitter for her; a woman I had met through a mommy-baby class who brought her own infant son to our house with her. The situation worked well for 6 months, then she needed to move on. That’s when the magic started.

Instead of heading for the local nanny agency, I decided to try my luck with a “help wanted” ad in the local papers. Our very own Mary P. dropped into my life in answer to that ad, as if by magical umbrella. She had decades of early childhood development experience; was trained in the Reggio Emilia educational philosophy (which emphasizes art), and had absolutely unbelievable references from previous household and traditional employers. She was moving toward the end of her professional life, and a part-time job suited her perfectly. She measured up “practically perfect in every way.”

She began her work with us 3 days/week right after Kid 1.0’s first birthday; and was a guest at her birthday party as well.

Over the years, Mary P. has become a member of our family. She has been generous beyond measure with her time and resources. At every birthday or holiday, Mary P. would arrive with artfully wrapped gifts; often hand made by her and/or the girls, and such thoughtful cards; written from her heart, about how much she loved us and our family, and how thankful she was for her life with us.

Every day that she was with my children, she showed unfailing patience and kindness. Watching and listening to her, I learned parenting skills that I use daily. She rarely became cross or raised her voice at my kids, even when they were most trying.

My happiest thoughts of her are those of watching from my home office window, seeing her swinging my oldest daughter for an hour and singing silly toddler songs at the top of her lungs. Or taking out endless pails of warm water to the kiddy-pool so that it would be really comfortable for a paddle in our shady yard.

She logged miles on the stroller taking the girls for walks to area parks. On summer weekdays, they would make excursions to the library or children’s concerts, and then for ice cream at Baskin-Robbins; her treat.

Mary P. scoured the thrift stores to stock my girls’ dress-up clothes box; and asked for personal recommendations from the children’s librarians for books which she borrowed by the dozens; along with music CDs and videos.

The summer after Tot 2.0 was born, Kid 1.0 got it in her head that she wanted a big fancy wedding to marry her “Prince Daddy”. Mary P. was right in the thick of it as we decided to make it happen. At the thrift stores, Mary P. found a little girl’s fancy white dress and even a veil, gloves and a tiny white purse. She made a beautiful bouquet of red silk roses, and spent hours decorating the back yard and patio for the special event. She made my precious little girl’s dream come true that day, which I will never ever forget.

She introduced my children to art; held their hands as they took their tottering first steps, dried their tears and their behinds, and loved them nearly as much as I do.

Mary P. not only looked after my girls, but after me too. When I lost a pregnancy in February 2006 and she nurtured me through that terrible time in the most caring way; while making sure that Kid 1.0’s routines were maintained and as normal as could be, under the circumstances.

When I was pregnant again, Mary P. put herself “on call” as the due date, Christmas Day 2006, approached. When the baby tried to make her appearance on Christmas Eve, Mary P. took my oldest child to her own family’s celebrations; and was here with her when we came home at 4 AM on Christmas Day; empty handed due to a stalled labor. Two days later, she was back again, this time for real, and she stayed with Kid 1.0 for 2 nights while Tom was with me and the new baby at the hospital. She was the baby’s first visitor, bringing a tiny birthday cake that she and K1.0 had made to welcome our new little girl.

Eleven weeks later, when I had to have emergency gallbladder surgery, she returned to our home at 11 PM, after having been here a full day; again to stay with my girls, so Tom could join me in the E.R. after I had been sent in an ambulance.

And then the wind changed....

Starting last winter, around Christmas, Mary P. became very ill. In her 4 1/2 years of working for us, she had only ever taken 2 sick days.

She came back to work in January after a few weeks off, but never seemed to fully recover. At the beginning of March she was home sick again, but managed to rally enough so that Tom and I could attend the opera on March 6. That was the last day she worked for me, and the last time that I saw her until two weeks ago.

In April, she received the diagnosis that she had lupus; all the previous months illnesses, with hindsight, now made sense. We still held hope that she could eventually regain her strength and become herself again.

I spoke with her on the phone weekly; her voice was weak, her breathing labored, but she kept saying that she was trying hard to get her strength up so she could come back to work, and that she missed us so. We missed her too.

In the meantime, I continued to try to work, hiring a string of temporary nannies through a local agency; hoping that my Mary P. would come back soon.

It took until May 20 for her to be able to see a rheumatologist, the specialist that deals with lupus. He put her on steroids immediately, and arranged for a series of appointments for her to more aggressively treat her symptoms and try to get the lupus to go into remission. I spoke with her on Saturday, May 23, and she sounded hopeful...it might take awhile, but things would be OK, maybe.

Then, it happened. I received a call from Mary P’s daughter, M., the week of May 25 saying that she’d been admitted to the local hospital. Apparently the day after I had talked to her, Mary P. had some kind of “episode” which left her disoriented. Mary P’s daughter, M. and her sister J. (with whom she lives) had taken her in on Sunday, May 24 for evaluation.

Mary P. is still there, over two weeks later.

I have been to visit her twice now, on the 31st, and again this past Sunday, the 7th -- her 61st birthday.

She is a shell of herself. She has lost 50 pounds. She is weak. She barely speaks. Her long-term memory is still good; she recognizes me, and knows my girls when I talk about them and show them pictures. She even remembers a few of K1.0’s school friends from conversations.

However, her short term memory is in tatters. When I spoke to J., her sister, a few nights ago, she said that Mary P. will need to be cared for 24 hours a day for the rest of her life. They have little hope that she will recover her mental faculties.

They have no idea if she’ll ever go home.

I am devastated and broken hearted.

I have told my oldest daughter that things won’t be as they were again, and we cried together for a little while. I have told my youngest that Mary P. is sick, and she still asks if we’ll see her today. She’s too little to understand.

I know some of you may have gone through something like this with a close friend or a loved one...so maybe you can tell me -- how do you say good-bye to just one part of a person; a part that is no longer there -- while the rest of the person is present?

The weather has been nice here the last few weeks and I’ve had my home office window open when I’ve been working. On these nice days, I have been haunted by Mary P.’s ghost, pushing my daughter in the tree swing, and singing “Skina-ma-rink-a-dink-a-dink; skina-ma-rink-a-doo” over and over, in her strong, clear voice.

Only she’s not a ghost; she can’t be; she’s still alive.

I will continue to visit Mary P. as long as she wants me to. And as soon as it’s OK for the girls to see her, I’d like them to visit her too.

But I am still wondering how to say good-bye to the woman I knew only a few short months ago, the woman who cared for my children, and sometimes me, tirelessly and with great love and affection.

So, for now,I think I’ll just say “Farewell”, and hope that the part of her that is no longer ours has floated off with a magical umbrella to someplace wonderful, with pink carousel ponies and music...a place where maybe we’ll meet again.

Farewell Poppins...and thank you for everything.