Death and extreme illness. The last frontier. As I read your email I
realize that is an aspect of life I have little familiarity with. Of
course, as you say, much fear around it. Also a lot of uncertainty. What
to do, what to say, how to be? Where is the line between not intruding
and trying to avoid my own discomfort? Probably a lot further out than I
think. In my experience, "I don't want to intrude" is code for "this
makes me uncomfortable and I'd rather not deal with it." So, the fact
that that's the first thing that came to mind when I was analyzing what
had me not be in communication for so long I think is a clue to my own
cowardice. Damn. Busted.
Just when I think I'm getting this whole friendship thing down, I see there is yet work to be done.
My explanation may be redundant but here it is anyway. A friend's mother is very ill and quite likely dying. Her decline has been slow and inexorable, mental and physical. The stress on the family has been considerable. I literally am unable to imagine what it might be like for her and the family. I have glimpses of it, but the full impact of it (good and bad), the full range of emotions (good and bad), the inevitable shifts in family dynamics (good and bad), all of that is beyond my reach.
What does one do in the face of something like this? In some ways, this seems like the worst possible scenario. But I've talked to people who have had to care for aging parents, and have read many pieces by writers who lived through it, and there is something about the experience that requires unimaginable compassion and vulnerability. Much can be gained from that: intimacy at a level most people never experience, an expanded view of life, at least, and the knowledge that when the shit hit the fan, you stepped up and chose being of service instead of being comfortable. The latter, I think, is a straight path to hell: do not pass Go, do not collect $200.
So when it came to my attention that I had been less than attentive to my amazing friend, who takes on life with a passion and engagement I try to emulate whenever possible, I had to take a hard look at that. My first reaction was to think I didn't want to intrude. As my loyal readers know, I don't go through anything on my own, and I assume that others will ask when they need something. How convenient for me, no? True, I can't be running around trying to figure out everything everyone needs, at some point people have to be responsible to ask. But that's not what was happening, I was just out of communication with my friend and deep down I knew that.
All I needed to do was send an email or leave a message every now and then, check in with her, let her know I was thinking about her and ask if she wanted to get together for lunch or ice cream or what have you. But I didn't. Because, frankly, I was a bit of a coward. I worried about how to be, what to say. I wanted to get it right, or not do it at all. Fear ran the show. I didn't want to deal with her loss, not really, I didn't want to be confronted with what it would take to be present at such a time. I wanted my life to remain ... easy.
The words of the great bard come to mind:
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn
No Traveller returns, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the Native hue of Resolution
Is sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard their Currents turn awry,
And lose the name of Action.
It wasn't even the possibility of my own death that made a coward out of me.
So, I wiggled and squirmed and whined and thought the whole thing was unfair, tried on a few excuses (they didn't fit), and in the end chose to be better.
[Please note that comments are closed on this post. Please email me any thoughts you might have. The link to email me is in the right hand panel, at the top.]
