I watched the end of The Good Place last night. (Spoiler Alert). I don't know if their version of the actual Good Place compares to the Christian version of heaven. I suspect not so much since it is a lot of fun and games, getting what you want materially.
The people who live there are bored to out of their minds, literally. Their minds turned to mush, and they were no longer happy. Michael, played by Ted Danson, revises the design. People can choose to leave this place. In leaving it, they go to eternal peace, but they also leave their loved ones.
When Eleanor realizes that Chidi wants to leave, she does what she can to remind him of all he had left to learn and enjoy. Chidi says he knows what she is doing and why. She asks him outright not to leave her. He agrees to stay for her sake. Eleanor realizes that she is being selfish. If he is ready to go, she should let him go.
It reminded me of the weeks before he died; I found myself preparing to be alone. In all truth, I have been doing some of that since I accepted him as my life partner.
My dad died when I was fifteen. Those of us with that experience spend the rest of our lives preparing to lose the ones we love. At least, that has been my experience as I run into others who lost their parents as children. We survived the first loss, even though we were unprepared. From then on it, we were never going to be unprepared again.
I certainly didn't want Mike to die. I could be anything I wanted to be and do anything I wanted to do. I know, I know. Those of you who remember what I wrote last year remember that he did stifle me somewhat. He found me a little too loud and raucous, a little too out there. (It reminded him of his mother, who he did not like-with good cause may I add.) I didn't mind the restraint. Even I felt that I needed to learn some, so I benefitted from his need for me to tone down.
I have been wondering why I am not more deeply affected by his loss. To a certain extent, it was just time for him to go. As I write that, it makes me sad. I don't feel overwhelmed by sadness a lot. There are just moments.
Missing Mike feels like missing the very air I breathe. I didn't miss the air in Princeton when I moved to Ohio. I didn't miss the air in Ohio when I moved to Hawaii. (However, I was fully aware of how happy I was to leave the air in Brooklyn for Princeton.) Each move required a change; the chemistry was different. In the case of Mike, the absence of his breath changed the air. His biomass filled my world. It's gone. There has been all that adjustment to make to my new physical world.
I have a tough time remembering what we did. I just know it was easy and good. I was always happy to see Mike. We had the differences that occur between any two human beings, but we were rarely in conflict. I trusted him completely; I was completely comfortable with him. I was joyous with him too. I loved his joy. We both were still excited about life and all the new experiences ahead of us, some we experienced alone, some we shared; all we reported to each other.
Clearing out the library is hard. It's the hardest. The library was so Mike. I tried to talk him out of bringing 3,000 books to Hawaii. Mike would say, "There are only two things that have to go to Hawaii with me: you and the books." When he put it that way, I had no argument. I knew how important I was to him. He often told me.
It looks like I may be facing a bout of grief. I will sit with it, allow it to permeate and pass. We'll see how long this one lasts. It will be what it will be.
Losing Mike has caused some sadness. But it's nothing compared to the sadness I carried before he became part of my life. He helped me heal. When I look at the plus and minus columns, the amount of healing and joy he brought to my life so far outweighs the sorrow I feel now. Comparing the weight of grief I felt most of my life, the grief I feel now is nothing. The only grief Mike ever caused me was in his dying. How lucky am I!!
Unbelievable. This evening my leg was pain-free, and I could power walk. Who expected that?
____-____-_____
Musings:
I learned something new about the definitions of sympathy versus empathy today.
I was tutoring a fifth-grader reading a passage with a monologue by a gorilla. (Don't ask. Too complicated.) The gorilla asks which is better, walking upright or knuckle-walking. He proposes humans try knuckle-walking for an hour and see which is more fun. The answer he expects is implied. Clearly, he prefers knuckle-walking and assumes if humans tried it, they would prefer it too.
The girl suffered from the same problem the gorilla did. She assumed all animals, cats, dogs, and gorillas would prefer walking upright. This student needed an explicit lesson in cognitive empathy. I had to point out that the animal bodies were structured differently than ours. It would be as uncomfortable for them to walk as we do as it would for us to walk as they do. She's a bright child.
She didn't judge the animals negatively. She just projected her feelings onto them. I could see what she was doing as asking, "How would I feel if ____________ happened to me?" It's a way of caring about someone else. (Do unto others as you want others to do unto you.)This child was genuinely expressing the idea that the animals would be better off being like her. Maybe you could even say it's sympathy. It's certainly one approach to relating to others, a strategy. I reminded her that you always have to consider that the other person (animal) comes from different experiences.
On that note: I messed up today with D. I did not understand that his perspective was different from mine. There was a passage where a kitten was tossed into a mailbox (for its own protection). The mailman came along a few minutes later and opened the metal mailbox, and released the kitten. I had a devil of a time getting D. on the same page I was. I finally decided to draw it, but instead, he did.
Oh!! His drawing was different from mine. He knew about the big blue boxes, but he had only seen one once or twice in his young life. His picture was of those mailboxes they put up in apartments or condo units. They are different structures. Picturing what happened would be very difficult with that image in mind. I never pursued clarity about his image until the end. This was my failing. I was the adult and the teacher. It was my job to see the problem. I apologized.
No comments:
Post a Comment