On the surface, my life isn’t terribly different, at least not yet. I finished my semester at school, I worked all summer, and I’m about to be back in school again for the fall. I see my mom and her family more than I used to, up from maybe once a week to two or three times a week, and sometimes for a day or two at a time instead of a couple of hours.
On a more philosophical level, I’ve had just about the most in-your-face reminder that a person can get that there are no guarantees in life. We all know that we could fall terminally ill or be mortally injured at any time, but it’s not useful to live in fear of that, so it seems like most of us don’t think about it too much, preferring instead to live life with the assumption that it will be long and fulfilling.
We’ve always had a strong mother-son relationship. In the years since I moved out (a little over 5 years ago), she’s also become one of my closest friends, so I don’t know if I can say that it’s made us any more or less close.
I obviously feel an urgency to spend time with her and our family, to have as many of the important conversations that we hadn’t already had, to revisit some of the things that have stood out as positive moments in our lives together. That reflection has probably given me the opportunity to feel some more pointed gratitude towards the many amazing things that she’s done for me in the years since my birth, or my conception, even.
Absolutely, though it’s hard to think of many specifics.We’ve had almost 25 years together and as much as people tell me how wonderful I was as a kid and how painless I was as a teenager, I know that I was far from perfect. Quietly stealing away from the house with my little brother when we were very young. Driving her to frustration and nagging by putting off chores or other responsibilities (she hated nagging/yelling – who wouldn’t?). Moments of blind anger or frustration as a teen. Some lapses of judgment that ended up bringing her (and my father) true parental distress.
To my mother’s dismay at the time, death was something that preoccupied me for what feels like the better part of my childhood (that kind of remembering can be deceptive, but I trust it here, I think). That preoccupation took a back seat to more pressing concerns as I started to grow into prepubescence, but I don’t think the reality of death was ever far away and remained a source of angst and distress if it lingered too long. Death (my own or a loved one’s) was probably my greatest fear.Now? As trying as this has been and continues to be for me and for all of us, the rest of my life hasn’t fallen apart. I think that for the first time, death, whether it be my own or someone else’s, feels like something that I can handle.
She had hit such a stride professionally in recent years, it was nice to know that she had found an outlet for her creativity and insight, for all of the brilliant thinking she’d been taking the time to do about life and death.It’s also been nice because I haven’t had to explain to everyone what her situation is, or how we’re all dealing with it. I think that her being so open makes it easier for people to know where we’re at and how to interact with us, which is great because I’ve heard a lot of stories now about people feeling deserted in times of tragedy because people aren’t sure what to say. That would be hard.
How do I think it has changed this process for myself and those around me?
I think that it helps to have it all out there. It doesn’t leave much room for denial or false hope, and it’s a comfort knowing that anyone who’s heard about her condition has probably read some or all of the blog.
My understanding of those things is that they are necessary for a lot of us because without them, it’s very hard to answer questions like “why am I here?”, “why does anything matter?”, “where did I come from?” – the real existential kickers.
I’ve come to my own conclusions here, and they essentially come down to embracing as fully as possible the reality that the moment our consciousness begins is the product of all that happened in the universe up until that point and that over the course of our lifetimes, every day, every second, every moment, we are doing things that are affecting the course that the universe will take, however slightly. In that way what we do in this life lives on long after our conscious time has come to an end and the molecules in our bodies have drifted far apart.
I won’t be relating to her, unfortunately. That’s hard to think about.
I will, however, be relating to all of the love that she has given me, all of the wisdom I’ve tried to learn from her, all of the memories I will have of her, to the people and places and things that will always remind me of her.