Saturday, November 20, 1999
Death and Commitment - to LTF
I immediately told my Mom that you said, "Hi!" It always pleases her, and me, too, for that matter!
I guess she's doing well. She's old. What can I say. She's her own woman, so I try not to interfere, but a few weeks ago she started sleeping all the time and I got worried. She wouldn't go to the doctor so I started a routine with her: She must eat breakfast, bathe, get dressed and stay up for at least two hours before she goes in for a "nap". I try to get her out to do at least one thing (even if it's only going to the grocery) every day.
I think she's depressed and grieving, but she is of a generation and culture who does not recognize those concepts. Our next door neighbor in Mesa died while we were in Prescott, quite unexpectedly of a stroke. She was at least 10 years younger than Mom. Mom took it really hard, especially on the heels of her younger sister and my brother-in-law's mother dying last year, both of whom were 10 or more years younger than Mom. She kept saying, "It just doesn't seem fair..."
It's hard for me to accept that Our Next Door Neighbor is dead, too, and I'm certainly not one to turn up my nose at depression, grieving or sleeping; those are three of my favorite activities. The problem, as I see it, is that when you're 82, if you spend 3 or 4 days in bed you may not be physically able to get out of bed on the 5th day.
I thought you might already be married. Since I'm not one to commit to a marriage-type relationship, or to trust a partner to fool around in my life, or, for that matter, to look kindly upon someone who wants me fooling around in his life, I don't think of commitment as boring. I'm actually in awe of it. Not enough, you understand, to do it. I don't think it's ever been right for me or ever will be. But I'm amazed at how easily and willingly the rest of the world does it. Being my mother's companion until her death is about the extent of my ability to commit. As it turns out, this is a commitment that is important to everyone who knows or is related to my mother. So I'm satisfied.
I guess she's doing well. She's old. What can I say. She's her own woman, so I try not to interfere, but a few weeks ago she started sleeping all the time and I got worried. She wouldn't go to the doctor so I started a routine with her: She must eat breakfast, bathe, get dressed and stay up for at least two hours before she goes in for a "nap". I try to get her out to do at least one thing (even if it's only going to the grocery) every day.
I think she's depressed and grieving, but she is of a generation and culture who does not recognize those concepts. Our next door neighbor in Mesa died while we were in Prescott, quite unexpectedly of a stroke. She was at least 10 years younger than Mom. Mom took it really hard, especially on the heels of her younger sister and my brother-in-law's mother dying last year, both of whom were 10 or more years younger than Mom. She kept saying, "It just doesn't seem fair..."
It's hard for me to accept that Our Next Door Neighbor is dead, too, and I'm certainly not one to turn up my nose at depression, grieving or sleeping; those are three of my favorite activities. The problem, as I see it, is that when you're 82, if you spend 3 or 4 days in bed you may not be physically able to get out of bed on the 5th day.
I thought you might already be married. Since I'm not one to commit to a marriage-type relationship, or to trust a partner to fool around in my life, or, for that matter, to look kindly upon someone who wants me fooling around in his life, I don't think of commitment as boring. I'm actually in awe of it. Not enough, you understand, to do it. I don't think it's ever been right for me or ever will be. But I'm amazed at how easily and willingly the rest of the world does it. Being my mother's companion until her death is about the extent of my ability to commit. As it turns out, this is a commitment that is important to everyone who knows or is related to my mother. So I'm satisfied.
