Today I am thinking about my friend, Vali. Her mom died after a long battle with cancer and Vali was her primary caretaker, living with her and helping her let go for the past year, at least. I’ve thought about it a lot over the last year, her situation, how it must feel to have to help your mother die, how it must feel to know you are fighting cancer and that you won’t win. I’m not sure what would be worse. Being the one dying or the one watching the love of your life slipping away. Val is a natural at caretaking. Now, southern women are, as a general rule, good at taking care of business when it comes to illness. Especially if we were raised in The Church. But that’s not instinctive caretaking. I went to visit one day with some friends and Val was so attentive and careful with her mom. Helping her around, finding ways to trick her into eating something, making sure the noise in the room wasn’t overwhelming and that her mother was included in the conversation. It was sweet and strong and the bond between them almost made it seem that they were the same person, Vali a younger embodiment of her mother, attending the older version. I never went back. For I am a pussy and and the thought of having to help someone I love through illness takes me to a terrifying place that makes me want to cry. And eat. Like ya do. Well, like *I* do anyway. Sometimes I snap at my mom and then wonder later if I would do that out of frustration if she were ill. And then the lump in my throat and the pain in my chest forces me to suppress the thought and go back to living in my sheltered, lucky world where I’ve never had to realistically consider it. For the record, I spend most of my meditation time these days in gratitude.
The memorial service was, in a word, beautiful. Seriously. Best funeral I’ve ever been to. It was actually, and don’t take this the wrong way, enjoyable. I’ve had many people ask me to pass along to Vali how much they enjoyed it, which, um, yeah I’m not gonna do. Yeah, I get where you’re going there but, no. Someone actually asked her if they taped it. Because that’s what you really want, to rewatch your mother’s funeral over and over again. All of her children told stories about her. Songs were sung, pictures were enjoyed. We laughed through tears all the way through it and at the end? We gave Vali’s mom a standing ovation. At the cemetery we sang hymns as they lowered her into the ground (good old Church of Christ. Not only do they have fantastic harmony, they know every single verse.) And then back to the church for food prepared by women who know how to do it. And the Colonel. Because it’s Tennessee state law that bucket of KFC must be present at every family reunion and funeral within state lines. Seriously. Passed last year.
It was a remarkable send off.
And now? The brothers have gone home. And she’s figuring out what to do next. Vali and her mother were each others greatest gifts. I have learned a lot from the two of them over the past several years about demonstrated love, devotion and patience. And so, I lift a glass of non-alcoholic wine to Vali’s mom, Carolyn, and a dry gin martini to Val, and say, well done ladies.
May not be something you want to listen to all the time but there comes a point where it makes you feel good to listen to their final send off cause, at least in my case, I don’t remember a whole lot of it. That whole shock thing.
I was the caretaker for my Mom. She also died from cancer in 2000. What got me through it was knowing that no matter what had to be done she had the harder part. She faced her time with courage and dignity and did her best to make it easier for our family.
She was an amazing woman. At times I miss her keenly, like during the election. She would have loved the drama and promise of it.
Your friend Val will be okay because she had such a wonderful mother.