My mom and I like to hang out in an office park. The drab, three-story buildings house doctors’ offices, title companies, civil engineers. They also hide something unexpected: a church. And adjacent to the enormous conference-room-turned-sanctuary, a church-run coffee shop.
It’s halfway between her condo and my treehouse, but it has mostly become our go-to spot because of the sheer variety of human beings. Toddlers in the play area screeching like pterodactyls. Veterans wearing their bomber jackets and Air Force ball caps. Real estate agents striking deals. Gray-haired gaggles of ladies clicky clacking away at their knitting. Hoodied college students tuning out the world with their ear buds and laptops.
A 57-year-old daughter and 79-year-old mother fit right in (and can enjoy the people watching).
When I arrived, mom was already sitting in our favorite corner at a high-top table, a plastic cup of water in front of her, writing in a notebook.
I walked over and hugged her. “Hi Mom! How are you? I’ll go place our order. Same as last time for you?”
”Avocado toast, yes, but this time I’d like a cappuccino too.”
“Okay, great. Before I do that, I brought a couple of things for you.”
I looped my tote-bag straps over the back of the remaining chair, sticking my hand in to fish around. First I pulled out a candle.
“I tried this Christmas candle and don’t love it, so I’m handing it over to you.”
Then I took a deep breath as I reached into my bag again… Even though I’d just forced a candle I found insufferable on her, I had much more trepidation about the next delivery. But I wasn’t backing down, I had to at least try.
So I pulled out a hardback.
“Ok, listen, I brought this book for you.” I showed her the cover: The Wonder and Happiness of Being Oldby Sophy Burnham.
“I read an interview with the author and it made me think of you. I know sometimes getting older hasn’t been the most fun, and I thought it might help.”
Like a rollercoaster heading downhill, my words got faster.
“I think there are two ways you might enjoy this book. First, if the author’s words resonate and you like it, then by all means read it! Or, if you think she’s full of BS and you don’t buy what she’s selling, then you can throw the book in a fire and watch it burn. I think that might be rewarding too!! So, no pressure to like it or agree with it, okay?”
She gave me a ‘oh, my crazy daughter’ smile. I skipped off to order our food.
When I returned a few moments later, her nose was in the book. She put it aside while we caught up.
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I know exactly nothing about what it feels like to turn 80. Fifty-seven is the extent of my horizon. So when a blurb on a book says it can “take the fear out of adding another year”, should I believe that? How will I know for sure it will resonate with my mom, rather than be platitude-filled gibberish that only makes her feel worse?
I don’t know the answer to any of those things. But here’s what I do know: my mom’s life has changed a lot over the last decade. She retired from a high-pressure job running a county mental health center. She moved from our western PA home to the hubbub of Northern Virginia. She swooped in and literally saved my life when Mike died, running the house so I could earn the bacon. She even held ‘Camp GMA’ for her grandchildren for a week every summer, cookie-baking, seashell gathering, managing the endless squabbling like a saint. Then those grandchildren grew up.
I can only imagine what it’s like to walk in my mom’s size 8.5 Hokas, but with all the changes in her daily life and environment and health, I’m guessing it’s not a cake walk.
So I want to support her in some way, but have approximately NO idea what would help.
Early in my life this sense of being unsure… was the end of the story. I did not lean in to help people because I figured ‘what do I know?’ As if the exact knowledge of the exact experience is what’s required to support others in their tough times.
Now, I know that’s hogwash. My grief SWOT team who helped me through the first 90 days post Mike’s passing (and the nine years after) had never lost a spouse. Luanne, Takis, CeCe simply rushed forward, finding any way they could help, which turned out to be crying with me over breakfast, changing my tires, double checking my paperwork. No one told them that was what I needed, they just found their opening and took it. I’m sure their personal grief experiences informed how they acted, but mostly I think it was just from a place of love, and a belief that doing something, anything was what was required.
They taught me you don’t have to know what you’re doing to make a giant difference. You just have to act.
A week had passed and I’d assumed The Wonder and Happiness of Being Old had met its fate.
But then, a text.
“That book you gave me is wonderful and you should give it to every older person you know!”
I stared down at those words from GMA and slowly exhaled, shoulders slumping in relief.
(I chuckle every time I see my kids’ hipster name for my mother show up on my screen. Does everything have to be acronym, text-ready, and inscrutable?)
“Oh, you didn’t have to burn the book! Yay! It’s hard to imagine, but books can be risky! I’m glad I took the risk. Want me to order some copies for your friends?!”
As we chatted about what she liked about the book, and which of her friends might appreciate it, I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. What exactly had I been so afraid might happen?
Honestly, of a few different things. I’d been terrified my recommendation would:
* Offend her. How dare I acknowledge that she’s old?? Or that she’s going through a tough time?? Or that she might need support??
* Be at best ignorant, at worst harmful, given I have no idea what it’s like to be her age.
* Feel like I was trying to “fix” my mother instead of simply loving and supporting her exactly how and where she is.
In other words, I thought I could simultaneously ruin her life and our relationship by trying to help…?
To be fair, I can think of times when people really did ruin my day when they were convinced they had the solution to my problem. When an old coworker cornered me and talked my ear off about Mike being in a “better place”, when actually the best place Mike could be was alive and playing with his kids. That was offensive, ignorant, and harmful — check, check, check.
But you know what also didn’t help? All those people who didn’t risk it. Because their fear of messing up was bigger than their desire to support me.
I was absolutely NOT going to fall into that trap with my own mother. I was going to put my big girl pants on and try.
So I shared the book. But I shared it with permission, as an offering, a ‘I’m thinking of you, even though I’m not 100% sure this is going to hit the mark.”
It seems like many of us are mostly thinking about ourselves when we are considering how to help someone else… And it shows.
When we are mostly concerned with how we are coming across, our offering of support comes out twisted. We either want a gold star for doing it right, and therefore get pushy, or we don’t want to be caught trying and failing, so we don’t do anything at all.
But you know what is actually supportive in almost all situations? “Hey, I’m thinking of you! This thing I have/know/can do may not be what you need, but I wanted to offer it just in case it is. If it doesn’t help, chuck it in the bin! I’m here for you.”
No matter what you’re offering, it’s a win. Because the person in need knows you’re in their corner.
I can’t help but think about Do Loss as I write this… I wrote an entire freaking book for people who are going through hell, while I can’t be sure it will help every person who is going through hell. Because what we each need is so unique to the moment, to our situation, to our personality, etc. So I’ve come to think of it not as a sure thing, but as an offering, a tangible way of saying “I’m thinking of you. I’m trying.”
Even if the book just becomes kindling, may it keep someone warm… alongside the knowing that someone cared enough to risk it.
To sticking out our necks,
Sue
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