The Familiar
Life Dies
The death of a spouse goes deeper than the
loss of a person. You also lose the life built on being a couple, in home and
outside of it. Grief may be compounded by awkwardness in your social circles.
Still attached couples wonder how long do they keep expressing condolences. Do
you invite the friend in mourning to parties or nights out as a fifth wheel or
chance a faux pas by introducing another single person to even the group?
Personal
security, especially in the financially insecure and elderly, may be
obliterated. My mom moved away from us kids—we call every day—has one relative
nearby, and though he and his wife are wonderfully caring, they have their own
busy life. My parents weren’t the group-joining kind and made one friendship in
a neighboring couple who have also been very solicitous.
Still, most of
the day is spent alone. Apparently it’s not sufficient motivation to move
closer to us. While we were growing up, we rented three different houses. My
dad, for whatever reason, refused to buy a house. My mother saved, bought a
house in Massachusetts for their retirement, and told him he could come along
or not—his choice. He went of course. They moved to a second house in Georgia
to cut costs, mainly from fuel expenses. Even after ten years of living there,
my dad hadn’t insured it.
The hard-earned,
hard-won house has become my mom’s safe place. All her dreams of a good life
are tied up in owning a pretty house. Selling it and returning to renting an
apartment, even if it’s closer to her family, feels like failure rather than a
new chapter in life she doesn’t want but might be forced to accept as her
health deteriorates. As her loved ones, we have to ask ourselves if it’s kinder
to leave her where she feels safe and, with fewer people to watch over her,
where she will probably die earlier or to insist she move and chance her dying
from miserable anxiety. Sometimes no good choice exists.
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