The Club
I'm not sure when we started calling it "the club" or even why, and it's not something I ever wanted to join. To get into the club, you have to have lost a parent. I think it applies to those of us who are of an age where you would expect to still have parents. Al was the first of my close friends to join and my brother and I were next. It's hard to believe it has been five years since her mom died. We all adored her mom and salute her with little Cokes and think fondly of the time she said, "you just don't see that in Ardmore." It makes us smile.
My dad died in December 2002 and I looked to Al for guidance because she "got it". She knew the drill. More importantly, she had been through the loss of a parent and lived through it. She told me that everything I was feeling was ok and that I would survive. And she was right. It's such a strange process to go through. I can't really explain it. I just know that I was glad I wasn't going through it alone. And then Steve's mom died a few months later and I got to help him into the club the way Al had helped me. I think it probably helped me more than it did him. I was the one who "got it" and could do something productive because of that. Then another friend lost a parent and I got to tell him all the things I had learned. It let me continue to grieve the loss of my dad, but it also helped me get beyond the grief, concentrating on the good memories and silly misadventures, often involving cake, and being thankful for what I had.
Last July, my mother died, so my brother and I got to start a new chapter within the club. This was reserved for those of us who had lost both parents. No one had started it for us. If I didn't want to join the club, I certainly didn't want to be here. I'm so thankful that my brother and I were close to begin with so that I at least had someone who understood what I felt. Steve joined us in this chapter a few months later. Thankfully, no one else has.
When I lost my dad, I felt strangely untethered, like there was some structure missing that was supposed to keep me in my place. It was as if part of the ceiling was missing and I could move up a level. When I had parents, I didn't feel that I had to be "the grown up" in the family. I had them for that. I would still be someone's kid. When my dad died, I leveled up and had to do some of the things that the grown ups do. I became sort of a peer for my mom. And then when she died, the tethers were gone. There was no structure holding me in my proper place and I sure didn't and I don't like it any more now. I'm not the kid anymore and no one is around to treat me like a kid. I think my brother and I sort of expected that my parents' peers, who for thirty plus years had treated us as kids would continue to do so, looking out for us since our parents no longer could. And strangely enough, I wanted that (at least for a little while). It didn't happen. Instead, we found ourselves fitting into roles my parents had played with their friends. My brother now has the task of calling my dad's best friend to tell him when certain movies are on tv or to talk about certain sporting events. The gossip I used to get from my mom I now have to get directly from the source.
So here I am. An orphan at 33 and a mom at 34. I wish everyday I could call my folks for advice on various baby-related things or comparisons of what Bug is like to how I was as an infant. Instead, I have box full of mementos like my baby book and my baby blanket and so many pictures, all of which I cherish, but it doesn't tell me everything I want to know. And as a parent, I have the fear of leaving my little one too soon. My parents both died at age 60 and will miss out on so many things. It just goes to show me that life is short and that I had better make the most of it. That's really all anyone can do.
And my fondest hope at this point is that I won't be welcoming anyone to the club for a very long time. But if someone does join the club, I will be there for them however much they need me, bearing little Cokes in honor of Al's mom, Pepsi in a can to be poured over ice in honor of my mom, and the most disgustingly chocolate thing I can find in honor of my dad.
My dad died in December 2002 and I looked to Al for guidance because she "got it". She knew the drill. More importantly, she had been through the loss of a parent and lived through it. She told me that everything I was feeling was ok and that I would survive. And she was right. It's such a strange process to go through. I can't really explain it. I just know that I was glad I wasn't going through it alone. And then Steve's mom died a few months later and I got to help him into the club the way Al had helped me. I think it probably helped me more than it did him. I was the one who "got it" and could do something productive because of that. Then another friend lost a parent and I got to tell him all the things I had learned. It let me continue to grieve the loss of my dad, but it also helped me get beyond the grief, concentrating on the good memories and silly misadventures, often involving cake, and being thankful for what I had.
Last July, my mother died, so my brother and I got to start a new chapter within the club. This was reserved for those of us who had lost both parents. No one had started it for us. If I didn't want to join the club, I certainly didn't want to be here. I'm so thankful that my brother and I were close to begin with so that I at least had someone who understood what I felt. Steve joined us in this chapter a few months later. Thankfully, no one else has.
When I lost my dad, I felt strangely untethered, like there was some structure missing that was supposed to keep me in my place. It was as if part of the ceiling was missing and I could move up a level. When I had parents, I didn't feel that I had to be "the grown up" in the family. I had them for that. I would still be someone's kid. When my dad died, I leveled up and had to do some of the things that the grown ups do. I became sort of a peer for my mom. And then when she died, the tethers were gone. There was no structure holding me in my proper place and I sure didn't and I don't like it any more now. I'm not the kid anymore and no one is around to treat me like a kid. I think my brother and I sort of expected that my parents' peers, who for thirty plus years had treated us as kids would continue to do so, looking out for us since our parents no longer could. And strangely enough, I wanted that (at least for a little while). It didn't happen. Instead, we found ourselves fitting into roles my parents had played with their friends. My brother now has the task of calling my dad's best friend to tell him when certain movies are on tv or to talk about certain sporting events. The gossip I used to get from my mom I now have to get directly from the source.
So here I am. An orphan at 33 and a mom at 34. I wish everyday I could call my folks for advice on various baby-related things or comparisons of what Bug is like to how I was as an infant. Instead, I have box full of mementos like my baby book and my baby blanket and so many pictures, all of which I cherish, but it doesn't tell me everything I want to know. And as a parent, I have the fear of leaving my little one too soon. My parents both died at age 60 and will miss out on so many things. It just goes to show me that life is short and that I had better make the most of it. That's really all anyone can do.
And my fondest hope at this point is that I won't be welcoming anyone to the club for a very long time. But if someone does join the club, I will be there for them however much they need me, bearing little Cokes in honor of Al's mom, Pepsi in a can to be poured over ice in honor of my mom, and the most disgustingly chocolate thing I can find in honor of my dad.
posted by JenL at
2:56 AM
2 Comments:
STOP MAKING ME CRY AT WORK!
You have gotten through this chapter of your life with amazing grace and dignity. Your parents were lucky to have you as their daughter, they are lucky to have you to keep memories of them alive, and you are lucky to have had them to shape who you are. H is the luckiest of all, of course, because even though she won't know your parents, she will know them through you.
Kisses and hugs and chocolaty things to you, love.
By
Anonymous, at 12:51 PM
I also cried at work. What a bunch of slobbery bitches you have for friends. Poor thing. I have some feelings around this as my mother is 70 already. Perhaps I shall blog about it, providing tha I can find the strength of course. You're one of the good ones Mrs. L.
By
Auntie Sassy, at 5:07 PM
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