When a friend is dying, it's very hard to be realistic. Because every part of your self wants to believe that things will get better, that a cure will be found at the 11th hour, that even though nobody else has ever survived what your friend has been stricken with, you somehow believe that your friend will be different. He will be the one that wakes up one day, and for no explainable reason, is able to walk, talk, and breathe independently once more.
But then there comes a point, when prayers and hopes for healing just end. It feels wrong to even silently wish for anything except peace. And so thoughts fade from ones of healing to grace, and instead of turning over in your mind the possibility that this nightmare will end, it seems more appropriate to just think about your friend's children and hope that the trauma is as small as it can be. But then, I look at my own two children and wonder - how in the hell can the loss of a parent be anything except extremely traumatic?
And his wife? Who I have known practically my entire life? She will be left to not only parent these two grief-stricken children, but she will have her own mounds of grief to deal with. Her current nightmare will end and another one will begin.
He will never roll his eyes at her again. He will never burst out laughing at her implausible tales. He will never share her joy thinking about the two children they created.
On Thursday, my friend will take in his last breath. His pain will finally end. So much of him will remain in this dimension, and those who knew him will honor that spirit in our actions and in choosing the company we keep.
Elaine
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
Thursday, April 4, 2013
The Lessons
It's not the lesson we hoped Connor would be learning in second grade, but it's an important lesson all the same. Stay by your partner's side; Let people know you love them; Live a life of compassion; and All living things will one day, die.
This afternoon, parents of students in Connor's class received news that the primary teacher's husband had died. The email noted that news was spreading fast and advised parents to take the opportunity to talk to their children in the evening, so they weren't surprised at school the next day. I was going up to school in a few minutes to pick Connor up anyway, and everyone in the office (faculty, staff, parents) were grief-stricken.
So sad.
For the school auction, the children all wrote essays about what their life would be like in 20 years. I volunteered to scan the essays, and because I have a very slow scanner, I was able to read through all of them during my task. The teacher contributed an essay and the whole thing is about travel she hopes to be doing with her husband. When I first read it, I was nervous - knowing that her husband was ill, but now my heart just breaks in two.
Life is so precious.
Tonight, after we came home from the baseball game and a visit to a new yogurt store, got jammies on and whizzed through homework, Ed held Connor as I told him the news. Connor sobbed. And we took a moment to talk about what a wonderful thing his teacher had done, being by her husband for so much time, even though she missed her class dearly. We talked about how we can send a note to the teacher and if we don't know what to say, we can just write "I love you". We even talked about how even though we did not know her husband, we are still sad for her, because we love her so much. We briefly covered the ground that people sometimes die after being sick for a long time, hoping to avoid anxiety over the next minor illness that Ed or I happen to contract.
May today's rains bring tomorrow's beautiful flowers,
Elaine
Updated April 5:
P.S. This morning, Connor wrote his teacher an "I Love You Mrs. [name]" in a rainbow of colors. On the back, he drew these flowers.
This afternoon, parents of students in Connor's class received news that the primary teacher's husband had died. The email noted that news was spreading fast and advised parents to take the opportunity to talk to their children in the evening, so they weren't surprised at school the next day. I was going up to school in a few minutes to pick Connor up anyway, and everyone in the office (faculty, staff, parents) were grief-stricken.
So sad.
For the school auction, the children all wrote essays about what their life would be like in 20 years. I volunteered to scan the essays, and because I have a very slow scanner, I was able to read through all of them during my task. The teacher contributed an essay and the whole thing is about travel she hopes to be doing with her husband. When I first read it, I was nervous - knowing that her husband was ill, but now my heart just breaks in two.
Life is so precious.
Tonight, after we came home from the baseball game and a visit to a new yogurt store, got jammies on and whizzed through homework, Ed held Connor as I told him the news. Connor sobbed. And we took a moment to talk about what a wonderful thing his teacher had done, being by her husband for so much time, even though she missed her class dearly. We talked about how we can send a note to the teacher and if we don't know what to say, we can just write "I love you". We even talked about how even though we did not know her husband, we are still sad for her, because we love her so much. We briefly covered the ground that people sometimes die after being sick for a long time, hoping to avoid anxiety over the next minor illness that Ed or I happen to contract.
May today's rains bring tomorrow's beautiful flowers,
Elaine
Updated April 5:
P.S. This morning, Connor wrote his teacher an "I Love You Mrs. [name]" in a rainbow of colors. On the back, he drew these flowers.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Teaching the Right Lessons
Connor's teacher's husband is very ill. He cannot be left unattended. Two weeks ago, he was in the hospital and the teacher was absent in the afternoons. Last week, the teacher was absent all week. This week, the teacher continues to be absent and will be so at least through the end of the week. After that, it's unclear what will happen, though more doctor's appointments mean that a clearer picture will likely develop.
Notably, she has sent in lesson plans every day for the substitute, and the substitutes are supported by a student teacher who has been in the classroom and knows the students. Connor's teacher may have physically left the building, but she's still working for her students.
I have mixed reactions to this. As a human, I am deeply sorry that my son's teacher is going through this awful time. I can't imagine how stressful it must be.
As a parent, I was initially upset that my son seems to be losing a second teacher this year. He's already lost one teacher, and the thought of losing another just seems like it's too much for one seven-year-old to bear. Also, his classroom teacher does a LOT of extra work for Connor, trying to find material that keeps him interested in what's going on. Most recently, she recruited the librarian to help with a special project. Without his teacher there, I'm sure he's getting lost quite a bit of the time - and this is a little depressing to me.
But then I got to thinking. What's the lesson in all of this?
It's simple, really.
The lesson is that when you partner is in great need, you drop as much as you can and you attend to that need. I would walk out of my office in a New York City minute and never look back if I was in the same situation. And just because you happen to be a teacher, doesn't mean you shouldn't do the same thing.
Years from now, I have no doubt that Connor will sail through the various academic challenges that come his way - whether he's excited about school in second grade or not. But more importantly, he might be faced with an awful choice as he watches a partner, friend, or child in need. And maybe in the back of the mind he'll remember a lesson he's learning right now - choose the thing that's most important to you every day - and do that thing.
Elaine
Notably, she has sent in lesson plans every day for the substitute, and the substitutes are supported by a student teacher who has been in the classroom and knows the students. Connor's teacher may have physically left the building, but she's still working for her students.
I have mixed reactions to this. As a human, I am deeply sorry that my son's teacher is going through this awful time. I can't imagine how stressful it must be.
As a parent, I was initially upset that my son seems to be losing a second teacher this year. He's already lost one teacher, and the thought of losing another just seems like it's too much for one seven-year-old to bear. Also, his classroom teacher does a LOT of extra work for Connor, trying to find material that keeps him interested in what's going on. Most recently, she recruited the librarian to help with a special project. Without his teacher there, I'm sure he's getting lost quite a bit of the time - and this is a little depressing to me.
But then I got to thinking. What's the lesson in all of this?
It's simple, really.
The lesson is that when you partner is in great need, you drop as much as you can and you attend to that need. I would walk out of my office in a New York City minute and never look back if I was in the same situation. And just because you happen to be a teacher, doesn't mean you shouldn't do the same thing.
Years from now, I have no doubt that Connor will sail through the various academic challenges that come his way - whether he's excited about school in second grade or not. But more importantly, he might be faced with an awful choice as he watches a partner, friend, or child in need. And maybe in the back of the mind he'll remember a lesson he's learning right now - choose the thing that's most important to you every day - and do that thing.
Elaine
Friday, February 15, 2013
Perspective
Tonight, Ed and I went to a concert opened by Dan Navarro. Before his longtime partner Eric Lowen died from ALS, he toured as half of Lowen and Navarro. By the time I discovered Lowen and Navarro, opening for Eddie from Ohio, Eric Lowen had already been diagnosed with the disease.
Eric Lowen lived with ALS for nine years. As Navarro said onstage tonight, he fought a two year disease for nine years. He kicked it's ass.
And a few years ago, I would've said how unfair it was that someone would die at age 60. How awful that a disease could take you to the next dimension after nine years. What a raw deal.
But today? Today I want my friend with ALS to get those nine years that Eric Lowen had. I want my friend to be granted that same amount of time. Because my friend? He's just as strong, and just as loved, and his life is just as meaningful.
Which is just to say, a lot can change in a few years. Those nine years now seem like an eternity, a wish too grand to even utter out loud.
And yes, I'm realizing that we all have exactly one life to live, and we don't get any other promises, it's hard not to be upset. It's not fair.
Not one teeny-tiny bit.
Elaine
Eric Lowen lived with ALS for nine years. As Navarro said onstage tonight, he fought a two year disease for nine years. He kicked it's ass.
And a few years ago, I would've said how unfair it was that someone would die at age 60. How awful that a disease could take you to the next dimension after nine years. What a raw deal.
But today? Today I want my friend with ALS to get those nine years that Eric Lowen had. I want my friend to be granted that same amount of time. Because my friend? He's just as strong, and just as loved, and his life is just as meaningful.
Which is just to say, a lot can change in a few years. Those nine years now seem like an eternity, a wish too grand to even utter out loud.
And yes, I'm realizing that we all have exactly one life to live, and we don't get any other promises, it's hard not to be upset. It's not fair.
Not one teeny-tiny bit.
Elaine
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Second Grade Friends
A story in too many parts...
******
My second grade year was a big one. It's where I met a great friend. Several months after school started, Mrs. B. announced that the class had a new student. I was beyond thrilled because the empty desk was next to me. I was going to get to sit by this new girl, L, and I just new she was going to be great.
L came to school in an Incredible Hulk t-shirt and torn green jeans. She had super short hair. Mrs. B. introduced her, and I swear, 25 jaws dropped because that child that Mrs. B. was warmly introducing? It was not a girl. No, that was a boy. The whole class agreed. My heart sank. I was going to have to sit next to a new boy, and that would not be nearly as fun as having a new girl in class. But wait, Mrs. B. had used a name that very clearly belonged to a girl, and then I was just confused.
Me? I wore dresses, preferably ones with lots of fabric that could twirl out from my waist as I spun around. I was, in all aspects, a stereotypical girl. L was not. She was in second grade breaking gender lines. I wasn't sure we could be friends.
But as it turns out, we became best friends. We were in class together from 2nd through 6th grades, and then overlapped many of our classes in middle and high school. I consider myself responsible for her being a role-playing-game enthusiast, though I have absolutely no interest in them. And she is responsible for my high school debate career that resulted in a full-ride scholarship to both undergrad and grad school, though she has less than no interest in debate. This is just one of many examples of how L always gives more than she gets.
********
I'm still friends with L today. Who knew a second grade friendship could amount to so much? We have a third close friend, J. I can still tell you both of their addresses and phone numbers when they were growing up, and I could ride my bike directly to their former homes.
We all met at J's home a few years. I can't even believe J's husband let us stay. Seriously. There was a lot of estrogen in that house, and I'm not sure he got more than a sentence or two in the whole weekend. L, J, and me? We had loads of fun. L even gave us a gang symbol and named is the AW3 (Avondale West 3). She's always the life of the party.
**********
I've been spending a lot of time lately thinking about how my writing is essentially peak-to-peak writing, always focusing on the high points. This is extremely intentional. First, nobody gets mad at you for writing a post they look good in. Second, the peaks are what I want to remember. And when my kids are in therapy some day, I want them to have solid evidence that we had loads of good times.
But in reality, life is about getting through the valleys. It's about trudging through all the day-to-day stuff. It revolves around getting through each day, and remembering to say thanks at the end.
**********
If you want to be extremely depressed, do a google search for ALS. Then think about how your friend's husband was just diagnosed with this awful disease. The same husband that when he was first described to you by that friend, you knew instantly they would be married. And you also knew they would live happily ever after because this guy was perfect for your friend. Perfect.
This guy stood by your friend when her mother died. This guy, who is brilliant, and funny, and an awesome dad - is you're friend's counter balance. Where he loves discussing philosophy, she'd rather read a SciFi novel. When he was moved to tears at Ground Zero and called her, she was cursing the old plumbing in their house as she replaced a toilet while he was away.
**********
L is a psychologist and her husband is a psychiatrist. She's the friend to call or email when there's something really strange going on. She's genius at sorting through stuff and getting to the heart of the matter. I cannot recall one time she's given me bad advice. At least not since we've both been adults.
*********
My friend's husband is living with ALS. I have no doubt that L will be the one squeezing out every good moment from now until he stops living with ALS. She'll be laughing her two relatively young children through the whole damn thing. She'll be figuring out the trick to living in this moment, right now.
I'm hoping she'll be living the life I'm writing about - peak-to-peak. Even though I know she'll be spending a lot of time hanging out in the valleys. She is, after all, human.
**********
If you have a higher power you call on, please ask that higher power to give my friend L and her husband a break. Even just taking the edge off the valleys could be of profound importance.
Much love,
Elaine
******
My second grade year was a big one. It's where I met a great friend. Several months after school started, Mrs. B. announced that the class had a new student. I was beyond thrilled because the empty desk was next to me. I was going to get to sit by this new girl, L, and I just new she was going to be great.
L came to school in an Incredible Hulk t-shirt and torn green jeans. She had super short hair. Mrs. B. introduced her, and I swear, 25 jaws dropped because that child that Mrs. B. was warmly introducing? It was not a girl. No, that was a boy. The whole class agreed. My heart sank. I was going to have to sit next to a new boy, and that would not be nearly as fun as having a new girl in class. But wait, Mrs. B. had used a name that very clearly belonged to a girl, and then I was just confused.
Me? I wore dresses, preferably ones with lots of fabric that could twirl out from my waist as I spun around. I was, in all aspects, a stereotypical girl. L was not. She was in second grade breaking gender lines. I wasn't sure we could be friends.
But as it turns out, we became best friends. We were in class together from 2nd through 6th grades, and then overlapped many of our classes in middle and high school. I consider myself responsible for her being a role-playing-game enthusiast, though I have absolutely no interest in them. And she is responsible for my high school debate career that resulted in a full-ride scholarship to both undergrad and grad school, though she has less than no interest in debate. This is just one of many examples of how L always gives more than she gets.
********
I'm still friends with L today. Who knew a second grade friendship could amount to so much? We have a third close friend, J. I can still tell you both of their addresses and phone numbers when they were growing up, and I could ride my bike directly to their former homes.
We all met at J's home a few years. I can't even believe J's husband let us stay. Seriously. There was a lot of estrogen in that house, and I'm not sure he got more than a sentence or two in the whole weekend. L, J, and me? We had loads of fun. L even gave us a gang symbol and named is the AW3 (Avondale West 3). She's always the life of the party.
**********
I've been spending a lot of time lately thinking about how my writing is essentially peak-to-peak writing, always focusing on the high points. This is extremely intentional. First, nobody gets mad at you for writing a post they look good in. Second, the peaks are what I want to remember. And when my kids are in therapy some day, I want them to have solid evidence that we had loads of good times.
But in reality, life is about getting through the valleys. It's about trudging through all the day-to-day stuff. It revolves around getting through each day, and remembering to say thanks at the end.
**********
If you want to be extremely depressed, do a google search for ALS. Then think about how your friend's husband was just diagnosed with this awful disease. The same husband that when he was first described to you by that friend, you knew instantly they would be married. And you also knew they would live happily ever after because this guy was perfect for your friend. Perfect.
This guy stood by your friend when her mother died. This guy, who is brilliant, and funny, and an awesome dad - is you're friend's counter balance. Where he loves discussing philosophy, she'd rather read a SciFi novel. When he was moved to tears at Ground Zero and called her, she was cursing the old plumbing in their house as she replaced a toilet while he was away.
**********
L is a psychologist and her husband is a psychiatrist. She's the friend to call or email when there's something really strange going on. She's genius at sorting through stuff and getting to the heart of the matter. I cannot recall one time she's given me bad advice. At least not since we've both been adults.
*********
My friend's husband is living with ALS. I have no doubt that L will be the one squeezing out every good moment from now until he stops living with ALS. She'll be laughing her two relatively young children through the whole damn thing. She'll be figuring out the trick to living in this moment, right now.
I'm hoping she'll be living the life I'm writing about - peak-to-peak. Even though I know she'll be spending a lot of time hanging out in the valleys. She is, after all, human.
**********
If you have a higher power you call on, please ask that higher power to give my friend L and her husband a break. Even just taking the edge off the valleys could be of profound importance.
Much love,
Elaine
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