There is nothing good or
right or fair about this. Until
it happened to my husband
and then to me, when
I heard someone speak of
losing a parent, I did not
appreciate the full weight
of what they had lost. Now
I wonder how something so
commonplace can be so excruciating.
It seems that its everydayness
should dull its edges
and turn it into a tumbled
stone you can carry in
your pocket or plonk into
your jewelry box, where it
will sit silently until you
have the need to feel its
glassy, cool weight in the
palm of your hand. Instead,
it is a sharp and heavy
thing with unexpected
spines and razor edges. You
forget that it’s there, then
you cut yourself on it while
fishing in your purse for
quarters or lip gloss.
It is unbelievably hard -
an emotional tri-athalon -
but it gets easier. In the
meantime, if you are looking
for someone who has
been there and is happy to
talk shopping or gossip
about celebrities or just
send you clips from Marx
Brothers movies, I’m here.
Finding a good, small-batch
whiskey and a couple good
friends with sympathetic
pouring skills is a perfectly
reasonable response. So is
climbing to the highest
peak in town and throwing
rocks at God. I’m up for either,
and God is certainly
strong enough to withstand
whatever we can deliver.
Remember that you are
surrounded by people who
love you and would give
anything to know how to
make this easier for you
and your family.
The vast majority of people
our age, which is to say
somewhere around 30s and
early 40s, never learned the
delicate art of Bringing a
Casserole. We want to help,
but we don’t know what to
say. We don’t want to intrude
on someone’s private
anguish. And we sure as
hell don’t know what to do.
We are so steeped in irony
and cynicism, we think
things like, “Why would I
think a casserole would do
anything to ease her suffering?”
We don’t understand
that the casserole is a sort
of tasty Trojan horse that
will get a person in the
door, where she will get a
much better view of how
she can be useful.
You may have to help
them help you. When you
find yourself with a fragment
of a moment illuminated
by sanity and reflection,
write down a list of
five or six things that could
really make your day easier.
Maybe someone could
feed the dogs so you could
stay all day with your
mother without having to
watch the clock. Maybe
someone can bring you a
CD player and music that
you and your mother both
like. If you think of something
you’d like or need to
do, but don’t want to waste
any of these moments with
your mother, write it down.
The next time someone
says, “Is there anything I
can do,” give them an assignment
from the list.
Your friends will be happy
to put their hands to use.
Let them carry you a little
way, if you can. There’s
something holy that happens
when we take care of
each other, and it’s important
to spend time on both
sides of that equation.
Equally holy is the sorrow
you’re feeling now and
will feel for a long time to
come.
There was a time when I
had no conviction about
what happens to us after
death. My existentialist attitude
was that it didn’t
matter, and that it’s our
lives that define our existence.
I also used to wear
tight black turtlenecks and
smoke like a chimney, so it
was all part of the package.
My experience has not
borne out that philosophy. I
know my mother is with
me. I can’t tell you exactly
how I know, although I
could point to a thousand
little things. It’s a non-negotiable
fact. I feel it. My
brother feels it. My son
feels it and even my daughters
who never met her feel
it.
That doesn’t make what
you’re going through now
any easier. I wish I had
something to offer for that
- something more substantial
than small-batch whiskey
and the Marx Brothers
and my love.
Then again, what else is
there?
Elizabeth Trever Buchinger
has a full file of casserole
recipes, if ever you
should need one. You can
connect with her at www.moremindfulfamily.wordpress.com.
This Wonderful Life
August 6, 2009
This Wonderful Life: Open letter to a friend whose mother is dying
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- This Wonderful Life: I can say No, but I prefer Yes If popular culture is any indication, it seems women suffer from an epidemic inability to refuse additional responsibilities. Magazines, self-help books and therapists nationwide offer heaps of advice on how to assert oneself, draw boundaries and generally say No when asked to sign on for those things for which we have little time and less interest.
- This Wonderful Life: I wish someone had told me Disclaimer: Because my son more or less demanded that I stop using him and his life as material for my column back when he was 12 or 13, I want to make it perfectly clear to all my readers (and any legal professionals who are now retained or may be retained at some future time by aforementioned son) that this column is not about him. It’s about me. The fact that he happened to turn 21 on Saturday is mere coincidence. So help me God.
- This Wonderful Life: A view through bare branches Every morning, Bee and I stand at the end of the driveway waiting for her bus and we look up into the branches of the elm tree that arches over the drive.
- This Wonderful Life: To Posey on her fourth So here we are, on the other side of 3-years-old, and it seems we both survived it intact. It wasn’t easy, but perhaps it made us both stronger.
- This Wonderful Life: A Posey by any other name... A few weeks ago, Posey gave us all new names. Or, to be more accurate, Posey gave us all one new name. Rose.
- This Wonderful Life: Are pork chops really that good? If it seems unlikely for a vegetarian (that would be me) to own a couple of table- bound pigs, it probably seems downright absurd that their names should be Tender and Delicious.
- This Wonderful Life: I sssssseeeeeee you there The first thing you should know is that I used to suffer from a snake phobia. The operative word there is phobia. It wasn’t just a matter of disliking snakes. It wasn’t a fear of being bitten. It wasn’t a simple reluctance to touch their impossibly dry, nimble bodies.
- This Wonderful Life: What’s so funny? My kids, I hope In my experience as a three-time parent, there is something absolutely, spiritually magical about the first time your child cracks a joke.
- This Wonderful Life: Who are these little girls? There are two children in my house who bear a striking resemblance to my daughters. They are adorable, smart and energetic.
- This Wonderful Life: A harvest that’s good for the soul Signs of harvest are all around. The afternoon sun glows amber over the fields and the farm stands are filled to overflowing with vegetables and fruit. We’re lucky to live in a place where we can have such an immediate connection to the food we eat.
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