A Tale of Two Deaths

It's an odd thing, the difference between how I felt when my n father died and when my father-in-law died. Neither man professed any real interested in their Creator, although my father often cursed God. I was there when both died, both of cancers.

My father-in-law died, with all his children, his adult grandchildren, and the spouses there. Out of town family members had stayed in contact daily with local family and drove through the night to be with him before he died. It wasn't a conflict-free time, but we all made our way through it, still caring for one another.

While sitting at the foot of my father-in-laws bed, listening to him struggle to breathe, I felt an amazing *need* to pray. It's not something I can easily describe. It was a deep, urgent, feeling that I must pray. So I did. I prayed in a way that day, pleading and praising like I never had before, or since. I could feel an amazing spiritual battle happening around me, but I had no idea how or why. It was only months later that I was told a family member there, who was taking a lead role in caring for my father-in-law, had been studying and practicing shamanic rituals. She'd been working with my father-in-law with special stones and other objects. I believe this was the reason my spirit felt so burdened to pray.

When he died, I was sitting next to his bed, holding his and my mother-in-law's hands, listening to her share loving family memories.

When my father died, my mother and I were there: she asleep after exhausting herself attempting to meet the demands of my n father, I by his bedside. I advocated for him, for pain management and other comfort issues. I watched and listened to him die.

The scene was so different from that of my father-in-law. There was no spirit of family, no shared comfort in a time of distress. It was just me, a sleeping mother and a dying father. And the machines.

I tried to talk to God, but there was nothing there, only a stagnancy that defies description. I was not without God presence, but there was no call to pray, no spiritual battle. My father's impregnable fortress of narcissism had held strong. I couldn't even muster a struggle to find sadness. He had made his choice.

My mother awoke just before his end came. As he struggled for breath, panic-stricken she urged him to keep breathing. Before long the time came that I needed to urge her to let him go. He died with his anxious wife and stoic daughter at his bedside.

Now, years later, after typing all this, I see that both deaths are a perfect summation of the lives that preceded them. My father-in-law knew he was far from perfect, but he had done his best to be a loving husband and father. He died surrounded by his imperfect family, doing its best to make it through a difficult time. My father was perfect in his own mind. He'd done all he could to make the world around him serve him. In his death he was surrounded by the anxiety and cold distance he had so well cultivated. The world provided its service to him one last time and then it was finished.

All In The Family

OK. I admit it. I am obsessed with this whole Mother's Day thing. It's the lack of understanding. Call it a cultural thing. Or, maybe a God thing.

Over and above the whole Mother's-Day-Thing, there are the news reports.

A woman is attacked by a pelican while swimming -- traveling to be out of town on Mother's Day because being in church on a day dedicated to honoring mothers, so close after her own mother's death would be too hard.

On the evening news, an interview with a man from Picher, Oklahoma describes how he, his wife, daughter and two grandbabies huddled in a closet of their house while a tornado moved the same house 70 feet. From his description, it's clear the value he places on his family, especially the little ones.

I must be from Mars.

Grandchildren Are Us?

Not only do you feel bad that your poor kid doesn't have a real grandparent and is missing out on such a special relationship, you can't help but be reminded that's exactly what you had to deal with for most of your life.

from The Narcissist as Grandparent

This sentence is hard for me to read. It's even harder to think about it. Is this true? Is how my children are treated by their narcissist grandparents the way I was treated? I can't wrap my brain around this. Perhaps it's just that I don't want to do so, or that I'm not ready to do so. Just the thought of it and I'm sad beyond words.

The grandparents who didn't bother to show up for their grandchild's birthday parties, or who showed up three hours late, treated me the same way? The grandparents who, upon hearing that their first grandchild was on the way, changed the subject to how riduculously expensive their cell phone service was? The grandparents who didn't bother to acknowledge the birth of their second grandchild? It's a scary thought. Scary, though, isn't a severe enough word. Sad, depressing, devastating.

I suppose I know it's true. Maybe.

Permission to Say "No"

As a way of saying thank you for help with the last days of my father's life, my mother offered my spouse and I a night out with another couple. She had a voucher for a free dinner for four at a posh restaurant in a nearby town. As a newly widowed woman with no friends she had no way to use it. She would be the childcare for our children and those of the other couple. This was after showing my kids a movie I'd specifically told her I didn't want them to see. Beyond having her watch our children being unacceptable, I didn't want to go. I hadn't seen the other couple in nearly a decade and the whole getting back in touch thing just was too stressful considering all the other stuff going on at the time. I knew I would stress for weeks beforehand and wind up a stressed-out mess even before we all crawled into the same car for an hour drive to the restaurant. Unfortunately she first offered it to my spouse who accepted the offer without talking to me about it. Ooops.

So, I took the bold step of calling her. I NEVER call anyone. I hate telephones and avoid them at all costs. I thanked her for her nice offer and did my best to gracefully decline. I attempted to explain it would be very stressful, but she would have none of it: it was already arranged; what would she tell the other couple? I hadn't anticipated her reaction, silly me, but I was proud that I was able to maintain composure. I apologised for the trouble caused by our decline. I suggested she tell the other couple that we wouldn't be able to make it, but that she'd still very much like them to go anyway. But she was already in a fluster and would have none of it: my not wanting to go was silly; this wasn't something stressful just dinner; etc. After more apologies on my part yet remaining firm on the decline the phone call ended unpleasantly. I don't remember whether she hung-up on me, a not uncommon occurrence, but I do remember being entirely puzzled. In order to thank me for my help, she was insisting I do something I did not want to do. A fascinating strategy, no?

That wasn't the last phone call on the subject, though. Oh, no. She called twice more to tell me how difficult I had made this whole thing for her. She had no idea how she was going to tell the other couple that we weren't going. Both calls ended with her self-pity turning to anger and threats of telling the people that I didn't want to have anything to do with them.

I don't suppose there is a reason why the sound of a ringing phone seems foreboding?

I don't suppose there is a reason why it's difficult for me to say "no"?

To Grandmother's House We Go

Narcissistic grandparents. That's an oxymoron, right? I wish.

The first time my mother watched my children was a month after my father died. My father hated children so even had she wanted to watch them, it simply wasn't a possibility. They were 2 and 4 years old. She actually offered to watch them. It was only for a few hours while I went out to dinner. On returning I find out that she allowed them to watch a movie I specifically told her I didn't want them to see. She explained that they saw the video case so she *had* to let them see it. Not wanting to make a scene in front of my children, I mumbled an "uh-huh" and said my good-byes. Of course, she couldn't let it go at that. She followed us outside and made a big show of telling the children that I was unhappy with Grammy because she had let them watch the movie. It was the perfect end of me ever leaving the children with her.

My father, on the other hand, didn't bother to put on the allusion that he was their grandfather. He talked to the children only when reminded to say goodbye. He picked each child up once on the prompting of someone else. He made absolutely no attempt to have anything resembling a relationship with them. They were of no value to him. They only served to take the attention away from him or to annoy him by making noise. He literally sulked in a corner when we combined the celebration of one child's birthday with his.

Whenever I hear a grandparent lovingly describe spending time with their grandchild I can't keep my eyes dry. A few Sunday's ago, our pastor talked about a grandchild due not long in the future. He spoke of loving the baby, of holding the precious baby in his arms and getting to know the child, of watching the child grow and develop. What a wonderful gift for a child to have. I can't help but feel sad that my children don't have that same blessing.