Bart Astor
  • Home
  • Real Possibilities for 50+
  • Excerpts
  • Reviews/Testimonials
  • Blog
  • Books by Bart Astor
  • Featured
  • Store

Dying with Nothing to Say - a Response

3/20/2016

0 Comments

 
I read an interesting op-ed recently by Katie Roiphe called “Dying with Nothing to Say” in which she talks about “last conversations” and being able to have a conversation with a dying loved one. I strongly recommend you read it (http://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/20/opinion/sunday/dying-with-nothing-to-say.html?_r=0) and think about it.
 
I thought a lot about what Ms. Roiphe wrote and, of course, it makes sense. I have often repeated to people that when my mother died, I felt that she and I had connected and said our goodbyes. I described it as “we were clear with each other, we were confident in our love.”
 
But I didn’t regret not grilling her with answers to my questions. Of course I had many. Of course I wanted to know everything I could about her, her life, and our relationship, since I knew I wouldn’t have another chance. But is that really the right time? Not in my opinion. There’s no right time to have that conversation (except maybe right now). But if you haven’t, is the right time when your parent is leaving you? Frankly, I don’t think so. I’d like to think what my mother wanted from me on her deathbed was thanks and assurance that I would be fine. Like what Ms. Roiphe said about wishing she had reassured her father that he didn’t need to worry about her or her daughter. I think my mother wanted to die peacefully knowing that the people she loved would remember her, would love her, would appreciate all she did for us, and would go on to have happy, fulfilled lives. Isn’t that what parents want for their children? Isn’t that what we want for any of our loved ones? Isn’t that what I could have given my dying mother? The peace she wanted.
 
Before my mother died and indeed, before my father died many years later, I made sure I asked many of the questions about their lives. I had more and I didn’t get all the answers. But I got what I needed. Questions still come up, many years after both of my parents died. And sadly, I will not be able to get those answers. It’s not like being able to uncover a new room in King Tut’s burial chamber. I won’t know how my mother and my wife would have loved each other because they never got the chance to meet. Or what she really thought when she was on stage singing at the Palace Theater. Or what it was about my father that drove him to go to night school to become a lawyer, despite being a high school drop out. Or what it is about me that comes from them.
 
But I do know that the last time my father and I spoke, just a couple weeks before he died, he told me that he was at peace. He used the word “content.” I hugged him then and told him I was happy to hear that. He had seen me grow up. He had seen that my brother and I had created good lives for ourselves. He really was content. We had achieved, what Mr. Roiphe called “clarity.”
 

0 Comments

    Archives

    November 2017
    August 2017
    April 2016
    March 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    October 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013

    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    June 2012
    April 2012
    February 2012
    January 2012
    December 2011
    November 2011
    October 2011


    RSS Feed

Proudly powered by Weebly