09th Aug 2007
your own mortality
Chris’ father is seriously ill and hospitalized — something that makes me realize that someday my father may not be here, either. I can’t even begin to explain how much that thought freaks me out — while intellectually, I accept that and know he will die someday, emotionally I can’t even approach that idea without fear and sadness. In my family, family counts for everything and we are close, tight, caring, loyal. And, thankfully, pretty well intact. I know this can’t be true indefinitely, but the illness of a parent means losing something of yourself, of who you were as a child. You can never be that child again if and when your parents go, you can only be yourself and there, as the center of your own children’s world (if you have them). A support is stripped away when a parent dies, I think, and at the end of the day, you have only yourself as both parent and child, alpha and omega. If that even makes any sense….
We will be traveling back and forth to Staten Island over the next few days — keep us and Don (that’s his father) in your thoughts. He’s too young, it’s too soon (if you ask me, and of course that’s the thing about death — he doesn’t ask) and there’s still much living to be done. And seeing Chris hurt makes me feel like my heart could fly right out of my chest and explode into red tatters. I can’t bear it.
I’m so sorry to hear about Chris’s father. That’s really rough. I agree, the mortality of our parents makes us reevaluate our lives. Last winter my dad was told he would die within three years. The most interesting thing has happened — he’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him. In facing his own mortality, he’s made his peace with the world (and he was always a very angry man). It’s also made concrete for me the realization that every day we have with anyone could be our last, so we need to treat each day and each person with care. I know these thoughts won’t make yours and Chris’s journey any easier, but please know you’re both in my thoughts. Hang in there.