It is her birthday today, and she is dying. Curled up in a fetal position, in a cloud of morphine, she is not going to get well. From her friends and family, there are tender and tentative birthday wishes on social media. Distance – virtual and real – helps conceal the truth.
From her son, the man I love, there is heartache and helplessness, a daily struggle as he watches her struggle in a space between holding on and letting go, a bewildering space that both tightens and expands without warning.
There is no greeting card section for a birthday like this, no easy way to celebrate 79 years of living, most of which were big and bold, with Estelle in control at the helm of her own life. Today, the end of a life well-lived draws close, so what do we say? How do those of us watching on assuage the pain of those who love her most, watching as she watches her life disappear? In just over a year, she has lost her husband, her home, her ability to move in her now tiny body, but never her mind. Quick and smart, just two weeks ago, she came out of that cloud to ask Alexa to play “Neon Moon,” Mike’s favorite song. Moments later, spirited and defiant, she announced that she couldn’t wait to get out of where she is, inquiring with all clarity on the pending sale of her home. Or maybe the song she longed to hear was The Chair by George Strait. It doesn’t matter. The truth is, any song Scott performs remains her favorite. I recall a night last year when we used Facetime to share one of his live performances on a rooftop she never could reach. And so she watched, bedridden yet buoyant.
It is a confounding, heartbreaking thing for her children and grandchildren, and for her friends who would be shocked by her small and feeble frame, the brutal bedsores, the litany of indignities of a merciless and unrelenting illness that is killing her slowly.
The man I love has told her it is okay to go, to be with her beloved Mike, but her indomitable spirit persists. Only she knows the terms of her surrender. He must let her take the lead. That is her privilege.
So on Estelle’s birthday, I wish her peace, and for her family who, in this moment and the next and for who knows how many more, may they land on a well-lit path through their private and shared landscapes of loss and a way to move in a world that never stops moving.
Gathered around a tiny bed in a beautiful home that is not her home, they see right in front of them all that is missing. For the woman who gave them life and love, their best birthday wish is gratitude not goodbye. As Kurt Vonnegut said,
Goodbye is the emptiest yet fullest of all human messages.
What do we say after we say goodbye?
Only this.
Thank you, Estelle.
