May 16 2008
Positive 4 - A letter
Please note: This letter is not written to me, but shared with me by my friend who just lost her mother. The letter was written to M, a Hospice nurse.
Why am I sharing it? You know me, I had so many reasons listed here, but unlike me, I deleted them all, but this one: The letter is beautiful - in heart and intent.
It brings tears to my eyes and warmth to my heart — and her mom reminds me of mine… but it is posted because: it is a beautiful example of one human being connecting with another.
The words in {} are my changes for her privacy. Printed with C’s permission.
I wish you all human connection - and to make a difference to someone.
May 13, 2008
M,
Since I never know when or if I’m liable to see you again, I wanted to add a few things to my rambling tonight (without so much of the rambling).
First and foremost, thank you…for being you, and for doing what you do. I don’t know exactly what it is about you that got to me the most – maybe it was that on our first night there, your simple, direct manner, and saying, “Tell me about your mother…I’d like to know her”, was exactly what I needed to hear. Everyone there is wonderful and dedicated, but I think I felt the greatest connection to you. There are the “beamers” (those whose faces seem to glow when they talk about my mother’s ‘journey’), the “touchers” (those who look concerned and caring and always rub you on the shoulder or hug), the “business” types who are more like the nurses and doctors I’ve known from the hospitals. You don’t quite fit any of those molds. They all have their place and have all provided reassurance and comfort. Sometimes I need to feel emotional, and sometimes I need grounding.
You ground me. It’s obvious that you care, but you’re also pragmatic, down to earth, and have a knack for making me smile. Sure you weren’t a therapist in a previous life? You remind me this isn’t the end of the world, but a tough and natural time. You poke me when I need poking, listen when you think I need to be listened to. B said to me the other night, “If M’s on duty, be careful that you don’t stay too late shooting the sh*t with her, because it’s what I’d do.”
I also didn’t want to leave you with the sense that ours is a completely dysfunctional family (OK, we do have our issues). This has been a particularly poignant time for all of us. B dissects facts; I dissect emotions. My mother would have been so happy to see B and I pull together through this. One of her greatest wishes was for the two of us to be close, to have each other to lean on, and we have. I’ve been pleasantly surprised at his dedication…never would have guessed it. When I don’t want to strangle him, I’ve actually mellowed towards my father. I’ve watched his heart break, even heard him whisper to my mother while leaning over her bed, “I should have treated you better.” The day after I arrived in {their town}, I was with the two of them during their last night together in their apartment (where they’d been for 20+ years), watched them holding hands on the sofa, then had a last slow dance in their living room. It was obvious my mother was already very sick, but it was an incredibly tender moment and I was happy to see it.
I didn’t come to {their town} out of a sense of obligation. My cross to bear is that I didn’t realize how much I loved my mother until she became ill, and I truly have been devastated by it. Sure, there’s been guilt, regrets…and I’ve experienced the full gamut of emotions I knew I had and never knew I had. Bottom line is that I finally realized what a wonderful person she was, how much she had done for me, and I wanted to give back.
I was the light of her life. She loved all of us, but I know her times with me were particularly special to her. She reminisced about the simplest things…a time we went to a movie, got an ice cream cone, just spent time together. She never ceased telling me how proud she was of me, that I was “a beautiful person inside and out”. Those cards stacked on her bedside table are all cards I looked for the other day and found I’d kept for years…cards she picked out carefully for their meaning. The poem in the Lucite frame plays “You Are My Sunshine”…a gift she once sent me.
She taught me that the littlest things in life are usually the biggest, and that’s quite a lesson. It’s taken a long time, but she also taught me how to say what’s in my heart. So if there’s any good to be found in this experience, it’s that it pulled our family closer together, cut through the crap, and caused me to largely forgive, if not forget, the more difficult periods, or at least put them aside to be with her during what has become a sacred and intensely personal time for me.
Thank you for being a part of that. It’s been a privilege knowing you.
{signed by C}
