Mother’s Day

In the middle of last night my 96 year old grandfather passed away. He was my last remaining grandparent. He was the patriarchal figure in my moms family. He was the hard driver, the provider, the successful career, the strict one, the one full of extremely high expectations. He valued education more than anyone I know. He was always contributing to, encouraging and supportive of any and all education. When I graduated with my masters degree, he and my grandmother were elated. They made the trip from upstate New York to Springfield, MO to attend my graduation ceremony and then take me out to dinner to celebrate. I remember the bottle of wine and the beautiful dinner we had at a round top table in a corner at Gilardi’s on Walnut. It was a night to remember.

This was the man that was responsible for our family vacations in the summers. My mom was one of four kids and our families have always been scattered. Our Ouise, a shortened form of Oui Oui and what we referred to him as since we were little. We were told it was French and what he wanted to be called although I don’t know that he appreciated it as much as we got older and would yell through a store to him. But he loved having us grandkids around and every summer would assemble us in a vacation house or two and we would spend a week in the woods, swimming in cold water in a tiny lake in the Adirondacks or in the icy ocean in Maine. We would eat wonderful meals and drink cocktails and wine and play games and read plays and laugh and review all of our pictures from the day after dinner each night. We weren’t lavish or fancy but always had a really nice place to stay and lots of good food and adventure. I think these weeks were what made him most happy in life…having his whole family together and seeing us enjoy life and one another.

He was always so proud of me. And fascinated by how I ran my life. He would say things like I don’t know how you do everything you do, something I find many men saying to me.  His comments were full of amazement but also a little sadness, as if there was regret or something that could have been better in his own life if only he had known there was another way to do it all. But his pride for me was always so endearing and I knew that he not only respected me but deeply loved and supported me, especially after seeing him when it was safe during the pandemic.

As he got older and retired for good after a number of tries, it seemed that life became harder to deal with. His body started failing him which he could not understand since he had been an active tennis player most of his life. He got dismayed by the way leaders and politics started to become irrational. He was always concerned for those that couldn’t catch a break and spent time volunteering for and donating to organizations that could help people build their own way. He couldn’t understand why it was so hard for them to see the easy path.

In the past few days my mom told me that he continued to ask about what was wrong with him. He could not understand why someone couldn’t fix him anymore. He asked about seeing more doctors and was often irritated when there were not answers. He lashed out in anger not being able to understand the unknown. The truth was  that he had congestive heart failure and he was dying. His body was failing because it was time to face death. Only death did not fit into his understanding of life that it was possible to control it all…and eventually he could not. He did not know what to do with that.

The saddest part to me is that he left the earth with one of his last thoughts thinking that there was something wrong with him that could have been fixed. The truth was that nothing was wrong. He was dying. And dying is a part of life. Something no one can control. It is the ultimate truth. So much of life we avoid and distract ourselves and find ways to make ourselves feel like we are in control and can avoid the pain of it all. The fact is that truth and the painful reality that often comes with it cannot be ignored, and we are not in control. The thing that control does for us is to help us feel better in the moment so we can justify ignoring the painful truth for a little while longer. And while we are out running around stressed and too busy building something that doesn’t mean as much as the most important things right in front of us, we are missing out on so much. We make ourselves anxious and live with our anger in our throats. We get caught up in blame and shame for one another and ourselves so that we don’t have to feel our own flaws. We avoid peace by making life about the game. It’s relentless and never ending. The race for control and power is a never ending road to nowhere. It leaves you wondering why someone else can’t fix you when you’re at the end of your life when all along you have missed the peace that comes from accepting the uncontrollable, getting comfortable with the wild, unpredictable, irresponsible side of life. We don’t need to be fixed. We are whole just the way we are. The side that can’t be tamed but also brings us the magic and wonder that cannot be manufactured, only enjoyed. This is the part of us that often gets lost when control takes over and allures us to believe we are only the parts that we can show for fear of being crazy or out of control or spontaneous and sometimes irresponsible. I wonder if he ever knew it was okay to be all of those things. I wonder how he would feel if he had been able to find those parts of him, accept them and then find the love that everyone else held around him anyway. I wonder how it would have changed him and given him peace if he had known he was whole and never needed to be fixed.

I hope you, like me, will look for ways today to find time to stop rushing, stop hustling, stop controlling and just be. I hope you will let that wildness fill you and give you goose bumps so that you remember the holy, the best part of life, the part we can’t see but we know and feel. This is not the way we have been taught or valued for far too long but it is what gives life, restores peace and creates more good to go around. This is mothering. Many out there pointing us toward ourselves, toward life, toward nature, toward love. He lived an amazing life, my Ouise. He traveled the world, he learned and shared and loved and gave back. He joked and laughed and loved big. He would play Phantom of the Opera so loud it would shake the house when we were little and we would giggle with delight. He loved music and beauty and nature and his people, his family, his friends.  He left us so well cared for and loved. I just wish he had known the peace that was in him, that surrounded him, that loved him so that he would not have wondered what was wrong in this life, as he faced truth. I hope there are ways for truth to make peace with us as we live.

Happy Mother’s Day.

In sorrow.