Mothers & Sisters & Glue
One of my dearest friends lost her mother last week. It was not sudden, but nonetheless, knocked some of the wind out of my comrade’s sails. And her sister’s.
These two women supported me, daily, when my husband died suddenly. I didn’t know either very well, at the time, having previously communed with them only at the caregiver support group meetings we all attended. But they rallied around me when they heard Kirk had passed.
Their constancy allowed me to find a foothold on solid ground when I felt I’d never again stand on my own. And during the process of gluing me together, one of these sisters became what my students would have called my BFF, or “Best Friend Forever.” Forever is a long time, but however long I get, I’ll take.
My BFF communicates with me daily, via email, and has ever since my husband died. I used to talk with Kirk every morning, through multiple cups of java, while sitting in bed. Now I spend the coffee hour with my laptop, still solving worldwide problems, sharing good books, and inventing new vocabulary—but in a revised format.
My own mother now dwells in an assisted living facility. She lived with Kirk and me for five years, but months after Kirk died, I recognized I couldn’t manage Mom’s care on my own. She has a lovely apartment, with access to an outdoor patio where birds gather at the feeder. She gets three good meals a day, and help with anything, 24/7. The aforementioned sisters kept me glued together when I made the decision to move Mom. Now I rest easier.
But alas, Mom’s facility called me just days ago to say the place is in lockdown due to covid. As it is, I haven’t seen my mother for well over a week—because I, myself, was in quarantine. I missed Mom’s 90th birthday. Her gifts are still on my dresser. I fear more weeks will pass before I get back to my twice weekly visits. And Mom might not even recognize me when I get there. Literally. But I know who will guide me through that calamity: Some sisters who’ve been there, so to speak.
I never met my friends’ mother. I’ve seen her photograph. And even a brief video of the time she was presented with a life-like mechanical cat that purrs and meows when petted. It was such a joyous scene that I bought my own mother a mechanical feline companion.
Now, these sisters are not the only ones who supported me when I lost my life partner. By any stretch. Northwest Arkansas is full of warm-hearted folks. I made lasting connections with plenty of people. And I keep meeting new ones. What a grand place to be when you find yourself suddenly alone. Clueless and glueless.
When a family member dies, it changes everything, at least for a while. Whether it’s abrupt as an earthquake, or anticipated, like a hurricane that’s been stewing offshore, the landscape suddenly looks different in the aftermath. But because of the glue that people share in tough times, we adjust.
To my BFF and her warm-hearted sister — you and your siblings (and sibling-in-law) did a lovely thing by surrounding your mother in her last hours. I wish for you all the comfort and stability you gave to me. I’m here. And people with “good glue” abound in our neck of the woods. Lean on all of us until your new landscape feels comfortable. (Or maybe forever.)