Lowenstein

The Prince of Tides. I don't remember how many years ago it was that I first saw the movie. It is based on Pat Conroy's novel of the same name. It doesn't matter. I've seen it many, many times since. I'll never read the book. I can't. I've read other works by Mr. Conroy and his storytelling is phenomenal. (I highly recommend them.) The problem is this: I saw the motion picture first. The story is an emotional one and I have personal connections to it. But the screenplay differs from the novel, and I am unwilling to allow the book to affect the pictures I see behind my eyes.

If you read the synopsis of the movie, you'll see this tagline: "a story about the memories that haunt us, and the truth that sets us free." There could not be a more suitable precis. I am unable to relate to the tragic events in the lives of the characters as children, but I do understand the sadness of a family that cries even without tears...and I am learning something about forgiveness. As the story progresses, an adult Tom (played by Nick Nolte) leaves his family behind in the Carolinas and ultimately falls in love with his twin sister's therapist in New York, Dr. Lowenstein (Barbra Streisand). It is the psychiatrist that helps unlock the painful memories of the past...and unchain Tom's heart. I'd love to tell you more, but I'd really rather you rent the movie. (In fact, I insist on it.) Maybe I'll rent it again too.

The narrative at the end of the film moves me each time I hear the words. "In New York I learned that I needed to love my mother and father in all their flawed, outrageous humanity, and in families there are no crimes beyond forgiveness. But it is the mystery of life that sustains me now. I look to the north, and I wish again that there were two lives apportioned to every man - and every woman."

And in the final scene, the one that always, always makes me cry, Tom drives across the sea and speaks these words: "At the end of every day I drive through the city of Charleston and I cross the bridge that will take me home. I feel the words building inside me. I can't stop them, or tell you why I say them, but as I reach the top of the bridge these words come to me in a whisper. I say these words as a prayer, as regret, as praise, I say: Lowenstein, Lowenstein."

"As a prayer, as regret, as praise..."  Sometimes there is such power in a name.  I know Lowenstein ~ by a pseudonym.  As I look out my window and reflect on where I've been...question where I'm going...I simply do this:  offer a prayer of thanks.  That has made all the difference.