Day before yesterday, Monday, was a really good day. My mother was wiped out because of going home - that's a lot of activity - but she was so happy to be home. She had a good day.
Yesterday, in her opinion I'm sure, was crappy. At least, that's what she conveyed to us.
First off, what I saw: my mother slept a lot, drank some, ate 3 meals (albeit small), and walked a bit.
What my mother saw (in my opinion): I'm weak, I hurt, I'm not hungry and the people around me are showing signs of distress. (i.e. I got a migraine, my dad blew off steam at the Clinic for messing up our doctor appointment dates)
My thoughts: my mother is not only recovering from major surgery. She has cancer. One way or another, the surgery was not the end of it. We are, all of us, dealing with this. And as we try to help her heal, inevitably, with the diagnosis death has come to our home. It is not being mean, but it has asked for a seat at the table. And we have no choice but to give it a chair. It may be here a while before it leaves - who knows, it may be 15 or 20 years, but we are aware of its presence. Which means we are all sort of starting to go through the process of dealing with it - and the stages of emotions that go with it. There's no fighting it, we just are. It just means that these emotions are another thing we have to deal with along the way. Winning, for me, means we go through that process, my mother recovers, and when someone does finally die, we can all say good-bye in a manner that reflects us having accepted it.
That's my take, anyway.
This entry is very insightful and definitely true. I have been going through the process of mourning in the last few weeks. I think that maman's illness, amidst all of the challenges, brought with it growth in our family. Death is often sudden and we find ourselves unprepared for it. Even so that the religious teachings of the world call us to bring ourselves to account because our own deaths may be the most surprising. I've begun to look at maman's illness in terms of a crisis to which we are all called to respond. Maman must handle this differently than the rest of us but, in the end, we will have had a great many opportunities to discover new aspects of ourselves , to overcome some of our shortcomings, and grow a little bit.
And, as for death. I'm not ready to give it a seat at the table yet. I'm too young for anyone I love to die prematurely, unless it's me. I don't think that I will handle it well if anyone goes out of turn. I'd like to be able to spend more time with everyone instead of being isolated at a little farmhouse in the wrong part of the world. Death may have a seat at the table during dessert but while we eat our main course it can stand on the front porch and pretend to be a vacuum cleaner salesman or a Jehovah's Witness.
Once again, Mara, thanks for the updates. This is a beautiful post (all things considered). One of my favorite poems is called Dear Death, by Robbie (Mendon, I think you've met him). It is featured in the most recent issue of One Magazine: http://one-magazine.com/content/view/139/372/