I've been reading Jane Yolen's journal, and can't miss the similarities to Madeleine L'Engle's writings about her family - not just A Two-Part Invention but all of her Crosswicks journals, and not just because both have had to deal with the slow and early death of beloved husbands, but because of the fullness of community within which both live, the family by birth and by choice who brought food and love and music and laughter and tears to mourn and celebrate. (Some things can only be expressed in run-on sentences.)
If Rudder or I were to fall deathly ill tomorrow, I don't think we'd have that. It's not only because we don't have children, though that may be a factor. It's only partly that we don't have a community with the same customs; it might be better if I go before Rudder (kineahora, not for decades and decades) because the last thing I'm going to want to do is to have to explain to everyone what sitting shiva is about and what people are supposed to do. I don't think it's because we don't meet the right kind of people; I think having that loving community has more to do with being able to like the people you do meet, and to recognize the ones you can love and let them know it. I've seen it done; I used to have a coworker and his wife who seemed to like most people, not in a syrupy indiscriminatory way but to appreciate each one. They were salty and funny and sarcastic, but when you spoke to them you felt they were enjoying talking to you, and they seemed to give that impression to most people. (As you might expect, they gave great parties.)
I'm more crotchety than that. There are too many people I just don't like much. There are also some who are just a bit annoying, but some of those are good friends - like family who have annoying quirks but who you love anyway. But if I can't respect someone or just can't find any sense of connection, unfortunately, it shows. Being crotchety has its own satisfactions, but there are some times when those are not nearly as satisfying satisfactions as having people to sing with and eat with and mourn with. (That's part of the issue. I really *don't* know many people I could sing with, and I miss that - but it would be better to appreciate whatever I could do with the people I do meet.) There are also quite a lot of people whom I annoy.
Stan Rogers put it this way (cut for length)
I used to be a Pharisee, Cynical and wise, telling rich, ungodly lies of humanity; And in the marketplace was seated A cripple with a lyre, I looked at him and said, "I've been rich, but so unhappy, What sets you so on fire". And he said, "Look upon me brother, I'm a man with peace of mind. You know I've never been much good at nothin' But the words I've wrought in rhyme, But I've a good woman to feed me, And friends to share a brew, And evenings we will sit around and sing together And it could be the same for you, if you justHold on to young friends you made of old,
And cleave to the woman that keeps you whole,
Keep a warm fire
For all your friends who come in from the cold.
I love you as a brother
And I don't even know your name.
I know this must sound different,
But for me it's always been the same.
Tonight the smoke is rising from all around the room,
And judging from the warmth of the smell from the kitchen,
There'll be supper ready soon.
And our table's set for twenty,
Room for more if they should come,
And later on we'll pass around the pipe for our pleasure
And sit and take a little rum, and we will
Hold on to young friends we made of old
And cleave to the women that keep us whole,
And keep a warm fire
For all our friends who come in from the cold;
We love them all as brothers
And we don't have to know their names
We know this must sound different,
But for us it always stays the same.
Hold on to young friends…etc.
I used to be so different,
Now I know I'll always stay the same
...but I don't think it's really that easy. (Certainly not for all those women in the kitchen cooking for twenty while the men sit around smoking!)
I'm not being callous to Jane Yolen's mourning; no matter how many other people she loves or who love her, it's clear there's a big hole left by her husband's death that nothing will fill. I just think that if you must go through that kind of grief, it might be a support consolation to know that the two of you had built a life full of shared interests and love.
Posted by dichroic at May 30, 2006 03:47 PM