Synthesis

When I was in 4th grade I learned about synthesis. It was a concept taught in a reading class and I first remember learning to spell it. We then, through some series of cartoons involving hamsters, learned how synthesis meant whittling down, chiseling off the fat, tidying up, taking many, many things and wrapping them in a pretty, hamster-sized bow. It was a weird cartoon.

But it stuck with me.  It made a deep impression on my brain. To this day, in interviews, when I'm asked about things I love to do, "synthesizing" information is my first answer. I like walking into a mess, learning what the mess means, and unifying disparate perspectives into a gleaming whole. It's a good fascination for a lawyer, a good trait for anyone frequently called upon to build one Something out of a million little Somethings.

My Mamaw is getting older, sicker. While I was vacationing in Italy, she was electing hospice care. I learned via email hours before I boarded a plane in Zurich and I had trouble calming down, trouble stopping the tears. It was one of those ugly cries, the kind that just rolls around in your chest all damn day. I bought a ticket to Arkansas a few days after I returned home and I'll head down to spend time with her this weekend.

As Mamaw doesn't use the computer, I've been synthesizing my trip into a manageable pile of pictures to share. And as I chose ones to print, I threw in others of the last year that spoke to what has made me happy since the last time we visited in November. A picture of me and my nearly-walking niece, a picture of me dressed to run a marathon in June, a picture of me and my sister dressed prettily on a summertime rooftop, a picture of me holding a fish I caught while fishing with my dad, a picture of my new dog.

My trip to Europe is imprinted with a Mamaw-tinged hue. And that isn't to say that Mamaw's failing health makes the memories sad or muted.  Rather, knowing someone I love won't share the planet with me indefinitely, being reminded of that, made me so impatient to tell her everything, to sit next to her with my pictures and tell her the tower in Pisa really does lean, and the Sistine Chapel is perfect. It made me thankful for every happy memory, not only because I get to share it with my Mamaw, but because I got to live it. I got to catch my breath climbing the stairs for a view of the Duomo. I got to skid down a trail with a glacier at my back. I got to drink wine with a friend and climb the stairs that Christ climbed. It made me want to treasure moments better, value gifts of friendship instead of taking them for granted, recognize the primal love of parents and grandparents without questioning their veracity, and better wipe away the meaningless fluff that surrounds every single day and bring together the essential parts to form a single, unwavering story. Who have I loved well today? And who can I thank for loving me? Synthesis, at its best.