At ends and then beginnings

MAXINE COHEN

My life has been a blur recently. My mother died, and my daughter got

married. One right after the other. And these two major life cycle

events have eclipsed everything else in my world. I am so full of

beginnings and endings that they are all I can think about or write

about. Death and marriage touch all of our lives, whether right here

in Newport-Mesa or in Timbuktu.

My mother died in September. It was an amazing experience. I had

never before been in the presence of death so up close and personal.

The imminence of the ending stripped away all the muck that we were

mired in and made it possible for both of us to let go and forgive.

Knowing we loved each other deeply, even though the relationship had

been too hard for too long, made the unexpected connection and loving

in the end ever more healing and sweet.

So although I feel sad, her death was actually a blessing. My

mother was not a person who accepted well. Even though she was about

to turn 90, she would not surrender. She fought hard to hold on to

her competence and independence, even as time eroded them

mercilessly. Her death released her from railing against the bondage

of a body that was failing and a life that was getting smaller and

smaller. It released me from the increasingly more sad and burdensome

job of caring for her and watching her fail. In those ways, it was a

good and timely ending for both of us.

But it is an ending, and a huge one at that. And the enormity of

it has caught me by surprise. I thought I would be relieved, and to

be honest, I am. But I am also struck with the fact that I am no

longer the child of anyone. I am no longer Sissy’s daughter. I am no

longer part of the sandwich generation. I no longer have to call, go

to visit every Sunday, run interference with her doctors, be a

sounding board and generally just show up in all the ways that a

dutiful daughter does. And that is a big change.

It is also a beginning. I am now the elder in the family. The old

folk. Weird. How did I get here so fast? And why does it feel so

different now that my mother has died? I’m not any older today than I

was yesterday.

My daughter’s marriage in November cements the transition. Sherri

is my middle girl, but she is the first to be married. It is a huge

beginning for her. Husband, children, house, friends, all the

components that comprise a full life, she is on the threshold of

creating all that. It is the central part of a lifetime. And it takes

precedence over mine, because that’s where new life is happening and

where the energy to create is.

My mother tried to be a huge force in my life. She picked out a

name for each of my children and lobbied hard for her choice.

According to her, my girls should have been named Charlene, Leslie

and Karen rather than Carolyn, Sherri and Barbara. I remember feeling

outraged and guilty at the same time. How dare she think that she had

the right to push for the names she liked. And how could I be so

selfish as to not consider my own mother’s wishes? Pretty much sums

up the relationship right there.

My mother never understood that once children become adults and

get married, it’s their show. It’s no longer the parent’s place to

have a say-so, wield influence and orchestrate. Grown children have

to call the shots for themselves, because it’s their own lives they

are creating. It is their turn to do it their way, because in the

end, when they are my age and older, it is their triumphs and

disappointments that they will look back upon and have to reconcile

with themselves. I love Joan Didion’s opening line in The White

Album: “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” Yes we do, but

even stories can be stretched only so far.

I frequently get asked if I like my new son-in-law. And I most

certainly do, a lot, but more importantly, he likes me, and for this

I am grateful. That’s because it’s their ballgame, and if I want to

play, I have to be invited. Not that they get to make all the game

rules, and I have no say-so, because goodness knows I don’t shut my

mouth very well. But it will be a request or perhaps a conversation

rather than an outright demand.

For me, my daughter’s marriage is both a beginning and an ending.

It marks the end of her attachment to me and the beginning of my

relationship with my new son-in-law -- both a loss and a gain. Which

is the way it usually is -- a hidden blessing in the seemingly

horrific and an unexpected gotcha in the midst of happiness.

Our lives are filled with beginnings and endings. Too often, we

find ourselves stuck in between. Unable to truly say goodbye, we are

unable to fully say hello. There has to be a no, a door firmly

closed, before we can say yes and open our heart to what’s next. We

see this in divorce or when a life partner dies or in a major life

transition. The grief at the loss can be so overwhelming and

pervasive that it becomes impossible to move on and make the new

connections and the commitments to them that create a new beginning

and help life move forward.

One of the best ways I know to move on with your life, when you

are stuck squarely in limbo, is to slow down, look around, see with

new eyes what is good and what nourishes and supports you, and

appreciate and be grateful for that. Because after all, what creates

a new beginning is finding the things in your life that feel good and

creating more of them.

I like the words of T.S. Eliot in Four Quartets:

“What we call the beginning is often the end,

And to make an end is to make a beginning.

The end is where we start from.”

* MAXINE COHEN is a Corona del Mar resident and marriage and

family therapist practicing in Newport Beach. She can be reached at

[email protected].