So, my mom is dying. That’s what’s happening, and I see no point in sugar coating it. The cancer in her body is now inoperable, and chemo has tried and failed. She has chosen to move into Hospice because the nurses there are knowledgeable of the particular ins and outs of her healthcare needs, and she doesn’t want my father or me to be her caretakers here at the end of her life. She wants us to just be her family members. So here we are, taking on the weighty spiritual discipline of dying well. And honestly? I think we’re doing a pretty damn good job.
Yesterday Mom had a craving for a lobster roll. So, I went downtown to a restaurant that flies in lobster fresh from Maine, and placed a to go order for one overstuffed lobster roll. On my way back to the car, I passed a small group of men in their twenties who were pretty stoned. They started cat calling me, which I guess is kind of flattering except, as I say, they were pretty stoned. So, I could have been Harvey Weinstein, and they would’ve cat called. One of them (two really, one of them and a wingman) got up and followed me, cat calling me all the way down the street. I ignored him for a few minutes thinking he’d get bored and give up, but he didn’t and I was grouchy.
So brandishing my lobster roll, I turned around to face him. He was tall with long dreadlocks and a creepy tattoo on his eyelid. (OMG! A tattoo on his freaking eyelid!) Side note: How do you get a tattoo on your eyelid without popping your eyeball and having it ooze out of your eye socket? I know not. Anyway, whipping out my best and most withering mom voice, I shook my finger in his face and said, “Look buddy, I am taking a lobster roll to my dying mother! I. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. You!”
Immediately, he shrank and scampered off down the sidewalk followed closely by his wingman. They reminded me of two scared dogs running off with their tails between their legs. My lobster roll and I continued on in peace to the car.
And now I am drunk with power. Forget Ben Affleck, I am the new Batman!
I don’t really know what this story has to do with God, except to say that in all aspects of life, including death, there can be humor and joy. And that is Grace.