Thereafter

Yesterday, my mother, my sister and I packed up my grandmother's room at her assisted living. My father will move most of her stuff into the new place today, and tomorrow my mother will pick her up in the morning and take her there.

She's convinced that we're taking her to "the District" (as in "of Columbia") because when they took her down to visit last week, she swears she looked down the hill and saw "it" - the capital city in all its glory, I suppose - when they were leaving. And it's true that this facility is way closer to DC than the one she's in now, but it's still a few miles from the city. I think it's her way of saying she's not sure about this new situation. I decided to start tweaking her about it just to see if her sense of humor was functional regarding the situation or if it really was a major deal. I reminded her that she started her life in DC, so what was the harm in going back at this point? And also that George clearly needed a lot of help running the country so maybe her proximity would make her a prime candidate for a consultancy. She agreed on both points, so maybe the White House could help their approval ratings by setting up an assisted living in the East Wing - a built-in constituency of elders.

The Georgetown-UNC game was on, and my sister the Georgetown alum was there, so we got into the game towards the end of the afternoon. That made the time pass with something fun instead of the angst of "Oh my GOD you are MOVING me to the DISTRICT", and the very sweet nurse aides coming in to lament her leaving, and my mother essentially going hysterical about a relatively manageable assortment of stuff. Basketball is kind of a big deal in our family, such that even I watch it, and it was really thrilling to see Georgetown come back from a ten-point deficit to tie it up in the last five minutes, heading into an overtime that they totally dominated. I mean, North Carolina couldn't have gotten a basket with a cherry picker and a Nerf ball towards the end. They played so badly towards the end that I didn't even feel my usual torn sadness for them as the cameras panned over them with towels over their heads to hide tears, and their dejected, toothless frowns.  This means a trip to the Final Four for Georgetown next Saturday, which will be a lot of fun, and I really loved that we could watch the game there with her in her room.

The bottom line though is that this is really difficult and quite sad, because she still feels displaced and change really isn't easy for anyone, especially when their health is compromised. But what we've done is really move through it, because there hasn't been another choice. She left one of her pieces of furniture behind, because she just didn't want it anymore - donated it to the facility, essentially. And she said, "this way I'll always be here." I'm not sure you ever reach a point - not if you're me, anyway - where stuff like that doesn't break your heart, or at least touch it significantly.

I left around 8 to take my sister to a late birthday dinner. It's almost embarrassing to mention Girlyman again (I swear they're not paying me) but I really do listen to this cd every day right now, because when I like something that's just how I roll. It includes a song called "Reva Thereafter", about the death of band member Nate Borofsky's grandmother. She was someone I really would have liked to have met, a 95-year-old psychotherapist who committed suicide when the pain from arthritis got so unbearable that she felt it was time to end her life on her terms. I cry at least once at every one of their shows (it's usually "The Shape I Found You In" that gets me - every time, I swear) but the first time I heard "Reva Thereafter" I thought the top of my head was going to come off. It is beautiful and powerful and sad, and he introduces it by telling a great story about his grandmother - a true character, in the best sense of the word. This past month, he opened by telling a story about he and his sister being home for Christmas, and them all sitting around the table, and his grandma asking them if they smoked pot, and if they did she had an extra "pipe" to give to one of them. It was a story I wish I had on tape because it was hilarious, and the way he speaks of her, with a mix of grief and awe, is in itself a gorgeous thing. I also happen to believe that Nate is one of the most accomplished songwriters of this generation who is making music today, and this song - which he wrote with help from Doris and Ty, because he needed it from an emotional standpoint - is more proof.

Anyway, it was the next song queued up when I turned the car on. Music is such an integral part of my life that it's really the soundtrack to this story I'm playing out here. People who make good music serve a purpose as strong as any therapist or teacher, because songs help me make sense of and express what's going on in my life just as well as my own words often can. In this case, I strongly relate to Nate's sadness at letting go of someone who was such an influence in his life - watching her lose, but on her terms. And at the same time I relate to his admiration for her presence and personality, and how that's what really resonates for him, even more than the loss, I think. It just takes awhile to sort all of that out. And whereas I'm also afraid to mention crying again, lest I start receiving referrals for therapy and medication, it was just really timely to hear it when I did yesterday, because like I said, it helps me express and make sense of things. And I'll have you know, if you don't already, that it's perfectly possible to smile through tears.

"Up to the rafters
Up through the plaster
Up through the highest beams, I will
Sing of your wonder
In a voice like thunder
Sometimes your heart bursts at its seams"

Comments

[Matthew]

I have just heard the clip of Reva Thereafter on the Girlyman site, and the hook is so beautiful it makes me cry and I haven't even heard the entire song yet. I'm afraid of death (isn't everyone I guess) but it makes me glad and sad at the same time that people have faced it with a dignity that can inspire amazingly lovely songs like this one.