A Meeting with Meaning
Issue 81
Dearest, friends. On Thursday, it will be two years since my beloved mama passed away. The day was Tuesday. The date was April 27th. The time was 3:52 pm.
This mama would grocery shop with an open bag of potato chips in the front seat of the cart and rat out my brother and me to the cashier for skimming a cherry off the cherry pile in the produce section. She was teaching us to adore salt, fat, and crunch and to put integrity above all else. The lessons stuck.
On Thursday, to commemorate her passing, and spread some of his dad’s ashes, Stephen and I are hiking Alamere Falls in Point Reyes. It’s an all-day affair, for which, we’ll be off the grid and loving it.
Speaking of days of the week, Stephen, and my mom, last Saturday, Stephen and I drove through her cemetery for a very quick visit. We were short on time but we had just enough to pop in and out on our way somewhere. You don’t need long to admire her resting place. It’s spectacular and only minutes from my home.
Winding up a narrow, single-lane road, we came around a corner and met a car on its way down the hill. For a bit, we played the “Who’s going to back up game.” Since I relish the opportunity to drive in reverse, I was disappointed when she won the game and began backing up. It was a bit awkward. Were we putting her out?
Stephen and I “argued” from inside the car about how to proceed. He feared I’d back into a wall. I assured him, I was born to do this. My hometown, where I live, was built to teach drivers how to navigate hairy roads. This is my love language.
No matter, after some maneuvering, the lady backed up, pulled aside, and we passed—I waved a hand of gratitude.
Nothing.
Shortly after, we hit the end of the road, turned around, and began descending. On our way down, we hit a fork in the road where the backup woman stood. She was outside her car shaking her head at us.
I rolled down my window. “Is there a problem?” I asked.
“Yes! You’re unbelievable, you hit my car back there. Luckily, it’s going into the shop next week, but you hit my car!” she said.
Reader, I assure you, no such thing happened. I knew it, Stephen knew it, she knew it. After confidently denying her claim, she aggressively asked, “What are you doing here anyway? Why are you here?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I said. “This is a public space.”
She rambled on about the injustices of the public access to the cemetery.
“We did not hit your car,” we both said.
“It’s going into the shop next week, so it doesn’t really matter, but you did hit my car,” she repeated.
In that moment, I knew, she knew, we didn’t hit her car.
She’s hurting. She needs to talk. This was her strategy, and it’s working. We’re talking.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“To visit my son. It’s been a very hard day,” she said.
“How long ago did he pass?” I asked. “35 years ago, today. He was 11,” she said.
My heart broke and the barrier between us did, too. I began to cry. She began to cry.
“He would be 46. I’m still his mom,” she said pointing to her heart. “I’m the only one he has left.”
Like a hostage negotiation gone well, the conversation went from very bad—with a bold and wrongful accusation in a cemetery—to a shared cry over loved ones, death, and the space our favorite people now call home.
Her son would be 46. I’m 46. If he grew up in Mill Valley and passed at 11, I likely knew him. I didn’t think to ask his name. This was no ordinary meeting—awkward to say the least, touching at best.
I revealed I was there to show Stephen my mom’s resting spot, and she apologized profusely. She knows how hard it is to lose a mom, to lose a loved one. She’s so sorry.
We never spoke of the car again. It wasn’t about the car.
Stunned and short on time, I attempted to say goodbye multiple times. She wasn’t having it. Eventually, though, we parted ways. This time she waved.
I’m compelled to find out her son’s name—either by walking the cemetery or searching death records. From there, we’ll see where the story leads. I hope you’ll stay tuned…
Tech Neck
Have you heard of it? Do you have it? It’s a thing. Once you see it, you can’t un-see it. It’s everywhere.
We’re a forward-facing culture. Everything we do is ahead of us. We strive for what’s in front. We leave the past behind. The same goes for our bodies. When was the last time you thought about your back, except when it hurts? Admit it. You neglect your back-body.
Phones, computers, sitting, body-holding habits, stress, and general unawareness of our bodies lead us to dangle a bowling ball (our head) in front of our shoulders and not on top of them where it belongs.
This video offers exercises and the Internet offers even more. It’s reversible. But nothing is possible without awareness. Because of this, weekly, I’ll remind you of the joys and sorrows of tech neck, also called forward head posture (and there are more sorrows than joys).
If all the readers of The-Letter-slash-Hello-Silverstein improve their tech neck—the world will notice. Let’s model good posture for the rest of humanity.
What the HEIC Is HEIC?
Have you ever received an iPhone photo with the .HEIC extension? Ever wondered why? Your phone is creating high-efficiency files—smaller and more efficient files than .jpgs. The trouble is, not all platforms recognize this compressed file type, so I often have to turn those files into .jpgs. How efficient is that?
To be sure your camera isn’t sending .HEIC photos (unless you want it to), you can change the file type this way:
iPhone > Settings > Camera > Formats > Most compatible.
Say cheese!
Tone Check
Whenever you question whether something you’re writing or saying is too cute, too sappy, too (insert any worry or judgment), you can answer your question by asking yourself: is the statement true for me?
If it’s true, use it. Nothing else matters. Genuine intent is all you can control. The rest—how it’s received—is not your concern. Your only concern is your sincerity.
This Week’s Bee Photo
Yours Truly, SS
Jesus Simone I’m crying in the gym--give a heads up when you’re going to do something like that, what a beautiful story.
So touching that story. I could totally visualize the entire thing, especially the reversing and the single lane road and both of you crying. The poor woman. I hope you are able to find the story behind her loss. It would probably be very meaningful to her to give his life attention so she is not the only one he has, as she said. When someone has been dead for very many years it is so meaningful to have that person remembered and spoken about. I know your mom has been gone for 2 years and I imagine the pain is there still daily but as time goes by you’ll miss how recently she was in the world, you know? Anyway, I love you wide open heart. And you always make me laugh. XO
PS - I’ve been curious about Romeo.