As a countdown to my 30th birthday on March 18, I’ve committed to offering 30 people, things and experiences I want to celebrate from the last 30 years. Grab a piece of cake and enjoy reading!
My last surviving grandparent died this morning.
Of all my grandparents, I was closest to her. Mommom was the one I adored as a child; the one who loved the wind; who gave out ironed $5 bills to her grandkids so they might “buy a Coke”; who painstakingly celebrated each Christmas gift given to her; who served tea in Irish Beleek China; who would hold my teenaged hands in hers and give me some bit of advice.
(Christmas, 1996)
But I have only seen Mommom twice in the past five years even though we live fewer than 10 miles apart. Both times were during this last month while she lay dying on a hospital bed at the age of 98.
This is because Mommom had “disowned” me. I will spare you the details and let it stand at the fact that five years ago I suggested we build a better relationship. She has never spoken to me since.
When I got the call two weeks ago that she wanted to see me in the hospital, I obliged. I have long ago released any anger toward her and was hopeful that she would release her own toward me, perhaps offering herself some comfort at the end of this road. Alas, in the unforgiving nature of dying, she was unable to speak to me by the time I arrived at her side. Her stroke had left her partially paralyzed and in need of a ventilator, preventing her from vocalizing.
I held her hand for over 30 minutes while she struggled with great frustration to tell me something. But it was too late. For her, there could be no deathbed speech.
The life lessons learned by watching Mommom from afar have been invaluable and I have found myself celebrating them frequently in these last weeks. In particular, I celebrate the understatement that it is better to address matters of great importance in a timely fashion. I find it easy to also celebrate the warmth and generosity I experienced with her as a child and the Depression-era Irish Catholic strength that coursed through her blood.
Today, however, on the day of her death, I mostly celebrate what I hope is freedom for her from the suffering that clouded most of her life. To do so, I offer this:
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
by William Butler Yeats
I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the mourning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
May it be so.
