Yesterday, my friend Heidi's 82 year-old mother died in her bed. Another friend called to inform me. I arrived at her home early evening. Other friends and family were already there and had brought food platters in from Brent's Deli in Northridge, California. (May I just say the marble cake-like Black and White cookie from Brent's was the best I have had on the west coast.)
Heidi's friends did what they could. Nothing very dramatic. They
straightened the house. They made tea. They made lists. They listened.
It has been my experience that many people simply don't know what to do or what to say when it comes to the big "D"s ...death, dying and divorce. Heidis' friends did.
We can all begin with reaching out. A phone call, a text message, an email. "Oh Heidi, I am so sorry for your loss." Then be quiet. Of course if their name is not Heidi you should call them by their name. We can't fix the fact someone we love is in shock and grief. We can't control it, but we can help them muddle through the adjustment by simply being present and open to what is needed next.
Show up. If there are too many people, go home.
Which was what I was about to do as most of the relatives were leaving. Instead, I was asked if I would join Heidi and another friend on a final task for one of the longest days for any daughter.
I had the honor to accompany my friend to her mother's apartment for her to retrieve the clothing her mother was to be buried in. I was quiet. Heidi asked if she could show me around. One of the first things she noticed lying on the vinyl clothed kitchen table was a new 2007 wall calendar. Her mother had already gone through the calendar and transfered birthdays for friends and family and added events she was planning to attend throughout the year. She led me through her mothers' collection of refrigerator magnets and Madame Alexander dolls. We listened to her answering machine. There were nine phone messages including Heidi's own messages of concern that her Mom wasn't answering the phone. I watched my friend, so graceful, begin to accept her loss.
The dress she chose for her mother was a floor length beaded gown in eighties' mauve, the dress her mother had worn to Heidi's wedding. "Mom would like this," she said zipping the garment bag shut. In the hallway we found her cherry red marketing cart and loaded it with the things we had gathered, the gown, (do we bring under clothes?) some vintage framed photos, her jewelry box, her purse and the perishables from the refrigerator with all the magnets. Then we made our way down some stairs to the parking garage. I marveled that an 82 year-old woman could manage this, but apparently it was becoming unmanageable and worrisome to her mother. She valued her independence.
Heidi's Mom's passing was neat as a pin. She lived a good, long life. It was the most comfortable of circumstances for a friend like me to show up and show compassion. However for many of us, life is messy. Death is messy. It makes people uncomfortable and fearful. Yet to my knowledge, none of us has gotten out of here alive.
It is possible to move past our discomfort whatever the circumstances of a friends' losses with a simple connection, a sentence "I am so sorry...."
Coming soon:
Interview with Greeting Card Writer/Artist Mina Lee
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