My son and I returned from California Friday, and missed our late night connection from Philadelphia to Harrisburg. Because we have wonderful friends who live 15 minutes from the Philly airport, our missed flight led to a night of good conversation, a great night's sleep, and buttermilk pancakes before our Saturday afternoon rescheduled flight. Others, of course, weren't so lucky.
The airline agent endured loud, testy, and ultimately ineffectual protests from passengers on four departed connections. As my 8 year old and I walked away, we heard one young woman yell "NO F-ING WAY....I'M GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW!!" Gabe said, "she said a bad word" to which I replied "yes, honey, she is very upset". And he simply said, "I don't blame her...marriage is important".I smiled and said warmly..."yes sweet pea, marriage is very important".
I count Gabe's pronouncement a victory, a moment where hope triumphs over experience. Of course, his father and I separated and divorced when Gabe was a preschooler. Gabe's father is now remarried with a new baby. And two weeks ago, I introduced Gabe to the reality that mommy has a boyfriend. Gabe's questions and observations since my disclosure have included that Craig, too, "split up" [Gabe's term] with his wife. We also talked about how his kids live with "both their mommy and daddy", to which Gabe said "just like me". Sadly, my son's world is filled with divorce...including his mommy/daddy, one set of grandparents, an uncle, and many of his elementary school peers.
I conversed with our Philly hosts, incidentally a single dad and his significant other, about how kids today take it in stride when they and their peers have two homes and/or step and half siblings. It saddens us that divorce is so prevalent; yet, we are comforted that our kids are not alone in their split family experience.In a world in which marriage seems fragile at best and outdated at worst, I count it a good day in which Gabe recognizes that marriage is important.
And, I trust that the young woman made it to her wedding.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Lessons amidst the death of a parent
My father died on May 20th. It is still surreal. We had a lovely memorial service at his alma mater [and mine] Occidental College. Family and friends shared good memories of dad at a place Dad loved. Having a parent die is difficult; it suddenly catapults you into adulthood in new ways. In the days following his death, there was little time to grieve but there was much to do. Inform family. Get a flight to California. Plan a memorial. Write a eulogy. Order hors d'oeurves. Inform friends. Plan a burial. Write an obituary. At the reception following the memorial, a friend whose lost both her parents warned me..."this is weird. you are grieving, but you are the host of the party". She was so right. Amidst decorating tables, greeting family and friends, and communicating with catering, I sometimes looked to dad's photo's amidst the flowers to remind myself why we were there. It wasn't until everyone left...once there was a lull in my responsibilities, that I was able to feel the loss and cry.
I learned the point of flowers amidst a death too. Somewhere I got the idea that a grieving family would prefer something other than flowers, something that lasts or doesn't have to be carried. In actuality, the flowers that arrived for the memorial meant a lot. I didn't mind carrying them at all, and it didn't matter one iota that they'd be temporal. When one person who brought flowers to the memorial took them with her when she left [yes, very odd], I was thinking like "hey, those are for us...". When I got on a plane to return home, I couldn't take the flowers with me. I was suddenly home without any visual reminder that I'd experienced a loss. I felt the gap and told a friend, who thankfully came through with a lovely bouquet. Flowers are not a burden. They are, perhaps, alongside sympathy cards, an opportunity to sort of sit shiva, a period of time the grieved is given just to be sad. Slowly the flowers and cards that sit prominently on my kitchen table and mantle will come down. That will be a sign that I'm ready to move to the next phase of grief. In the meantime, I will let them remind me to care for myself amidst loss. And, when a friend loses someone in the future, I will send flowers.
I learned the point of flowers amidst a death too. Somewhere I got the idea that a grieving family would prefer something other than flowers, something that lasts or doesn't have to be carried. In actuality, the flowers that arrived for the memorial meant a lot. I didn't mind carrying them at all, and it didn't matter one iota that they'd be temporal. When one person who brought flowers to the memorial took them with her when she left [yes, very odd], I was thinking like "hey, those are for us...". When I got on a plane to return home, I couldn't take the flowers with me. I was suddenly home without any visual reminder that I'd experienced a loss. I felt the gap and told a friend, who thankfully came through with a lovely bouquet. Flowers are not a burden. They are, perhaps, alongside sympathy cards, an opportunity to sort of sit shiva, a period of time the grieved is given just to be sad. Slowly the flowers and cards that sit prominently on my kitchen table and mantle will come down. That will be a sign that I'm ready to move to the next phase of grief. In the meantime, I will let them remind me to care for myself amidst loss. And, when a friend loses someone in the future, I will send flowers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
