Not Today
I won't be writing that post I alluded to in the last post. My best friend's mother died last night. My friend is the youngest of seven, and her mother was in her 80s. She was moved into hospice last Friday night but no one expected her to die within a week.
Putting someone in hospice means that the doctors expect her to die within six months. It means that she gets ready access to pain medicine and perhaps a bit more attention. But people can live under hospice care for years.
Yesterday afternoon about 2pm, my friend called and asked if she could stay in our house over Thanksgiving, because she had decided to come to see her mom then. About 5pm she called to say that her mother had taken a turn for the worse, and she had gotten the first flight out, which is today. About 8pm, she called to say that her mother had died. Two of her seven siblings were there, but she wasn't.
My friend is still coming today. I'll pick her up and probably act as a shuttle for the other siblings arriving this afternoon. One or more may be staying with us. I'll probably make sure that food is available, and occassionally put some in front of my friend, who is one of those people who can't eat when she is stressed (lucky bitch! Kidding, kidding) and is already too skinny.
I do have some obvious familiarity with this territory, but it is not the same. My friend's relationship with her mother is much more complicated than my relationship with my mother. I won't go into details to respect her privacy, but there's some serious mental issues and other stuff that led her to grow up without a nurturing mother, far, far from nurturing.
Several years ago, I was visiting my friend when she lived in NYC. We hit a veritable trifecta (quadfecta? pentafecta?) of celebrity sightings in the space of 10 minutes: Gwyneth Paltrow, Meg Ryan and Dennis Quaid (after the divorce), and Hilary Swank and Chad Lowe (before the divorce). The next morning I called my mom to tell her. My friend asked why. I said because I knew my mom would find it interesting.
It was at that moment that I realized how special my relationship with my mother was. I realized that my friend could never just call her mother up to say she'd run into famous people. Or to just say hi, or to swap recipes, or almost anything other than the perfunctory check-in call.
I know that other people have great relationships with their mothers, but it was at that moment, at that look of confusion on my friend's face that I had voluntarily and willingly wanted to talk to my mother, that I no longer took our relationship for granted.
So in that regard I don't know what my friend is feeling after the death of her mother. But I'll just be there and try to help.
Putting someone in hospice means that the doctors expect her to die within six months. It means that she gets ready access to pain medicine and perhaps a bit more attention. But people can live under hospice care for years.
Yesterday afternoon about 2pm, my friend called and asked if she could stay in our house over Thanksgiving, because she had decided to come to see her mom then. About 5pm she called to say that her mother had taken a turn for the worse, and she had gotten the first flight out, which is today. About 8pm, she called to say that her mother had died. Two of her seven siblings were there, but she wasn't.
My friend is still coming today. I'll pick her up and probably act as a shuttle for the other siblings arriving this afternoon. One or more may be staying with us. I'll probably make sure that food is available, and occassionally put some in front of my friend, who is one of those people who can't eat when she is stressed (lucky bitch! Kidding, kidding) and is already too skinny.
I do have some obvious familiarity with this territory, but it is not the same. My friend's relationship with her mother is much more complicated than my relationship with my mother. I won't go into details to respect her privacy, but there's some serious mental issues and other stuff that led her to grow up without a nurturing mother, far, far from nurturing.
Several years ago, I was visiting my friend when she lived in NYC. We hit a veritable trifecta (quadfecta? pentafecta?) of celebrity sightings in the space of 10 minutes: Gwyneth Paltrow, Meg Ryan and Dennis Quaid (after the divorce), and Hilary Swank and Chad Lowe (before the divorce). The next morning I called my mom to tell her. My friend asked why. I said because I knew my mom would find it interesting.
It was at that moment that I realized how special my relationship with my mother was. I realized that my friend could never just call her mother up to say she'd run into famous people. Or to just say hi, or to swap recipes, or almost anything other than the perfunctory check-in call.
I know that other people have great relationships with their mothers, but it was at that moment, at that look of confusion on my friend's face that I had voluntarily and willingly wanted to talk to my mother, that I no longer took our relationship for granted.
So in that regard I don't know what my friend is feeling after the death of her mother. But I'll just be there and try to help.
posted by zhl at 8:40 AM
3 Comments:
You are a good friend. I too have a very strained relationship with my Mom, but I'm always happy to hear that there are daughters and mothers who survived growing up to become friends. Take care.
Mother-daughter relationships can be very different, even within one family. I have a good relationship with my mother, but the relationship between her and my sister is strained, and has been for as long as I remember.
Though the context is completely different, I imagine this takes you back to your experience of loss.
I'm sorry for your friend's loss. I'm glad she has you to help her through it.
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