Layers of Truth about Why I Didn't Stand Up

            I interrupt this reflection on the obituary to talk about a more recent illustration of the same theme—layers of truth.  Everything we wrote in the obituary was true.  But there are layers of truth, so truth-telling doesn’t assure that everything essential has been said.    In the case of my mother, there’s nothing I want to say that could distract from the admirable person in this resume called an obituary.  What pained me then and still does now is that we were leaving out some details that made us seem dismissive of others—my father, my grandparents, my brother. 

            But something happened last night that illustrates something else about the layers of truth, so I’m going to leave the reflections on the obituary for a day and write about my own death last night.

            I didn’t stand up when I was asked to do my part in the honoring of a retiring colleague I adore.  I just sat there in the corner of the sofa, where I’d been sitting, and spoke almost exclusively to her as she sat just a few feet away.

            As a teacher, I almost never sit down.  It just isn’t possible to manage a classroom (monitor group work, check the progress of a written exercise, etc) or to present a lesson without standing up.

            Besides that, other teachers had already spoken, and all of them had stood.  One teacher, praising the student assistants in the ESL support lab, had joked about having note cards because he asks his students to use them in his public speaking class,  and I identified with that.  I too had tried to put to use what I was teaching so I wouldn’t appear to be the slowest, most inattentive learner when I taught that class.

            Just two days earlier, when a student had come to my office to practice her presentation, I had asked her to stand because “we get a different feeling when we’re standing, and we always stand when we give a presentation.”  

            Still, I stayed seated.

            I could now say that I remembered The King and I, which showed that no one’s head should be above that of the king, and our retiring colleague was royalty.  Maybe there really was some truth in this.  Maybe I wanted all the attention to be on her, not on me.

            But that’s only a layer of the truth.

            Here’s another layer.  I woke up yesterday morning feeling very sad and somehow doomed.  This was in great contrast to how I had felt the day before when my mood had been exuberant and I’d felt confident and sure as I went through the day, which proved to be one in which nothing could go wrong and nothing did.  I had no reason to feel sad yesterday.  I had been looking forward not to my friend’s retirement but to the gathering honoring her.  I’d felt good about the tributes I was putting in an album for her, and I thought the new words to a song I’d written—also using a verse another teacher suggested—was fun.  The day didn’t go badly, but I felt small and doomed and as if nothing I could do would be good enough, and even though I hate to use the cliché about the self-fulfilling prophesy (which is really the self-fulfilled personal prophesy), I think I felt so diminished that I could only diminish myself further, making myself smaller, almost disappearing.

            I left what had really been a wonderful gathering feeling small, and it was only this morning, the morning after, that it dawned on me that I hadn’t stood up.  I could have made a real presentation.  I could have explained the song and shown the pages the way I would in a classroom and still made her, not me, the center of attention.  But I used my time instead to do a disappearing act, diminishing myself but also diminishing the tribute to her!  I hadn’t even stood up.  And the idea that I didn’t want my head to be higher than hers is only one layer of the truth.

            This morning I read two articles about suicide in the newspaper.  One article, which was really about an exhibit featuring an essay, said that a million people die by suicide annually with a 60 percent increase worldwide in the last 45 years.  The other article was in the Health section with the headline “Suicide rates rise sharply among Baby Boomers.”  I  wrote in the reading journal I’ve been neglecting, “There are so many ways of doing yourself in.  You don’t have to commit suicide.  You can make yourself so small you almost disappear.  Turn your lights to dim when everyone else is shining brightly, almost blinding you with their bright lights. Stay seated when everyone else is standing commanding attention, being a star.”

Final Draft of the Obituary before the Mourning for All that Was Left Out

v

The Inadequacies of Obituaries  

            Never mind that the cost of running Mom’s obituary twice was the same as the cost of six round-trip plane tickets for her grandchildren and great grandchildren traveling three thousand miles from the east coast to attend her memorial.  I have another frustration with obituaries.  They have to leave far too much out. 

            Here’s what I submitted after editing by Kathy, Suzy, and Jonathan:

Nadine Martin Oct. 25, 1921 - Oct. 12, 2011

In loving memory of Nadine Martin, Mom, Nani, Nay, of Pleasant Hill, born in Kansas City, Missouri, on October 25, 1921, named Natalie Virginia Stephens and renamed Nadine Virginia Robison by her adoptive parents Perry and Lela Robison, who moved to Oklahoma and then to California, where she attended school and studied piano and ballet. An honor student, she started UCLA at the age of sixteen, also attended UC Berkeley, and later left college to marry Elmore Martin, type his dissertation, and start a family. They lived in California, Idaho, Iowa, South Carolina, and Kansas. In South Carolina, she continued her education through correspondence courses at the University of South Carolina, and the year they lived in Hays, Kansas, she graduated with honors from Fort Hays State College with a degree in English. She and her family then moved to Pleasant Hill, California, where after twenty-five years of marriage and five children, she and her husband divorced. She worked as a counselor at the children's shelter in Contra Costa County, where she met Kathy Loss, who became her partner and companion of more than forty years. She also worked as a probation officer for Alameda County, where she was praised for her beautifully written court reports. She and Kathy traveled extensively in foreign lands and the US. She always had the motto, "If you want to do something or go someplace, do it now--don't wait." In her sixties, she discovered that her birth mother had five other children, four of whom she then met for the first time. She retired after about twenty years and learned to use the Internet at the age of seventy-two so that she could do volunteer work at the Mount Diablo Peace and Justice Center. She was still tap dancing and rollerblading in her seventies, when she and her grandson Jonathan formed the Jonani Duo, giving concerts at family birthday celebrations, with her on the piano and him on the clarinet. In her eighties she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's and in March 2011 she moved to Aegis Living of Pleasant Hill, where she continued playing the piano for her enjoyment and that of other residents and staff. She will be remembered for her warmth and wit, joie de vivre, social activism, and the inspiration she provided to those who knew her. She loved gardening, reading, playing tennis and Scrabble, doing crossword puzzles, bicycle riding, and contemplating cloud formations. Her children remember her handiwork in making their clothes, costumes, formals, and even the afghan covering her at the time of her death on October 12, 2011, at the age of 89. They are grateful for her introducing them to show tunes, Tom Lehrer, Nichols and May, a love of nature, a lively exploration of ideas, and a compassionate inquisitiveness about the world. They are also grateful to all who cared for her, including Aegis staff, John Muir staff, and loved ones who were always there, in particular her partner Kathy. She was predeceased by her daughter M'Lissa Martin Jones, who died in 1994, and siblings Jasper Culley and Margaret, Bill, and Nadine Langan. She is survived by her partner Kathy Loss, her sister Virginia Langan Real, her children Dana Martin Langner and Tina, David and Susan Martin, grandchildren Rebecca Jones Carlisle, Jamie Jones Markel, Megan Jones, Erik and Karl Langner and Jonathan Martin Wills, her great-grandchildren Samantha and Alison Markel and Emily Carlisle, and dog Samson. There will be a memorial gathering for Nadine's close friends and family. Please call Kathy L xxx at xxx for further information. Donations in memory of Nadine can be made to the Alzheimer's Association or to the Mount Diablo Peace and Justice Center. 

            “I never explained the reason that I identified Mom’s parents as her adoptive parents,” I told my son Jonathan. 

            Jonathan was in San Francisco, his third time this year.  He was going through clarinet pieces to choose what he’d play at the first of Mom’s memorials.  We were having one for people who knew her and one for my friends, most of whom didn’t know her but who care because they care about me.

            “I hate it when people imply that adoptive parents aren’t the real ones.”

            “Yeah.  The blood is thicker than water thing.”

            “Try drinking blood when you’re thirsty.”  I said. 

            But this wasn’t the time to go off on a tangent about water as blue gold and the percentage of people in the world who didn’t have access to clean water, though that was something Mom would have worried about.

            “I specified adoptive because I needed to identify the other family I found for her back in the early eighties.”

            “Yes, someday you’ll have to tell me more about that,” Jonathan said.

            Jonathan was tactful.  He was saying “someday” to indicate that this was not the time, to guard against my tangents.

            Just beyond where Jonathan was at his stand in the middle of the living room I could see the white trunk I still had there in the nook.

            “And I kill off your Daddyman awfully fast.”

            Daddyman was the name that Jonathan at the age of three gave my father, a man he didn’t remember having met before.  He heard me calling him “Daddy” and started referring to him as “Daddyman.”

            A moment tomorrow for him.

Draft One of Mom's Obituary

                In loving memory of Nadine Martin, Mom, Nani, Nay, of Pleasant Hill, born  in Kansas City Missouri  on October 25, 1921, named Natalie Virginia Stephens and renamed Nadine Virginia Robison by her adoptive parents Perry and Lela Robison, who moved to Oklahoma and then to California, where she attended school and studied piano and ballet.

                An honor student, she started UCLA at the age of sixteen, also attended U.C. Berkeley,  and later dropped out of college to marry Elmore Martin,  type his dissertation, and have five children.  When they moved to South Carolina, she continued her education through correspondence courses at the University of South Carolina,  and the year they lived in Hayes Kansas, she graduated with honors  from Fort Hayes Kansas State College with a degree in English.  She and her family then moved to Pleasant Hill, California. 

                After twenty-five years of marriage, she was divorced.  She worked as a counselor at the Children’s Shelter in Contra Costa County, where she met Kathy Loss, who became her partner and companion for forty years.  She also worked as a Probation Office for Alameda County, where she got praise for her beautifully written court reports.  She retired after about twenty years and learned to use the Internet at the age of seventy-two so that she could do volunteer work at Mount Diablo Valley Peace and Justice Center.    

                In her sixties, she discovered that her birth mother  had five other children, four of whom she then met for the first time. 

                She was still tap dancing and roller blading in her seventies, and she and Kathy traveled together to Canada, Europe, Scandinavia, and Russia, bicycled across the Netherlands, visited her daughter Tina in Algeria, took cruises to Mexico and Hawaii, went camping across the northern part of the United States to find the perfect apple pie.  She was such a francophone that she had "La Marseillaise" as a doorbell chime, and her favorite trip abroad was probably one to see the Impressionist exhibit in Paris.  She also made trips to see her daughters Dana and M’Lissa and their children and to visit her daughter Susan in Texas.

               In her seventies, she and her grandson Jonathan formed the Jo-Nani Duo, giving ten-minute family concerts twice a year, with her on the piano, him on the clarinet. 

                In her eighties she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and in late March she moved to Aegis, where she played the piano for other residents and staff, sometimes believing that she was employed there.  She often spoke of her love for her son David and was looking forward to his visit on her ninetieth birthday  October 25.   

                Her daughter M’Lissa Martin Jones died in 1994.  She is survived by her partner Kathy Loss, her son David, daughters Dana, Tina, and Susan.  Her daughter M’Lissa Martin Jones died in 1994.   She is also survived by granddaughters Rebecca Jones Carlisle, Jamie Jones Markel, Megan Jones and grandsons Erik and Karl Langner and Jonathan Martin Wills, her  great-granchildren Samantha and Alison Markel and Emily Carlisle, and dog Sammy.

                She loved gardening, reading, playing tennis and Scrabble, doing crossword puzzles, and  bicycle riding.   Her children remember her handiwork in making their clothes, costumes, formals, and even the afghan covering her at the time of her death on October 12, 2011.  She will be remembered for her warmth and wit, social activism, and the inspiration she provided for those who knew her. 

There will be a memorial gathering for Nadine’s close friends and family.  Please call Kathy Loss at 925 935-5259 for further information. 

Donations in memory of Nadine can be made  to Alzheimer’s Association or  to the Mt. Diablo Peace and Justice Center. 

Final Messages after Mom's Death Was Finally Acknowledged

Wednesday, October 12, 2011 9:05 a.m.

            Mom’s passing (which seems like the right word rather than a euphemism) was between 12:45 and 1:15 this morning after her death, which was probably on Saturday.  I’ve e-mailed Jeff and Dennis about my reason for not being in class today, I’ve talked to Karl, and called and e-mailed Becky with a cc to Jamie.  Suzy asked me that I write to tell her about the hours after she left, which I’ll do now.  Then I’ll start the obituary. 

(to my son)

 

Dear Jonathan,

                I hesitated to call you at 1:15 a.m., when it was official.  But your Nani stopped breathing at about 12:45 and the nurse considered it “official” at 1:15.  She really never regained consciousness after Saturday evening as far as we know, but it was good to see her calm, without all the tubes, the last 10 hours we were with her.

                We’ll talk more about how much we love her later!

                Love,

                Mom

 (to my older sister)

Dear Dana,

                Mom stopped breathing around 12:45 this morning.  I really don’t think she ever regained consciousness after Saturday, but it was good to see her calm, without all the tubes, the last 10 hours we were with her.

                I hope you can be here for the memorial service, which we’ll probably have the weekend we were planning to have her 90^th birthday celebration.

                Love,

                Tina

(to Mom's partner of 40 years)

 

Dear Kathy,

                I’m going to cut classes and think about Mom and you, contact Becky and the others, and begin the obituary.  I’ll tell family that we think the memorial will be Saturday, October 22 or Sunday, October 23.

                But what I really want to say is I’ll say in a hand-written note—maybe one on a Morning Glory card.  You’ve been wonderful—the kind of partner Mom deserved!

                Love,

                Tina

 (to my teacher of Comparative Religions)

Dear Jeff,       

            I see that I've been sending messages to the wrong e-mail.  What an inattentive student I am not to have paid closer attention to your first-day handout!

            Anyway, I won't be in class today because my mother died this morning after an accident that occurred just a couple of hours after my last (misdirected) message to you.  She never regained consciousness at John Muir Hospital, where she was given Hyperthermia Treatment.  (I'm giving you these details because I know you have an eighty-year-old father, and these details may matter some day.  We were just two weeks from my mother's 90th birthday celebration.)  In keeping with her wishes (wisely expressed in an Advance Care Health Directive), we had a meeting with the Palliative Care Committee and took out all the tubes so we could be with her and imagine that she had a peaceful passing. 

            I'm staying home today to think about her, contact family members, and begin the obituary.  I'll probably be in class on Friday.

            Tina

PS  I'm sorry for leaving the first exclamation point, but the sentence begins with an exclamatory word! 

(to my teacher of Western Civilization)

 

Dear Dennis,

                Last Saturday my mother—just two weeks before her 90^th birthday celebration—choked on something and was taken to John Muir Hospital, where she never regained consciousness.

  Yesterday we had a meeting with Palliative Care and withdrew her from all the tubes, as was Mom’s wish expressed in an Advance Health Care Directive.  I was with her early this morning at the time of her passing—a word that seems truer and less euphemistic here than it sometimes does!

                Anyway, I’m going to stay home to contact family members and begin her obituary.  Like your mother (who I’m glad is doing well), my mother was a remarkable person, so even though I’m sorry to miss your class and Jeff’s, I like the hours reflecting on her.

                Tina 

(To the oldest daughter of my sister Missy, who died in 1995)

Dear Becky,

                I called you this morning and left a message, but since I’m not 100% sure that you still get messages at that number (931) 242-0242, I’ll try this way, too.

                Please call me so I can speak to you in person.  Even though I hate telephones, I love you and your sisters!

                Love,

                Tina

It’s 10:04, and I just got the message off to Suzy after talking to Becky on the phone.

(to my younger sister)

 

Dear Suzy,

            I’m glad we had the chance to be together during these past few days.  I’m grateful for your mentioning W;t, which seems so relevant—not in terms of Vivian Bearing’s personality, totally different from Mom’s, but just because it dealt with death and DNR/No Code!-- and it was good to have Mom in such a great hospital—“Divine Intervention,” as Kathy suggested.  I’ve been thinking that when we were talking to Cindy of Pastoral Care and naming the hymns that Mom knew (and she and Nan would sing on road trips with Kathy!), it was kind of like telling jokes by numbers and laughing at the funny ones.  Each time we named a hymn, it was like singing it.  I also liked the little lullaby chimes that came through from mothers who’d just given birth as we were facing Mom’s ordeal, which might have ended for her on Saturday night.  Just the same, I think the word “passing” is appropriate rather than euphemistic for what happened with her this morning.  I’m glad we all got to see her with the tubes removed even though she didn’t look like Mom to me then, either. 

            So, let’s see.  Were you there when the RN Elaine came by?  Maybe not because I think you left around 6:00, and Holly left at 7:00.  Elaine was the next nurse, and she was wearing a mask because of allergies.  She started upping the dosages of morphine. Then another hospitalist, Lavinia Herbei, came by and was maybe a bit more frank than the nurses could ever be.  Maybe this is true of the hospitalists in general.  They’re doctors, of course, and that gives them the authority.  But just as Dr. Gitter was the first to say, “It’s sad, but…” this hospitalist Dr. Herbei said, “You made a tough choice, but I think you made the right choice” or something like that.    I don’t think we felt so conflicted about that, taking her off of artificial life-support when she wasn’t really alive in any meaningful way.  

            Mom’s breathing slowed down and came to a complete stop around 12:45 a.m., and Kathy and I spoke to her and RN Elaine checked her heart and said it was still beating, so she didn’t turn off the machines delivering the morphine until 1:15.  Then I called you, said a final good-bye to Mom just in case she was within hearing distance, hugged Kathy, and came back to San Francisco.  I e-mailed Jonathan and Dana with a cc to Karl and Erik. 

            I talked to Karl this morning, and I left a message for Dana, who had left a message on my phone.  Apparently she thought there had been some change before our meeting with the palliative care committee, but I think that was cleared up when she spoke to you after leaving the message.   I also talked with Becky this morning, and she in turn will talk to Jamie and Megan.  Kathy says Mom has enough money to pay for their flights out here.

            I’m going to begin the obituary now, and I’ll show it to you and Kathy as soon as it’s in rough draft form.

            Love,

            Tina