Last fall, while we were alone, I told my very active, yet disabled, 90-year-old mother-in-law that her mothering of my husband Tom wasn't done. She gave me a bemused look. "He's an adult," she said. "What in the world does he still need me to do?"
"Before you leave us ... he wants to really know you as the woman you are, aside from being his mom," I said. "He also wants you to know him as the man he is ... not just as your son."
She got it.
This person, Margaret, who had been a part of my life for 30 years, surprised me. She met the challenge. She shared new information in an honest way, asked Tom profound questions about himself, and loved him with a new focus. I was so proud of both of them.
Two weeks ago, we buried her.
No one is ever really ready to be without their mother. It doesn't matter how old they are or what the relationship was like. To say goodbye to our mother is to say goodbye to an enormous part of ourselves.
Tom says he's not the same person as before she died. He's different, someone else. He knows the structure of his family has changed. She was the glue.
I know what he means. They had always been in the world together. When both parents go, it is truly a "big chill" experience. The world feels less buffered.
Though the relationship seems over, it isn't. It's changed. Most of us will spend the rest of our days mourning and remembering what was, what never was, and what never will be. Living with missing them is hard-earned ... day by day, year by year.
Both personally and professionally, I have experienced and been witness to a great deal of death. People in my life have died through crime, accidents, sudden infant death, substance abuse, neglect, illness, pregnancy/birth, military service, aging and suicide. I've also had to put down two guide dog companions.
At times, death has seemed to consume my life. I have come close to my own death more than once.
Presently, my youngest sister is on her way back from a near-death brain aneurysm. I have learned to face life and death matters. I push myself. I keep the focus on the person and what's really needed. I take the focus off of myself.
I have respected death, feared it, fought it, avoided it, resented it, strived to understand it, prayed for and against it, disconnected from it, laughed at and challenged it. I have not made perfect peace with it.
Yet, watching Margaret in the last week of her life, made me face this transition in a new way. It made me want to know what it really means to have a "good death." Margaret, who had spoken about hope in this column last year, loved life and loved me. It made me work to help create that for her.
Ironically, a "good death" seems to have a lot to do with what we do while we're alive. People appear to die as they have lived. A "good death" is as much for the deceased as it is for the living left behind. It means that the important things have been said, questions answered, and key issues worked through.
It means that important family photos have been taken, family possessions, resources and stories have been recorded and distributed, funeral arrangements have been made exactly as we would want, and that our beliefs and philosophies about death are understood.
Various Web sites define a "good death" as an appropriate death or a desired death or a dignified death. It appears that there are 12 common variables ... such as being able to retain control over what happens, to have dignity and privacy, to have time to say goodbye and to control other aspects of timing.
"The Four Things That Matter Most: A Book about Living," by Ira Byock, M.D., an international leader in palliative care and a recent speaker in Traverse City, says that the four things we need to communicate to each other are "I love you," Thank you," "Forgive me" and "I forgive you."
A "good death" requires planning. Sometimes that's not possible. When it is, we can do it.
A "good death" is part of a well-lived life.
Items of note
-- Paralympics, Friday through March 21; usparalympics.org.
-- Traverse City Area Chamber of Commerce's Leadership GT Access mapping project; contact Diana Bolander, dbolander@nmc.edu, 995-1029, to request a venue questionnaire. Site surveying help is needed.
-- Inside Out Gallery is an accessibly remodeled art house, with concerts, comedy, movies and more; www.insideoutgallery.com, 929-3254.
-- The Garden Theatre in Frankfort is undertaking a community access effort; www.frankfortgardentheatre.com, 352-7561.
-- To learn more about the Mopix State Theatre program for hearing/sight movie access, e-mail Sharon@mopixtc.com.
Susan Odgers, a resident of Traverse City for the past 23 years, has used a wheelchair for 34 years. She is a faculty member at Northwestern Michigan College and Grand Valley State University. She can be reached via the Record-Eagle. For more Adapted in TC columns, log on to record-eagle.com/susanodgers.
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