My mother lost one of her best friends yesterday.
Over the course of recent years, this has become a sad but predictable occurrence. No one is surprised when their 80 yr old parents start burying their lifelong friends.
It's a pain I cannot imagine.
My mother seems to manage it the way she has managed much of her deep sadness - with dignity, with enviable resolve, and a fierce determination to keep moving forward despite the grief. It's one of many "Miriamisms" that inspires me on a regular basis.
If one is fortunate as I have been, to be parented by such a deep and loving soul, the benefits are not always as obvious as it might seem. After all, it can be quite painful, for those wired with hypersensitive nerve-endings, such as I have, to bear witness to a mother's ongoing expression or repression of such profound depth of emotion. Note, however, that my mother is either unaware of this emotional vessel she carries within her, or she's in denial of it, or she's trying to protect me from it, or she's (most likely) undervaluing it. My mother, you see, has been feeling, expressing, writing, ruminating, creating, and consistently driven by emotions that are so complicated that sometimes, they simply feel like nothing, to her. She doesn't feel, she claims. She doesn't remember, she says. She's numb, she protests.
But the Holocaust is never far away.
At least, not for me.
Imagine the combining forces of the lost memories, the unspoken anguish, the indescribable pain that she swears she never experienced, the German parents who fled and brought her over to the United States when she was 9 and taught her how to survive with a smile on her face, the struggle to adapt to life stripped of security by catastrophic tokens from days too dark to recall, the marriage to an accomplished man who promised to provide a safe and loving home for her, and her compelling fondness for balance and meaning. All of these opposable forces have swirled around her life and collectively brought her to her greatest quest: Finding joy.
My mother learned how to find joy.
She tried hard and found it with her children. She tried hard and found it in her marriage. She found it while working, reading, writing, teaching, learning, growing, exploring. She has yet to stop, or slow down, for that matter. Her pursuit of joy is a daily undertaking for her, one that she welcomes with an open heart. She simply believes that life feels better that way; It feels better to feel good. And so she does her best to make that happen, for herself, and for others, every single day.
This makes my mother a phenomenal girlfriend.
She listens, loves, tries hard not to judge (surely we must, sometimes), and gives selflessly and tirelessly to others -- she listens with her heart, she loves with her entire self, she tries not to judge but is always influenced by her belief that we should all work hard to be the best we can be, and she gives to others in ways we cannot measure. She touches, she smiles, she dances, she laughs heartily, she jumps up and moves things, changes things, does things, fixes things. She sings, she giggles, she soothes, she caresses, she gently slides the strands of illness-soaked hair out of a loved one's eyes, she cooks meals for everyone when she surely should be off her feet and resting, she'll read you a story or a poem if your eyes are too tired to find the words. She'll write her own story about you if you have touched her deeply and she'll always tell you what she really likes and really doesn't like about you, if she thinks it's important for you to know.
Her friends have been lucky to be loved by her.
When our mothers are sad, it's a terrible pain. But the balance for that, is the beauty that enabled the pain to be so great. For without great love, there is not great loss. We must all be comforted by that symmetry.
And we must remember that our mothers need our love. Now and always. They never stop working. They never stop trying to make the world a better place. They never stop loving us. No matter how old we get.
