Bea V. Larsen . . . .Commentaries |
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Bea V. Larsen is a Senior Mediator at the Center for Resolution of Disputes in |
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My Friend Dona This entry was posted on 5/7/2011 6:25 AM and is filed under Personally Speaking. When spring finally arrives and the forsythia gives way to the daffodils and tulips, my thoughts return to another spring nine years ago, to vivid and poignant memories of events that occasioned insights that continue to serve me well. This is the story: On an April afternoon, I joined a companion for a leisurely lunch. As we greeted each other, she noted that I looked troubled and asked how I was. I responded: Confused. She gave me her full attention and I explained that shortly before our meeting I'd spoken on the phone with a friend who had been coping with breast cancer for many years. For several decades Dona and I were the closest of friends. We talked often during the week and took a long walk together almost every weekend, whatever the weather. There was little about our lives we did not share. Over the past year she'd been on a downward slide. The narcotics used to dull her pain left her debilitated and sleepy much of the time. On this day she asked me what I knew about hospice care. So, I told her of my experience gleaned from another friend and offered to help her research the issue further. Then, without a pause or response, she changed the subject to the birthday of her beloved 7-year-old granddaughter. Funny stories followed about the gift that she'd sent and the phone call later received. As her voice grew weary, we agreed to get together later in the day, if she felt up to it. Part of my confusion was the very ordinariness with which we approached and then avoided the discussion of her impending death. I loved this woman very much and could easily focus on what her loss would mean for me, but said nothing of this to her. I observed the unspoken taboo of acknowledging that the end of her life approached. The very calm nature of our talk seemed both right and absurd. The somber unspoken question that remained was whether my friend really needed to talk more purposefully about dying and the plans she was considering. Her having pointedly changed the subject to tell stories about her grandchild left me unsettled. We had shared so openly with each other in the past, without barriers. Should I collude with the avoidance of such a serious but perhaps painful discussion? This was the quandary I posed. The wise woman with whom I was lunching said: Why not just ask her whether she would like to talk about her need to cope with the weeks ahead, and how you might help? Of course. I realized that was exactly what I needed to do. Later that day, Dona and I did get together. I sat close to her as she lay on her couch and I held on to her warm smooth ankle. We chatted amiably about mundane events and a medical test scheduled for the next morning. Our words were alternately light and serious. She grew tired, but before I left, I leaned close and said: I love you very much and want to help you through this in any way I can, so whenever you want to talk about making plans, or anything else, will you call me? She responded: I love you too, and I will call, but you call too, if I don't. I assured her I would. I left, no longer confused, knowing that the awkwardness of discussing death was gone, had been breached by my request, and her invitation. We would be able to talk openly once again and be loving till the end. And a number of important and meaningful conversations did take place before Dona died. We no longer had to avoid what was uppermost on her mind, and on my own. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Days after her death, Dona's husband invited me to select anything I wished from her personal belongings and I left with a bottle of the scent she always wore, and which I have worn ever since. |
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