A Ray of Sunshine
Harry Dwinell was born at Sutter Davis Hospital on October 18, 1994. At that time I was on the verge of death from lithium poisoning and pneumonia, in another part of that hospital.
When Harry was two months old his Russian mother, Susanna Nazarova put him into my arms and said, “I need a babysitter.” I said, “You’ve got one.” Little Harry reminded me of our son, Jan at that age. The round head, very blond hair, light eyes and white skin. (Our son, Jan and daughter Eva had both grown up and left home.) I felt that God had given me back my baby, in spite of the fact that I don’t believe in God. For the next two and half years, he was “My Harry,” my grandchild. (This was long before I had grandchildren of my own.)
I had a special Yugoslavian rocking chair in the Sun Room, here in Davis. I bought it in Berkeley when our son was about to be born, and spent many happy hours rocking him, nursing him and giving him his bottle. I now sat with little Harry in that same rocking chair in the Sun Room, giving him his bottle. The sun streaming in through the full-length French doors which led to the garden. I gave little Harry his bottle, put him on my shoulder and “burped him.” Then he would fall asleep, his head on my shoulder. That gave me great joy, convincing me that I hadn’t forgotten how to be a good mother.
When Harry could sit up, we would sit on the floor in our Sun Room, rolling a soft yellow ball back and forth. Every time it came to me, I would say, “Mine! Mine! Mine!” Harry thought that was very funny. I can still see him sitting there on the floor, “laughing his head off,” (as we used to say.)
Harry’s family, which also included James Dwinell, his father, lived a few blocks from our house in Davis. Susanna told me as soon as they came to our street, College Park, walking from their house to ours, little Harry would shout, “Andy Nanny! Andy Nanny!” As soon as I opened the door, he would rush in and head for his special table in the Sun Room, where I kept all his little playthings. He would rush all over the house, gleefully exploring everything. When I finally got tired of running after him, I would lay him down on the daybed, where André would give him his bottle. He was “a ray of sunshine” in our “empty nest.” Once Susanna thanked me for loving him so much. I said, “I will love him even when I am in heaven.”
When Harry was ready to start crawling, his parents bought him a kind of scooter, to scoot around the house. But an old friend of mine, Joan Moses, who ran a Nursery School in Davis told me that it is important for young children to crawl, a necessary part of their development. So I got down on my hands and knees and taught him to crawl.
When Harry was two and a half years old, the family decided to move back east to Vermont, where James grew up. It was a great loss for me, but I didn’t give up. Each year I visited the Dwinell family, which soon included a daughter, Sophia, whom I also love. I visited them in Cambridge, MA, in Boston, in Chanbery, France and in Bristol, England, where Harry showed me his secret hiding place.
Harry invited me to his high school graduation in Hanover, NH and to his college graduation in Boulder, Colorado. In Boulder, he and his sister invited me to be present in his apartment while they were taking LSD. They invited me to try it. I was intrigued by their descriptions of its effects, but I thought, “I’m already Bipolar, I don’t want to go crazy!”
After the graduation ceremony they took lots of pictures. I was very happy when they insisted that I be included in one picture, “for family only.”
Harry is now 25 years old. He has spent the last two years in the Peace Corps, in The Gambia, equatorial Africa. It was very challenging at first, due to the extreme heat, and very primitive conditions in that small, Islamic country. But, he learned the language, created a home for himself in the small hut assigned to him, planted a garden and lots of trees. He taught a course for women on women’s rights, taught the people how to use computers, and made two videos about life in The Gambia. He became a well-adjusted, much loved member of that community. He would probably be there now if the Pandemic hadn’t forced the Peace Corps to end their operations.
Harry now lives in Randolph, Vermont with his father and live-in girlfriend, Alexa. He recently enrolled in an on-line graduate course on photography, offered by the New School in NYC. He is still a ray of sunshine and still regards me as one of his grandmothers.