by
Cathy Fiorello
A documentary titled “Nothing Left Unsaid” recently aired on HBO. Produced by Anderson Cooper, it’s the story of his relationship with his mother, the New York socialite Gloria Vanderbilt. Cooper thought it was high time he had this “conversation” with his 92-year-old mother.
Mother and son have had much loss in their lives: she, her father when she was very young, thrusting her into the center of a bitter battle between her mother and her aunt who was granted custody, separating Gloria from her mother; he, the sudden death of his father when he was ten years old; both, their son/brother, Carter Cooper who at the age of 23 jumped from the 14th floor balcony of their Manhattan townhouse as his mother pleaded with him not to let go.
The documentary is a moving story of life, love and loss. Vanderbilt, born into great wealth, achieved success as both an artist and fashion designer. Cooper is a CNN news anchor. Each has moved on from the depths of despair to the heights of success. One has to ask: How? How were they able not only to carry on, but to excel in their endeavors after such devastating loss?
Vanderbilt answers that question in the film: “You ask yourself why did it happen? And there is no answer. You just have to be able to live in a world without Why.”
When my 19-year-old granddaughter’s life came to an end in a horrific car crash, I too asked “Why? Why did this happen?” Like the Vanderbilts, I’ve had to accept the reality that there is no answer. I will live with my unanswered Why for the rest of my days.
Our family, smaller now, has grown closer. We are always there for each other. We no longer celebrate holidays, we get through them. Adjusting to life without Jenna is painful; setting the table for five instead of six hurts. She is still an indispensable part of our lives. I don’t speak or think of her in the past tense; she will always dwell in my present.
We are determined to keep her memory vibrant. We’ve set up a fund, called the NextJen Scholarship, which grants financial support to low-income college-bound youth who, like Jenna, are committed to the conservation of our endangered environment. The first recipient of that award will enter his second year at San Francisco State University this fall. He spoke at this year’s fund-raising dinner, telling what this opportunity means to him. He came to America when he was four years old and was raised by a single mother. “We aren’t a wealthy family,” he said, “but we always take whatever we have and make the most of it.” As he is doing with this educational leg-up: he earned all A’s his freshman year. We can’t think of a more meaningful way to honor Jenna’s memory. One of Jenna’s fellow students in environmental studies at UC Santa Cruz spoke. “As I go further in this major,” she said, "I’ll remember her, and remember to keep seeing the beauty of growth as she saw it.” It comforts us to know that Jenna’s vision will live on.
In fact, there are places where her vision is already in bloom. The garden she helped design and plant at the home she lived in while a student in Santa Cruz is a living, breathing expression of her passion for the environment. Working with a landscape architect, she created a haven for man and nature. A farm area whose seeds she planted in precise rows last year, will yield a harvest of organic vegetables and herbs this year. Fruit trees she painstakingly pruned are sprouting with promise. Blankets of flowers weave their way among the crops with no other purpose than flaunting their inherent beauty.
This year, the owners have added a posh poultry condo where a brood of pampered hens is enjoying a free-range quality of life. In a far corner, bees buzz in a hive next to a greenhouse that nurtures the seeds that will produce next year’s bounty. We sit at an umbrella-shaded picnic table beside a lilting fountain when we are invited to see how Jenna’s garden is growing. I feel her presence in every inch of that revered place.
Closer to home, in Golden Gate Park where she volunteered first and then interned, friends gathered to plant a pink magnolia tree in her memory. A paver stone at the Fountain Plaza in the Great Meadow, donated by the San Francisco Botanical Garden Society, acknowledges her work as an “Educator and Environmentalist.”
I continue to go from awed to sad and back again as this remarkable young woman is remembered by so many, in such loving ways. A personal way of remembering her fell, literally, into my lap. When I opened the invitation from the organizers of this year’s NextJen dinner, shiny gold stars, representing the star Jenna was in life, fell all around me—on my desk, on my lap, on the floor. I started to sweep them up, then decided to leave some where they fell. I smile when I see one peeking out from under a chair.
Finding a new normal is difficult. I go along fighting off the Why in ways that have always helped me through life’s traumas. I read. I write. I immerse myself in trying a new recipe, pretending Jenna is coming to dinner.
A friend, a poet, dedicated an elegy to Jenna. In the last stanza, she looks directly into our broken hearts:
Life goes on, still on, and yet
Our souls have memorized
the second
Earth stopped spinning
Its course altered forever
And an earthbound star
Returned to god’s grace
Leaving an absence we
Hold in our empty arms
“Earthbound Star”
Claire Scott
Mother and son have had much loss in their lives: she, her father when she was very young, thrusting her into the center of a bitter battle between her mother and her aunt who was granted custody, separating Gloria from her mother; he, the sudden death of his father when he was ten years old; both, their son/brother, Carter Cooper who at the age of 23 jumped from the 14th floor balcony of their Manhattan townhouse as his mother pleaded with him not to let go.
The documentary is a moving story of life, love and loss. Vanderbilt, born into great wealth, achieved success as both an artist and fashion designer. Cooper is a CNN news anchor. Each has moved on from the depths of despair to the heights of success. One has to ask: How? How were they able not only to carry on, but to excel in their endeavors after such devastating loss?
Vanderbilt answers that question in the film: “You ask yourself why did it happen? And there is no answer. You just have to be able to live in a world without Why.”
When my 19-year-old granddaughter’s life came to an end in a horrific car crash, I too asked “Why? Why did this happen?” Like the Vanderbilts, I’ve had to accept the reality that there is no answer. I will live with my unanswered Why for the rest of my days.
Our family, smaller now, has grown closer. We are always there for each other. We no longer celebrate holidays, we get through them. Adjusting to life without Jenna is painful; setting the table for five instead of six hurts. She is still an indispensable part of our lives. I don’t speak or think of her in the past tense; she will always dwell in my present.
We are determined to keep her memory vibrant. We’ve set up a fund, called the NextJen Scholarship, which grants financial support to low-income college-bound youth who, like Jenna, are committed to the conservation of our endangered environment. The first recipient of that award will enter his second year at San Francisco State University this fall. He spoke at this year’s fund-raising dinner, telling what this opportunity means to him. He came to America when he was four years old and was raised by a single mother. “We aren’t a wealthy family,” he said, “but we always take whatever we have and make the most of it.” As he is doing with this educational leg-up: he earned all A’s his freshman year. We can’t think of a more meaningful way to honor Jenna’s memory. One of Jenna’s fellow students in environmental studies at UC Santa Cruz spoke. “As I go further in this major,” she said, "I’ll remember her, and remember to keep seeing the beauty of growth as she saw it.” It comforts us to know that Jenna’s vision will live on.
In fact, there are places where her vision is already in bloom. The garden she helped design and plant at the home she lived in while a student in Santa Cruz is a living, breathing expression of her passion for the environment. Working with a landscape architect, she created a haven for man and nature. A farm area whose seeds she planted in precise rows last year, will yield a harvest of organic vegetables and herbs this year. Fruit trees she painstakingly pruned are sprouting with promise. Blankets of flowers weave their way among the crops with no other purpose than flaunting their inherent beauty.
This year, the owners have added a posh poultry condo where a brood of pampered hens is enjoying a free-range quality of life. In a far corner, bees buzz in a hive next to a greenhouse that nurtures the seeds that will produce next year’s bounty. We sit at an umbrella-shaded picnic table beside a lilting fountain when we are invited to see how Jenna’s garden is growing. I feel her presence in every inch of that revered place.
Closer to home, in Golden Gate Park where she volunteered first and then interned, friends gathered to plant a pink magnolia tree in her memory. A paver stone at the Fountain Plaza in the Great Meadow, donated by the San Francisco Botanical Garden Society, acknowledges her work as an “Educator and Environmentalist.”
I continue to go from awed to sad and back again as this remarkable young woman is remembered by so many, in such loving ways. A personal way of remembering her fell, literally, into my lap. When I opened the invitation from the organizers of this year’s NextJen dinner, shiny gold stars, representing the star Jenna was in life, fell all around me—on my desk, on my lap, on the floor. I started to sweep them up, then decided to leave some where they fell. I smile when I see one peeking out from under a chair.
Finding a new normal is difficult. I go along fighting off the Why in ways that have always helped me through life’s traumas. I read. I write. I immerse myself in trying a new recipe, pretending Jenna is coming to dinner.
A friend, a poet, dedicated an elegy to Jenna. In the last stanza, she looks directly into our broken hearts:
Life goes on, still on, and yet
Our souls have memorized
the second
Earth stopped spinning
Its course altered forever
And an earthbound star
Returned to god’s grace
Leaving an absence we
Hold in our empty arms
“Earthbound Star”
Claire Scott
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