My Pen Mates,
I met the family around Christmas. They had two distinct accents, the younger ones heavily British, the Mom something else, which in the course of their visit, I learned to be Swahili. They are very well-mannered adults, which lead me to think, as a normal observer might be inclined to consider, that they were well-educated.
They did have to wait to see me, and overhearing their conversation during this time, I gathered that two of them were just visiting and that the mother's husband was not well. They were frugal but knew quality. They were nice people.
A couple of days before New Year, the Mom comes back with a well dressed, tall young man_ perhaps in his early twenties. Again he projects the same elegance of a schooled person which always impresses me. Happy with her purchase, the Mom tells me that her son was going to come in soon to get his prescription filled. As it was, he places his order with my associate on a day I was off. The job was completed today so I promptly call to let them know.
The Mom answers the phone and informs me that her son was "off to duty". I let on that I had his work number and will thus contact him direct, to which she said that he is attending to funeral arrangements for his father. Her husband passed away on the 2nd and they are making arrangements to ship him back to his native land. She said this as a calm and dignified statement, that perhaps because of the accent, or maybe the disjoint between message and delivery, I was unable to process the information readily. When it did sink in that she was telling me that her husband died, I stammered my condolence and extended my well-wishes to her and her family. She then told me that the husband was hospitalized over the Holidays, and that her children and in-laws are visiting to pay respects. I can tell from the way she relates that the husband was loved and respected, but more important, that his passing on is not a deep cause of grief. It's as if he had fulfilled his role and that he was ready to leave this life. Thinking back, that's probably how I missed her initial statement. It had nothing to do with accent or tone, but with the calmness with which this woman is dealing with her loss. She ended by saying, with almost a hint of apology, that she's telling me only because "we have met", and that this might cause a delay to her son coming to pick up his order.
I don't know why this exchange affects me deeply. Perhaps it's the sharing component of it, or the fact that I was made to empathize with grief over someone I've never met. But instead of identifying with the sadness, I determine that there really was no bereavement from the survivor. Now, I don't know what the circumstances of their lives are or the relationships that exist among the family members, but I'm left with the impression that the deceased was a good person who has lived well; that the people he left behind demand no more of his existence than what he already contributed.
As we advance in years, how many of us can claim such credit? Of the people we leave behind, how many can accept our death with the same equanimity as this woman? I have images in my head of hysteria and profound grief expressed at funerals and visitations. Yes, I accept that we all deal with loss in different ways, and that we all can't possibly attain the kind of respect this man seem to be receiving. It would be nice though...
Mon
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