There was such a whirlwind of activity. My man, her youngest son, was up at the hospital with her, every day. This, of course, messed with our son of six. Our son didn't get it, he missed his daddy. My schedule was a mess and I couldn't think. When you become accustomed to running the house with two and one is gone, the world is fucked.
It was up and done all week...maybe she would make it, maybe she wouldn't. The phone never stopped ringing. It felt like one long sustained note of level of intensity that just struck the level of sustained annoyance. My man never ate, or slept, it seemed like. And I was quite without the power to do anything about it.
The family is not fond of me. Maybe it is the distance that I keep. I am not a family type person. My own family being one of crap, I'm just not prone to family type situations. I do understand them, with all of the internal politics and guilt and love...I just don't have it in me to be a part of that situation. I do what I can with the man and son that I have, and everyone else is just "other people's" family. I know that can be bothersome. I'm not completely without feelings, I just do not have that capacity. It's a struggle, I know. There is little acceptance in the world for people such as me. I know, and I take that.
I did have feelings about my Mother In Law. Secretly, from my reserved position, I did have feelings. I found myself in the shower last week, quietly observing my thoughts and singing a Buddhist Prayer to God. I had my son get dressed. It was time for he and I to go and see Granny. I gave this quite a bit of thought. At six you are left out of so many grownup things. Did I know that her looks, the beat up, despondent world that she was in now, could have a dramatic effect on my son? Yes, I knew that. I was making a decision to send him right into the headlights of pain. I hoped that I was making the right decision. I would be there for him, but this might be so tough, and he was so small. But, I weighed the other side. What if he didn't get to tell Granny what he wanted to say, what if he needed to see her. Would I want to be the parent that said no to that because he was a small human. Would I want to bare that guilt, or be the one involved in him baring that guilt. No. So, I sang to God and let the water wash over me until it was hot to cold.
We were dressed and in the car. Driving. I had this overwhelming need to stop by a Catholic church. I wasn't Catholic. I'm probably never going to be Catholic. But, Granny was. She was probably more Catholic than the Pope. I knew that Granny was probably one of three to four religious persons that I had any respect and admiration for. She was dedicated to her faith, she lived in her faith, BUT, she was never pushy about her faith. As though she read the books and really got it. She was one of a handful of people that gave me hope that everything I heard about God might be true. I am not a person of faith. I am a person, sometime of hope. And her ideas and lifestyle with regards to God gave me hope. For people who really know me....that's a lot.
She was in pain, in a shitty hospital room. And she didn't have any of her relics. All week she had been messing with her feeding tube, and pulling this out a bit, until it dawned on someone that she was saying her Rosary. This was my pain for her. She didn't have any of her things....those things that brought her comfort. I'm so not Catholic, I couldn't even remember where the Catholic churches were. I thought there might be one downtown. My son was eating doughnuts in the backseat and complaining about this taking to long. I explained what I was doing driving us around like a madman. He was ok with it.
I pulled up to what I thought was a Catholic church. I parked in a no parking zone, and looked up at the sky and thought, I can't afford a ticket, but if you're up there, you know, and are going to help me, right? It was Sunday, and the church was busy...busy with people in their Sunday best. I was in jeans, tugging my son and his doughnut crusted mouth along with me.
It was a Catholic church. I stopped someone who looked official and asked for some Holy Water. We had once taken Granny's car on a trip. When I opened the glove compartment, looking for kleenex, I found a bottle of Holy Water with the kleenex and the maps. I thought about that. What was she going to do with that? Bless the blown tire after? I didn't care. But, she had relics everywhere, and this one time, she was fucking going to have them now. The man looked at me like I was nuts and sent me down to the next building to the gift shop.
The gift shop? People hocked Holy Water? As pissed off as I was about that point, it was small in comparison to the overall mission that I was on. The gift shop was closed. I stopped another official looking person and explained why I needed this, and I was happy to pay, but I was in a hurry. He hurried off, saying that he would be right back. People in their Sunday best looked at me and my son...some with curiosity, some with annoyance. No time for that either.
The man came back, he came back. He had a plastic cup with foil on top, and a Rosary. I teared a bit, and told him thank you. That I knew it was maybe silly, but this was important, and for once, I just needed a church to do what it could, and he did that....thank you. We hugged and my son and I ran to the car and hurried to the hospital.
We hurried, we parked, getting out of the car, I spilled some of the Holy Water on my shirt. Shit! I can't waste this. This I paused, as though I was waiting for something to occur. Wasn't this water magic? There's that hope again. Nothing. Nothing happened. It was as though I expected, just like the vampires, for there to be a hole. Yet, nothing. Well, fuck it. This wasn't about me, or for me, or anything me.
We were in the room. My son looked relieved. My son was ok. He talked to Granny quietly. None of us know what he said. And frankly, it's not our business. He was ok, he was sad, he understood the gravity of situation, but he was ok. I was relieved.
I wanted to talk to Granny, too. The room was full of all the family, all of the children. Ok, I would have to do this publicly. She wasn't my mother, and you cannot, as the outsider, ask people to leave for you. I get that. I put the Rosary under her pillow. She looked like shit. I was angry that her hair was messed up. She had just gotten a new haircut, and it was cool. And this place, and these people couldn't even fix her hair for her. I whispered and I began to cry. I wanted her to know that I knew that she felt like she was the last of her line. I had heard her say that before. I told her that she was wrong. I told her about the hope that she gave me. I asked her to know how important that hope was. Important enough for me to drive to church on Sunday to bring her things. I told her that her line didn't stop. She had a children...she had a son, her son was in my life now, and we had a son. Did she know that gift that she had given me?....a perfect stranger, linked now to her forever, through tiny DNA and blood vessels? Did she know that? And I told her that I had know words for the work that she had done in her life to give me that gift. And there were no words to express it or give thanks for it. All I could do was drive to a shitty church and bring relics for her.
I took the Holy Water and pulled the foil back on the plastic cup. I couldn't even get the gold cup I thought she deserved. I began to realize that other people in the room were staring. They knew that I had brought Holy Water.
They all knew that I was not religious. One commented that she had already been anointed, and in case I didn't know what that was, Granny had been given her last rights. I replied that I knew what that was, and this water wasn't for that. I asked if there could be such a thing as too much Holy Water. Wasn't it supposed to be magic or something? Didn't they have faith in it?
The slightly sarcastic reply was that Granny wasn't suddenly going to be healed. Yes, I knew that, I replied. But, what if God or Jesus, or an Angel or something came to her because of this stupid water. Wasn't it magic? Wasn't it supposed to do something?....Anything?....Didn't they believe?....They were Catholic, and Granny believed....so just for this one fucking moment, couldn't I, too, have the hope and maybe the borrowed faith that something good...no, something great would happen for her while she was waiting in pain?
Granny passed away a couple of days later. I haven't really teared up since. I said what I needed to say that day. I knew that she was prepared for the end. What I learned, truly learned, was that it isn't death that bothers me. Once someone is gone, they are gone, the end for them. It is the act of dying, the days, hours, minutes, seconds towards death that is so awful. People are scared. The body is still reacting. There are still moments of reaction to the old life before crossing to the new. The body takes it's fucking time letting go of the soul. That is the painful part for me.
Watching everyone who knew her be so tired and in pain during the moments before her death, and the human caught in the headlights after her death have been hard. One is completely powerless to help another during this grief. Grief is only for the living and is only for the single, one person. My grief is different from my son's, my man's, the sisters, the brother, the grandchildren. It is single to everyone.
I did learn how I wanted my own after death proceedings to go. I did take notice of that. So, I have to say thank you to Granny for that. She did most of that work before she went. She was not afraid, it wasn't that big of a deal to her, her own death. She had faith, she was comforted and prepared. She gave me hope, she gave me that lesson. I am compelled to write that down in her honor.
I hoped there were angels for her. I somehow imagined that all of her plastic, all of her wood, all of her metal, all of her resin angels came to life, became glowing and life sized, and airy, and singing for her....to guide her to the next place. I hoped more than I have ever hoped that this one thing was true.
The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:He leadeth me beside the still waters.He restoreth my soul:He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name' sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.
Virtuous man, after Treasure-Sea Brahmana had pondered upon such great compassionate vows, he uncovered his right shoulder, and proceeded to where the Buddha was. At that time, innumerable hundreds of thousands of ten thousands of billions of gods performed heavenly music and rained down myriads of flowers from the sky, and praised together: 'How virtuous, how virtuous! Virtuous great hero, you are now going to where the Buddha is, to make the unique vows, to eliminate the afflictions of the living beings in all worlds, by using the wisdom water.
Naked you came from Earth the Mother.Naked you return to her. May a good wind be your road.
Sure, I wanted to write the rest of the story, but I can't. I would be letting go of some secrets that I know belong to others. I would be selfishly writing about myself. So, this is one story that ends here, right here.
1 comment:
Beautiful.
Kurt has another soul to talk to.
Post a Comment