On Thursday, I had the honor to join 11 other people in celebrating the 60th birthday of a friend. The party was a surprise; my friend thought he was being taken out to dinner by a subset of the celebrants.
He arrived at the house so he could be driven to the restaurant. We were all sitting in the darkened living room. When he came inside, we started ringing bells, but didn't say anything. I'm sure we sounded like a band of drunken, tuneless gamelan players. He peered into the darkness, couldn't see us, then went outside again. We all looked at each other in horror, fearing that this shy man was overwhelmed and had hopped in his car to go home again.
Fortunately, about 30 seconds later, he came back inside again all smiles. He seemed genuinely pleased to see each of us. I chatted with people, many of whom I'd never met -- I was the only guest there from the dance community. For a few minutes, my friend didn't realize I was there and gave me a lovely greeting when he finally saw me.
We had each brought something to eat, so we sat down to an absolute feast at a formally set table. And of course, there was cake and the reading of the cards. I think my friend felt charmed, but more importantly, well loved, by the end of the evening.
Not everyone understands why I take so much pleasure in birthdays, especially friends' milestone birthdays. I feel that marking the date is a present to me. I listen to people complain about a grey hair here or a birthday there and think of my beloved friends who will be frozen forever in their 30s, who never had the privilege of celebrating a 32nd, 33rd, or 38th birthday. I have missed celebrating milestone birthdays of so many cherished people. Now I love celebrating birthdays -- mine, close friends, acquaintances -- and feel surrounded by others as I do so.
I suppose complaining about birthdays is a privilege too. There are days when I'd rather be back in that naive time, when I hadn't yet developed quite so much of an appreciation for the vicissitudes of aging compared to the alternative. But now that I know the alternative, have laid down with it and embraced it, please, bring on the morning stiffness, the grey hair, the lined faces, the wisdom, and the promise of more life. Bring it all on.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Friday, November 17, 2006
esther praetorius
Robert's grandmother died on Saturday. Robert flew out to Washington state on Tuesday, and he'll be back some time early Monday morning. The last week has been a flurry of preparation to go and activities once he got there. But the family (most of them, at least) is together. Apparently, there have been some extremely meaningful and helpful events, including a long reminiscence with the minister who knew her and performed her funeral service.
Robert's grandmother was 99 when she died. She lived her entire life in Washington, most of it in one small town. Her "people" were from North Dakota (I've seen pictures of them before they moved further west). I just can't imagine the hardships they faced first in North Dakota in the 1870s and then in Washington in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century.
As a young adult, Esther taught third grade; she has survived most of her students. At 22, she married and started to raise her family -- two children and two cousins. Her husband ran an apple orchard and she kept books. (In fact, the family corporation is finally being dismantled today.)
She was an avid gardener. Just before she moved into a "retirement home," she couldn't move too fast, so she would put on her rain coat and rain hat before setting up the sprinkler. A few years ago, Robert and I visited her home of some 70 years with her and she was so pleased to see that the gardens were being kept up by the new owners of the house.
She also walked every day until recently. Nearly ten years ago, the entire family went on a cruise together. In fact, we celebrated her 90th birthday on that cruise. One day, I was supposed to accompany her to an activity, so I started walking very slowly (I have a habit of walking too fast for many people). I looked up and suddenly realized that she had sped ahead, leaving me in her wake. I had to jog to catch up.
In recent years, her memory started to go. We spent a lovely visit with her a while back where she wasn't quite sure who we were, especially in the evenings, but was charming and delightful nonetheless. That was the occasion on which we went through albums of photographs, and I'm so grateful that we had that experience.
She somehow always remembered birthdays and Christmas and sent a check. Actually, she sent two checks because for some reason I didn't quite understand, she was afraid that Robert wouldn't share a check with me. So I always got my own check, sometimes in the same envelope in which Robert's check arrived. I always felt like her strong, independent female side was shining through. Though she was delighted when Robert and I got married, I think this was her little way of encouraging me to maintain some form of independence.
Although she never liked the retirement home much, she tolerated it and actually didn't want to move until this summer. She realized it was time, so she moved over the mountain to a very nice assisted living facility nearer to her daughter. She wandered at night, though, so she was moved to the alzheimer's unit to keep her safer. And then perhaps a week before she died, things took a bad turn.
She had mentioned to her family on several occasions that it would be ok if she didn't wake up one day, she was at peace. Her family took this to heart and did not take heroic measures, but let her go on her own schedule, in as much comfort as could be given.
She had a lot of visitors in her last days, and I hope she remembered enough to know that she was loved and adored.
I mentioned this story to someone recently, who said that people don't usually get to die of old age anymore, that Grandma Praetorius' ending was perhaps a blessing.
So here's to Grandma Praetorius who saw so much life and had a great deal of grace in death. Here's to the entire Praetorius family who respected her wishes and let her go in peace. She was a great lady, and she will be missed.
Robert's grandmother was 99 when she died. She lived her entire life in Washington, most of it in one small town. Her "people" were from North Dakota (I've seen pictures of them before they moved further west). I just can't imagine the hardships they faced first in North Dakota in the 1870s and then in Washington in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century.
As a young adult, Esther taught third grade; she has survived most of her students. At 22, she married and started to raise her family -- two children and two cousins. Her husband ran an apple orchard and she kept books. (In fact, the family corporation is finally being dismantled today.)
She was an avid gardener. Just before she moved into a "retirement home," she couldn't move too fast, so she would put on her rain coat and rain hat before setting up the sprinkler. A few years ago, Robert and I visited her home of some 70 years with her and she was so pleased to see that the gardens were being kept up by the new owners of the house.
She also walked every day until recently. Nearly ten years ago, the entire family went on a cruise together. In fact, we celebrated her 90th birthday on that cruise. One day, I was supposed to accompany her to an activity, so I started walking very slowly (I have a habit of walking too fast for many people). I looked up and suddenly realized that she had sped ahead, leaving me in her wake. I had to jog to catch up.
In recent years, her memory started to go. We spent a lovely visit with her a while back where she wasn't quite sure who we were, especially in the evenings, but was charming and delightful nonetheless. That was the occasion on which we went through albums of photographs, and I'm so grateful that we had that experience.
She somehow always remembered birthdays and Christmas and sent a check. Actually, she sent two checks because for some reason I didn't quite understand, she was afraid that Robert wouldn't share a check with me. So I always got my own check, sometimes in the same envelope in which Robert's check arrived. I always felt like her strong, independent female side was shining through. Though she was delighted when Robert and I got married, I think this was her little way of encouraging me to maintain some form of independence.
Although she never liked the retirement home much, she tolerated it and actually didn't want to move until this summer. She realized it was time, so she moved over the mountain to a very nice assisted living facility nearer to her daughter. She wandered at night, though, so she was moved to the alzheimer's unit to keep her safer. And then perhaps a week before she died, things took a bad turn.
She had mentioned to her family on several occasions that it would be ok if she didn't wake up one day, she was at peace. Her family took this to heart and did not take heroic measures, but let her go on her own schedule, in as much comfort as could be given.
She had a lot of visitors in her last days, and I hope she remembered enough to know that she was loved and adored.
I mentioned this story to someone recently, who said that people don't usually get to die of old age anymore, that Grandma Praetorius' ending was perhaps a blessing.
So here's to Grandma Praetorius who saw so much life and had a great deal of grace in death. Here's to the entire Praetorius family who respected her wishes and let her go in peace. She was a great lady, and she will be missed.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
a funeral, a wake, a dying, and some hope
Last week, we attended the funeral of Chris Cirker, who was 57. He died two weeks ago, suddenly, leaving his wife Rachael and his daughter Leah. We had known the family for several years, thanks to Daniel, and had celebrated many holidays and some weekends away with them. In fact, the weekend after last year's Thanksgiving, about a dozen of us gathered at Chris and Rachael's house to remember all the wonderful Thanksgivings we'd had with Daniel.
I wonder if I would have felt quite so compelled to go to the funeral had Daniel still been with us. Because he is now gone, though, I somehow felt that his spirit pushed me to go (and I was glad that Robert chose to go too).
The funeral was lovely and devastating. Chris had been part of a jazz band which played without him for the first time. During part of the ceremony, someone played Chris' saxophone while we all just sobbed. Many people spoke, but perhaps most surprising and most beautiful were Rachael's words.
Rachael was brutally honest about Chris, describing his talents and faults, the good and the bad. She also talked about how much she loved him for all of who he was. I felt like through her, I got a great picture of who Chris was and also of who she is. And I heard perhaps the best articulation of what unconditional love is all about.
The last time I was in the church where the ceremony was held was to attend Daniel's memorial service. On that day, Rachael spoke with Chris standing behind her. When she broke down and could read no further, Chris took her printed speech from her and continued reading from where she left off. I think about how in some ways she'll be fine eventually -- she will keep going -- but also of how much she'll miss him, how much they completed each other.
After the ceremony, some of Daniel's friends opted not to go to the cemetery, but to sit together and eat lunch, and just talk and catch up. I will try to call Rachael this week.
_____________
This morning I read the obituaries and was sad to note that an acquaintance from town has died, Don Duncan. He and I served on the board of the local Community Chest, overlapping for several years, and mourned the death of our chairman about five years ago. I loved how straightforward Don was and how dedicated he was to bringing good into the world. We will certainly be poorer without him. Robert and I will attend his wake tomorrow night.
_____________
Last night, we received a call from Robert's parents, nominally to tell us that they may not be able to come for a planned visit ten days hence. That was really the purpose of the call, but while they were on the phone, they thought they might mention the reason, which is that Robert's paternal grandmother is very ill. Robert's sister, who is an MD, talked to the doctors today and was able to give us more information. It's not really clear what's wrong except that there is something very wrong. It's probably not worthwhile finding out the cause. Robert's grandmother is being given comfort care and has some family near by. We're not sure if R's parents have already left to go visit, or if they're waiting for more information. For now, Robert will stay put until he knows more.
_____________
Today, the weather turned enough so that it was tolerable to spend a few hours outside. Robert and I planted over 100 bulbs -- I had bought 75 daffodils, and Robert had bought some grape hyacinths, starflowers, and hardy cyclamens. We planted the cyclamens in Mark's memorial garden because they'll bloom in late summer, we hope.
We worked side by side going fairly quickly, talking a little, being silent the rest of the time. I thought about how wonderful it will be to see the buds sprout, a return on our investment in helping them grow. I thought about how reassuring it is to see spring come year after year after so much darkness, how the anticipation of the return of light and life help me survive the darkest times. And Robert said that he thought about how much care his grandmother took with her garden, and how, after the farm had been sold, we took her back to visit and she was glad that her plants were well tended to.
So much death, but hope also. The light does return and it will again, long after we are all gone.
I wonder if I would have felt quite so compelled to go to the funeral had Daniel still been with us. Because he is now gone, though, I somehow felt that his spirit pushed me to go (and I was glad that Robert chose to go too).
The funeral was lovely and devastating. Chris had been part of a jazz band which played without him for the first time. During part of the ceremony, someone played Chris' saxophone while we all just sobbed. Many people spoke, but perhaps most surprising and most beautiful were Rachael's words.
Rachael was brutally honest about Chris, describing his talents and faults, the good and the bad. She also talked about how much she loved him for all of who he was. I felt like through her, I got a great picture of who Chris was and also of who she is. And I heard perhaps the best articulation of what unconditional love is all about.
The last time I was in the church where the ceremony was held was to attend Daniel's memorial service. On that day, Rachael spoke with Chris standing behind her. When she broke down and could read no further, Chris took her printed speech from her and continued reading from where she left off. I think about how in some ways she'll be fine eventually -- she will keep going -- but also of how much she'll miss him, how much they completed each other.
After the ceremony, some of Daniel's friends opted not to go to the cemetery, but to sit together and eat lunch, and just talk and catch up. I will try to call Rachael this week.
_____________
This morning I read the obituaries and was sad to note that an acquaintance from town has died, Don Duncan. He and I served on the board of the local Community Chest, overlapping for several years, and mourned the death of our chairman about five years ago. I loved how straightforward Don was and how dedicated he was to bringing good into the world. We will certainly be poorer without him. Robert and I will attend his wake tomorrow night.
_____________
Last night, we received a call from Robert's parents, nominally to tell us that they may not be able to come for a planned visit ten days hence. That was really the purpose of the call, but while they were on the phone, they thought they might mention the reason, which is that Robert's paternal grandmother is very ill. Robert's sister, who is an MD, talked to the doctors today and was able to give us more information. It's not really clear what's wrong except that there is something very wrong. It's probably not worthwhile finding out the cause. Robert's grandmother is being given comfort care and has some family near by. We're not sure if R's parents have already left to go visit, or if they're waiting for more information. For now, Robert will stay put until he knows more.
_____________
Today, the weather turned enough so that it was tolerable to spend a few hours outside. Robert and I planted over 100 bulbs -- I had bought 75 daffodils, and Robert had bought some grape hyacinths, starflowers, and hardy cyclamens. We planted the cyclamens in Mark's memorial garden because they'll bloom in late summer, we hope.
We worked side by side going fairly quickly, talking a little, being silent the rest of the time. I thought about how wonderful it will be to see the buds sprout, a return on our investment in helping them grow. I thought about how reassuring it is to see spring come year after year after so much darkness, how the anticipation of the return of light and life help me survive the darkest times. And Robert said that he thought about how much care his grandmother took with her garden, and how, after the farm had been sold, we took her back to visit and she was glad that her plants were well tended to.
So much death, but hope also. The light does return and it will again, long after we are all gone.
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