The Moments We Break
There are moments that we seem to accept collectively as milestones in western society. We remember what we were doing when they happened, we have had these conversations, “where were you, what were you doing when...”
In each of our lives we also have versions of these moments. Each of us will experience and be shaped by our own personal tragedy. We will remember where we were, what we were doing, the mundanity of the life experience overlaid by sudden tragedy.
For me it is the picture of a cat on the hospital wall I was looking at when at 15 years old my best friend’s brother told me about the cancer that had invaded her perfect dancers body, that would change us all forever. It is the tv program I was watching when eight years later that same brother called me to tell me it was time to come say goodbye. It’s the shape of the dart that was in my hand five years after that when my mother called to tell me my father would also fall victim to that same curse.
In every family we develop our roles. My role was the caretaker, and when the time came, it was the one who makes the hard decisions, who watches and bears witness to our worst moments. By 18 years old I was the one expected to be there when the family pets were put down, as an adult my sister called me to come put her own family dog down. I was the one meeting her at the airport to tell her our father had died while she was in the air, I was the one with him when he said goodbye. I became some sort of shepard to the other side, unwittingly, because someone had to. I often imagine that every family must have a version of me. The one who directs the doctors to give as much pain meds as legal, and possibly more, tells the vets to push the needle in. The one who gives the eulogies.
When my partner called to tell me what the doctor said I was driving my car. I remember the feel of the steering wheel, the song playing on my iphone, the dull grey of the late fall sky. I remember thinking about how to sound normal, how to downplay, asking what I could make for dinner and do to make his night better. I remember thinking this is my job, if he’s not ok, my job is to make it as ok as possible. Did I believe in an interventionist God I would think that this is what I was here to do.
I don’t believe in any God. I do believe in humanity. That will have to be enough this time.