There are very few people I like to talk with on the phone, but she's one of the few. This friend is someone I can talk shop with for hours, because she knows her stuff about teaching, and her excitement and willingness to brainstorm ideas is never-ending. Her voice is so animated over the phone that I can hear the speed with which she's wildly gesturing on the other end. She'll stand in front of her bookshelf and yell out titles of books I MUST read - the woman's a treasure trove. I am so lucky to count her in my circle.
After a solid hour of unit planning, text sharing, and getting generally fired up about the work we do, I asked about the rest of her life... and the air left the conversation. Her answer was stilted and obviously uncomfortable for her.
I knew her mother had been battling sickness for a while, but my friend confessed that it's come to the end.
"The end." The time when lawyers and doctors enter the picture, when plans are put on hold, when vacation time is reviewed, when calendars are cleared for the imminent. The eminent.
To say the relationship between my beautiful friend and her mother has been complicated is an understatement. It seems the brilliant, generous, accomplished woman I know has never been enough for her mother, and her mother has always been sure to tell her ungrateful daughter how disappointed she's been with her. That selfish girl moved away and never calls or visits or supports enough. After all her mother did for her... gave her strict discipline... a good beating when necessary. It must have been necessary.
The hard truth is that some relationships can't be mended or resolved. Sometimes we have to resolve those relationships on our own, no matter how much we'd like them to be a joint effort. My friend has been trying to do just that for years. But "the end" complicates an already complicated situation.
My heart hurts for my friend. I know that the death of her mother won't be the end of the pain, it will be a new chapter of it. It will entail not only dealing with her own complex grief, but helping others with their own, of trying to reconcile who her mother may have been to others while not being a loving mother to her at all. It will be the beginning of sifting through what is left and trying to rise above.
I don't know how a person does that. I know that she will, because my friend is exceptional, but it humbles me to know that even with support around her, she will still experience part of this mourning alone... there are personal dragons that must be slain by one.
...
Today I came home from work to find a large manilla envelope for me in the mail pile. I picked it up and immediately recognized my dad's handwriting. Opening it, I found my copy of a cover letter addressed to my brother and me, signed by both of our parents.
The letter outlined their most recent estate plan and newly executed End Care documents. I sat down and read through the documents with my hand unconsciously over my heart. What could be a more loving and heartfelt gift from our parents than to try and make their departure from this world as easy as possible for us, their children? They've made sure that every situation has been laid out and considered. They've cleaned up every possible extra mess. Oh, don't mistake me, my mourning the loss of my parents will be very, very messy. It is inconceivable to me as I write this. But it won't be messy because of anything they've overlooked or forgotten or refused to deal with. They are handling all of their business. They will simply leave us, and that is as unbearable as I think I can manage.
Our parents have offered us something that is utterly invaluable. My brother and I have been adults for many years now, and our parents have treated us as such, but ultimately we all know we are still their children. They are still taking care of us. There is a logic to what they have done.
How I wish my friend was blessed with a parent who can lead, who can be the strong figure who takes care of her child the way my parents still thoughtfully care for my brother and me.
I am so humbled by their gift.
