He's been on my mind everyday since I found out he was in Hospice. The texts to David's phone came sporadically about Don's status. "After all is said and done," his wife tells David, "we want to have about 40 family members at the restaurant. He would want that." Don's wife ends her texts to my husband, "our thoughts and prayers are with Gina, please let her know we are thinking of her, too." I say to David, "please let her know we are here for her and the children. Let her also know you can prepare food at the restaurant or whatever she needs to feed her and the kids so she doesn't have to think about anything." I want to shift the thoughts of me away from what is happening at that moment. Yet the connection between spouses and our well being remain constant. My own pain subsiding when shifted to someone else.
Saturday night and I'm sitting up in bed. David comes home and sits in my wheelchair that's parked next to my bedside. His feet comfortably resting beside me. "Can you sleep tonight?" he asks knowing it's usually difficult, rather impossible, for me to settle down and get comfortable with a 5 pound metal cage around my ankle. "Maybe Dr. B is right, I should start drinking wine. I just don't want to wake up with a headache," I say. "Well, you generally don't like it--just drink it if you want to," David replies to my indecision to drink or not. Then there is silence for a while, he looked drained. "He passed away at 3:58 p.m. and her sister called me at 4:10 p.m.. It made me feel so special that they contacted me just shortly after he passed away. The last time we spoke at Moffitt we were planning to go see the Yankees at spring training, which he is a die-hard fan. We were rivals because I'm a Red Sox fan." he tells me as the tears stream down his magnanimous face. "I'm so sorry, David. This is so very sad." I say.
It was if David had confronted his pain about Don. There was an emotional transformation that allowed him to reflect about his own life, us, and a strength from the relationship that grows from a deep authentic place. He tells me about the kids that played sports with customers of his. And about the wife of one his employee's who taught their kids at the local middle school. "There's no degree of separation in our community. We all are connected in some way," he says. Don's biggest disappointment was that he would not walk his four daughters down the aisle, that his son would have to and he would watch from Heaven.
I gently tell David that at the next Yankees spring training, to look up and tell Don thanks for joining him because you know he will be there.
Rest in Peace our dear friend.
...prayers for them, you and David...I hope God grants you all the peace that passes all understanding and healing beyond all understanding; mental & physical.
ReplyDeleteFirst, I was very saddened to read this and I wish the family well. Second, these words you wrote are so very powerful; "There was an emotional transformation that allowed him to reflect about his own life, us, and a strength from the relationship that grows from a deep authentic place." Ahhh, authenticity. I am so ever intrigued with this idea of authenticity. I don't mean to lessen the effect of this posting and the tragedy that it entails. These words you wrote just sparked something inside of me to stop, hesitate, and reconnect with this idea of an authentic place of living. Does this idea of an authentic place of emotional transformation mostly take place in our personal environments outside of Goffman's stage of living? I don't know. This authentic place, is it with us no matter where we are? I hope it is. I hope we all can live in this authentic place inside our bedrooms and outside our bedrooms.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your comments. Perhaps, we find our authentic place when we are not looking for it, but recognize it when it emerges. There is no need for an audience to determine our identity. Our natural selves open up under the right environment, I say.
ReplyDeleteI think it's okay to have a divided self (Goffman)'; we reserve those moments for those we wish to share. There is a poem The Rivals. Paul Laurence Dunbar's poem illustrates Goffman's theory of the divided self, with a mask for the public and our natural selves. "Why should the world be overwise,/ In counting all our tears and sighs?/ Nay, let them only see us, while/ We wear the mask," elucidates Goffman's theory that we hide our true selves from the public and present only a mask, for which we are rewarded. Dunbar describes how we feign happiness to the public, "We wear the mask that grins and lies,/ It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes," while our inner selves are tormented, "With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,/ And mouth with myriad subtleties." The tormented inner self can not be shown because we will not be rewarded for our true selves and a superficial air of cheerfulness makes others more comfortable.