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.
