Six Months of Grief

This week I cooked corned beef I had purchased for St Patrick's Day and then hadn't had time to cook. Dad was quite the cook, and he believed that boiling corned beef and beef briskets turned them into tough shoe leather. He always steamed them. So, I steamed mine. It is delicious, of course. I was thinking about how in the past I would have called him to see how long he thought it would take and ask if he had any pointers. He would have called me to find out how it turned out. I would have been required to describe the flavor and texture, and report on how anyone else who had eaten it had liked it-- especially Daughter. I had a moment's regret-- I should have asked more questions while he was alive, and written down and preserved his answers and memories.

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Last night I was puttering in the kitchen, and my thoughts turned to how I've changed since Mom's death 9 months ago and Dad's death almost 6 months ago. I feel more adult, somehow. It doesn't make sense. I am 52 years old, and so I've been an adult for a very long time. I've adopted a child, purchased (and sold) a house, bought numerous cars, invested money, completed 2 degrees, and done all the things adults do. The last few years, I was often playing the role of parent in my relationship with Mom and Dad. I helped them choose a retirement home, helped them prearrange funerals, helped Dad with computer and financial issues. So it doesn't make sense that I now feel more like an adult.

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A friend told me about a conversation she had a number of years ago with some colleagues. They told her that a man isn't truly a man until his father dies. They had shared that with her when she commented on the changes she'd seen in her brother after their father's death. Her brother had suddenly become more responsible, more mature. Yet I've been responsible for years. There had been a time when my parents would come spend a week taking care of Daughter so I could go to a conference. They hadn't been able to do that for years. I'd been standing on my own. I wasn't borrowing money from them or looking to them for financial assistance. If anything, my responsibilities have shrunk since their death.

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And yet still I feel older and more adult now than I did six months ago. It might not make sense, but it is very real to me. What has changed? Why do I feel this way? I think part of it is my relationships with my siblings have changed. I'm closer to Far Away Sister and not as connected with Brother. We no longer connect with one another on the basis of our parents' needs, but on the basis of our own individual families. We're talking about Tall Niece's college plans and Short Niece's lessons. We're discussing our own health issues, not Mom and Dad's. Brother, at 40, is headed to a cardiologist for a cath-- he flunked his stress test. He informed me that he beat me-- I was 50 when I had mine.

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Remembering the family history is now our responsibility. We are the ones who need to pass it down to our children. We're telling them stories of people they never knew. We're all facing our mortality: updating (or getting) wills, establishing trusts, dealing with health issues, some of them serious. Our parents are no longer there to rescue us. We have to be able to stand on our own. As I was reflecting on these feelings, I decided that overall, it's a good place to be. I'm comfortable with who I am. For the first time in my life I have the financial freedom to hire the help I need with Daughter and buy new gadgets for the kitchen. I can afford to be a bit more generous with my charities. Last week I received an invitation from my seminary to a donor's dinner. The donation I sent them last year had resulted in much more gratitude and recognition. Last night I received a phone call from a senior at my college, asking if I could increase my support of their annual fund this year. When I agreed to double it, she said, "Wow!" She sounded so young. It wasn't that much money, but she was certainly thrilled. It wasn't enough to get invited to their donor dinner, but it was enough that she was pleased and grateful.

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Part of this feeling is connected to the change in my personal finances, I'm sure. But much more of it is other things, things I will probably never be able to identify or completely understand. I'm grateful. I'm grateful for the time I had with my parents and the lessons they taught me. I miss them, and I am grateful for all they did to make me the person I am today. I couldn't consult with Dad this week, but I was able to cook wonderfully tender corned beef thanks to all he taught me. I am grateful for the foundation they gave me on which to build my life. They are gone, but their love and hard work are bearing fruit in the lives of their children and grandchildren.