The consolations.

"Talk to me about the truth of religion and I’ll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I’ll listen submissively. But don’t come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don’t understand."
-C.S. Lewis
(A Grief Observed)

Yesterday I received a phone call. I was sitting, reclined, on my couch, lazily watching "Jesus is Magic," a film by Sarah Silverman. I had worked very early, and was relieved to have a peaceful afternoon. The phone rang, and I waited for the Caller ID function to perform its duty. I saw the phone number of a dear friend in Federal Way, who I've known and been close to for a decade now. We had recently re-established close contact when her mother was diagnosed with multiple manifestations of cancer this October. This mother, Debbie, is a vibrant, witty, electric woman; and expressively Southern, with her practices of generous hospitality and words spawned from sincere love. She has treated me like one of her own children for all the years I've known her, providing me with unconditional compassion, blunt truth, and a standard of goodness for me to live out. She is great woman.

I heard the fragmented voice of my friend Carol over the line, and braced for the hit. We asked about each other's day. She began to cry. She told me that Debbie had died about 30 minutes before, at home, surrounded by her family and pastor, and that Debbie's last hours alive were spent at peace, talking about the things that made her life good, especially during the last few months of severe illness. I offered my consolation but knew Carol had other phone calls to make, to other people who Debbie cared about to bear the news.

It's a funny thing, death. Almost definitely the most tangible experience a person can have is to watch a person die; but even so, explaining death is damn near impossible. Commemorating life is our crutch, how we escape the never-understandable emotions of death. And none of it makes any sense from an external vantage point. For example's sake, in the long wake of Princess Diana's death, out came a torrent of "commemorative" items that people could cling to: decorative plates, spoons, teacups, coins, stamps, dolls, magazines, videos, even clothing. In our detachment from the dead we cling to the denial of their gone-ness. With those close to us, we have portraits painted and hung sentimentally in our entranceways, we have that hidden box of their knick-knacks under our dresser, we eat their favorite foods, we tell stories about their life to each other. We say that they "live on in our hearts and memories forever," simply because it sounds very nice--nevermind it's irrationality and impossibility. We acknowledge that they are gone but we refuse to know that they are gone. To really know, as much as we know that the computer monitors in front of our faces are here, that's how gone the dead are. So we visit gravesites, imagine them in heaven, and carry their death as a badge of courage on our lapels.
Even in the way we live our life we do not attempt to know death. We devour experiences in disgusting fashion, but not as an acknowledgement of impending death, moreso of a desire to feel more alive. Think theme parks, extreme sports, mountain climbing, fast cars, big money, sex addiction--anything that gets blood pumping, even if it's just to our loins. We'll do anything to feel more alive than we did five minutes ago. Even as a christian, I'm constantly advised to "find whatever it is that makes you come alive," while the sensation of doing something "alive" in that context is the same as taking drugs, running from responsibility, taking advantage, stealing, lying, cheating, being malicious. So apparently, the sensation of blood flowing through one's veins is what we consider to be "feeling alive." This is why the world is full of drug addicts, thieves, sexual predators, malice, liars, white-collar crime, power-delusioned officials who exploit the many to spoil the few. All because we can't stand to not feel more alive now than we did five minutes ago. Any why? Because death doesn't make any damn sense. People around us die, and we overcompensate for the inconsolability with an insatiable addiction to a temporal existence compiled of only our "most alive" moments. So what should we do?

I lost my mother to ovarian cancer in 1996 when I was nearly 11 years old. We didn't connect when I was young, so I didn't grieve following her death. For about the 8 1/2 years that followed, I lied, cheated, stole, maliciously hurt people, ran from responsibility, manipulated every situation and person I could to serve my immediate feeling, and that kept me going. I had moments of feeling alive, and I remember those still today. Unfortunately for me, after those 8 1/2 years, my overcompensation techniques began to exhaust and come up empty. I no longer could achieve that sensation of being alive I had worked so hard for. I had to look for something else.
I grieved my mother's death in a way you wouldn't expect. I let myself hate her. I had been withheld from being myself because I refused to tell myself the truth about her, and that was that she gave up on being my mother long before she died, and she never came back around. I saw a counselor at the time, and he would repeat to me, "You were just a little kid. It wasn't your responsibility. You were a little kid. A little kid. She didn't do it. She was the mother. You were just a little kid." So I went to one extreme, saying "Fuck her, she didn't give a shit about me, I won't give a shit about her." Then I came back to "God I just want to spend some time with her. We would get along now, I know it. We could have something good." But now I find myself just merely not minding that she's gone, not caring either way. She was a good woman, but somehow unable or unable to give me what I needed.

That brings me back to Debbie. Debbie connected with me--and that started within a year after my mom had died. Debbie cared deeply for my emotional and spiritual well-being, taking me to church, inviting me in to her home, counseling me in ways I didn't deserve or ask for. For the last 10 years I have always known without a doubt that Debbie has loved me, simply because she loves me. The cancer that began working on destroying her body in October completed its task yesterday afternoon. That same cancer that removed an indifferent mother from life as I know it has now also removed the best. Debbie is gone. God only knows how we will compensate for our emotions this time around. Me, for example, I wrote a blog. So who the hell knows. I guess we'll never really get it. It's a funny thing, death.


-hvc34


Read again:

"Talk to me about the truth of religion and I’ll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I’ll listen submissively. But don’t come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don’t understand."
-C.S. Lewis
(A Grief Observed)