I ran across this question in my twitter feed today. Is it possible to mourn the living? The line came from a poem written by a medical student grieving the aging of her grandmother.
As a previous Hospice Medical Director, my answer is Of course. As someone is aging and dying, family members begin grieving before death occurs. But mourning and grieving can be subtle and intertwined with daily life. This week, I am grieving, because I am no longer close to my two younger sisters. The reality came to me in a sweet, quiet setting.
Last Tuesday was my mother’s 90th birthday, her second since my father died. Rather than have a big party, she asked that her three daughters take her out for lunch at a vegetarian-friendly restaurant near her home. It was lovely. We had a wonderful meal, then we went back to her apartment to chat.
The conversation led to memories of extended family members. My mother shared some of her happiest childhood times on the coast of North Carolina, collecting shells with her grandmother.
My sister shared a memory of living on the 5th floor of an apartment building in New York, when she was four, my middle sister was five, and I was eight.
She said, “I was slow when I walked down the stairs because I had to put both feet on each step. You two used to run ahead, and I would call out, ‘Wait for me!’” That’s where her memory ended. She and I view the same events from two different angles.
My memory didn’t end there. I remembered hearing her call. I turned and went back up to her and taught her how to climb down with one foot on each step. I stayed with her until she gained her confidence. Why does she not remember that part?
So, I am grieving the idea of shared childhood memories. In their memoir, The Kids Are All Right, the Welch family took advantage of different perceptions when they co-wrote their story in the alternating voices of four siblings. Just like that family, there is no enmity or bitterness between me and my sisters, and we share interests through our DNA, like the love of reading and the love of languages.
Acceptance of Reality
But the reality is that my sisters and I have very little in common. If I were to meet them now for the first time, it’s unlikely we would become friends. On the other hand, this realization deepens my gratitude for the friends who surround me now, who get me. They validate me.
My mother is one who encourages me. She loves all three of us; she gets us; she is the glue holding our family together. Her startling ability to give each of her daughters what we need without playing favorites is unusual.
I have adult friends who still grieve over having siblings who were the favorite, or who realize that they were the favorite ones and that they are resented for it. So, yes, it is possible to mourn the living. As with all grief though, it gets better with time, and there are often happy memories to accompany it.
I’m grieving the end of my false idea of family closeness, but my sisters and I have helped each other along the way. If nothing else, I’ve gotten some good poems from my family relationships. I’m sure there are more poems to come.