An Open Letter for Those Coping from Overseas
Late last year, I received a phone call from my mom that I had been dreading since I boarded the plane to Rwanda over six months ago. “Your grandmother fell and hit her head.” Later, I learned that my grandmother has been having continual strokes since, and she is now a candidate for hospice, a service to make the last stage of life more comfortable for patients and their families.
When I left the U.S. to work abroad, I knew how challenging it would be to leave family, to miss my cousin’s wedding and the births of two new cousins. I knew, and yet how can you really prepare for the devastating gravity of loss of someone who hasn’t actually passed, but who is fundamentally different from the person you know and love?
Dealing with this sorrow abroad has been painful, and at times lonely. It is challenging to show up emotionally for your family when you aren’t physically there to give them hugs and convince them to go for a midnight frozen yogurt run, free samples and all, for no other reason than self-care. I also battle with the guilt of seeing my grandmother when she was still her vibrant, outspoken self. I have not had to watch the painful deterioration of her essence. And now, I am at war with the toughest moral quandary of all — at what point do I return home? To sit with her, beside my mom in her waning days? Or to honor her memory once she is at peace?
There is no right answer to these harsh life realities. I am sure I am not the only expat who has had to cope with such loss or who has had to battle being present in their current workplace while their heart is elsewhere. A word for those who want to show up for the people in their lives and for those who are oceans away: You are doing the best you can.
It is in these times that I need to consciously remind myself to reach out to my support system. I also find solace in writing poetry. Below is a poem I have written for my mother. I don’t know how these words will affect you, dear reader, but if you are coping with loss you are not alone.
To my mother, who will lose her mother
Perhaps you already lost her when she fell,
Her speech slurred, temper inflamed,
Her spirit as volatile as the ocean waves, wielding at an unpredictable fancy
The emotion undertows — sucking you in and draining your hope
And your patience
Are you scared? To live in a world without your mother
The purveyor of advice,
The one you look to for acceptance, to tell you: You have arrived. You are enough
The one whose insults hit the deepest burrows of your soul.
Whose political candor could ignite a tidal wave of laughter.
Whose loyalty is as steadfast as time
To my mother who sees herself in her mother
She will still be there, long after she is gone
She has built a home in her daughters and granddaughters —
In our fire for equality, our commitment to family, our yearning for connection
We look in the mirror and gaze at a reflection of her stubbornness,
Her Judaic traditions,
Boundless books,
Unapologetic love of sweets
And strangers’ stories
To my mother, who is losing her mother,
You will have a daughter to mourn with, to grieve with, to fight with, to laugh with,
To pass down the mistakes,
The nostalgia,
The history,
The values to
And to my beloved, feisty grandmother,
Who lost your mother before her time
Thank you for going on.
For forging a path amidst the suffocating sadness, the overwhelming uncertainty
Thank you for championing women’s rights,
Thank you for being a safe haven for friends to confide in,
Thank you for sharing your stories over Scrabble and matzah ball soup
Thank you for showing up for us —
Through the weddings, the therapies, the holidays, the graduations,
Even for the Vagina Monologues.
Always fearlessly honest, always open.
Grandma, thank you for having my mom and raising her to be the courageously vulnerable woman she is.
We have been lucky to love you.
