Wordle Conversation

So, this morning the Wordle solution was MANLY (I can say this here because no one reads this blog in any timely way).  For the last year I have been texting back and forth with a friend, sharing our Wordle triumphs and failures, and sometimes the words spark a brief conversation -- like the time when the solution was suddenly topical in the news, and possibly politically questionable (can't remember any of the details), something to do with the abortion rulings.

Anyway, this friend says, "Are we allowed to use that word anymore?"

Here is this morning's text exchange:

Me: "I absolutely know some upright honorable sweet manly men. You are one. Jon is another. Michael L. is another. There are obviously characteristics that come with being male, not necessarily having to do with brawn.  And I think it is quite possible that pride and stubbornness are part of the manly list."

Him: "That's a nice way to think about it. It doesn't have to be the same as macho."

Me:"Oh no. Not in my mind. There was an 80-something worker named Dick (who is on my mind because he just died) and he was a manly man. The kindest, with such integrity."

"Him: Who's stubborn?"

Me: "Do you know any men who are not stubborn? Every single man I know is prideful and stubborn in some way! Still lovable but in my estimation it is definitely a man thing. And that's why there are plumbers in the world. Mostly men."

Him: "In the case of plumbing, you need to be stubborn to get it fixed most of the time. Jon is exhibit A in that case."

Me: "This is why manly is not a bad characteristic in my mind."

Him: "You've convinced me."

But I have to admit that I have never really thought about this word or how it is used in normal society. It is probably true that the progressive half of this country might have a different definition from the retrogressive half (is that how we describe the two perspectives?).  The retrogressive people might have a whole different vision of manliness, and it is part of the perpetuation of what has been wrong with human culture since the beginning of time.

I guess if we want to keep using that word -- which I am not sure we really do -- we will need to redefine it. I just looked it up and it has to do with virility, strength, ability to fight. This may be why so many people are finding a new way to express their gender. Who wants to be part of those assumptions?

At the risk of really stepping into a polticially incorrect puddle, I think that the assumptions that people make about what it means to be a woman are a part of the reason that many more are finding that they don't identify as women.  But I think the concept of womanliness is also incorrect, obviously. It is outdated and far too narrow.  I understand that my view is a primitive and un-nuanced view of the current gender situation, but I really can't comprehend why anyone would not want to be a woman. We just need to change what we think it means to be a woman.

Non-binary life seems interesting but fraught. We will see what Wordle does with that.

We Are Never Ready, But We Are Always Ready

In the deep middle of the night, or early Sunday morning, my friend Roz turned to me and said, "are you going to write about this on your blog?"  I hadn't thought about that yet, but I said, "if I am allowed." She gave me permission, which is good, because I would have had a hard time not writing about the events of recent days.

We were sitting together in a crowded, darkened room, truly in the middle of the night, with her husband Ted asleep in the bed right next to us.  A few hours before, he had been transferred to his own room, in hospice care. He was on a 22 hour dose of morphine, and he was settled and comfortable, breathing slowly, without too much bad gurgling or wheezing.

Roz had been imagining this scenario for months and years, as Ted had been gradually declining, falling, going to rehab, falling again, more rehab, but always on a downward trajectory. She said it was like death by a thousand cuts. It was so hard to watch and be part of, and she supported him every step of the way. It was really sad and hard. 

So there we were, all of a sudden, but not all of a sudden. I just happened to be the one who was there, by some amount of chance, but I was honored to be allowed to be there, watching over both of them. I had taken over from Nancy who had been there all afternoon and evening until 1 AM when we switched off.  Roz and I talked quietly all night long. Her brain was too alert to allow her to rest, and she felt compelled to be present for Ted anyway. 

From past experience, we both knew what was going to happen, and we were both totally at peace with all of it. I knew, and so did she, that we would be on a fast-moving roller coaster as soon as Ted took his last breath. We stayed completely in the moment, not thinking about what would be unleashed later.  We timed his breaths, just because, and he was pretty steady at about 7 breaths per minute.  Around 5:30 or so, the quality of his breathing changed, and I gripped Roz's knee. She was holding his hand and looking intently into his face, telling him to rest, just rest, everything is okay.  His breaths became not real breaths, just a brief inhale and a non-existent exhale. This happened for a minute or more and then he just stopped breathing. There was no drama and no death rattle. He was gone. Poof.

For about half an hour we just sat there, and people came in to verify that he was really gone. Roz started to make phone calls, even though it was about 6:00 on a Sunday morning. Her brain was really in overdrive by now, and she started to make lists in her mind. She said to him, "Teddy, you left me such a mess."  But it wasn't true. There was no mess.

As we all know so well, this is where Judaism really matters. It helps so, so much. We know what to do, all of us. We know where to be, how to be, what to do. We do it. But Roz has an additional layer of protection and help, in addition to the Jewish one. She has friends who also know what to do, and how to do it, because we have been friends for a long time and we are also incredibly capable people. 

Capable people have a magnetic field -- we like to do things together, whether it is book club or building cohousing (that's not Roz, that's me/us) or running a business or keeping a family actively connected (that's my sister).  We are naturally inclined to get stuff done and that is what we do. It is a gift and we share it with joy.

Anyway, there were lots of tasks and they got divided up easily and quickly. The plan unfolded organically and kept on going. I had to leave the scene at 8:00 to go set up the CSA, so I left everything in other people's hands. Hannah our doctor friend came to help Roz finish the hospital parts of her day. Nancy who knows much more than she should about death and burial, she got the job of helping Roz figure out the details of coordinating what to do with Ted's body. It took a big part of Sunday.  Nancy was exactly the right person for that job. Roz was really tired by then. Meanwhile, our rabbi was doing what rabbis do, talking to the family, figuring out the funeral details. Jon and I figured out what needed to be done in order to have a meal of condolence after the burial at Blueberry Hill.  He went shopping for the second time in 24 hours (the first time was to get Roz something to eat in the middle of the night) and pulled together a good lunch.  Rebecca boiled eggs and made brownies. We figured out how to minimize the Christmas decorations in the Common House without actually doing too much (Rebecca put a sheet around the tree, it looked pretty funny but it was the thought that counted).

Just before I finally went to bed, I had one niggling feeling that something was not yet finished. Roz had started one half-thought in the night, and we had not remembered to circle  back to it.  But I sent her a text at midnight on Sunday (why would I think she would be awake, but she was): "you said something about this, but I am not supposed to say anything tomorrow, am I?" She texted back, you are speaking.  That was all, no information about who else was speaking. Okay.

On Monday morning, on my way to my annual mammogram (when I scheduled that, it seemed like 8:30 on December 12 would be a very safe and unbusy time), I called Nancy to see what she knew about this speaking assignment. She was surprised that I didn't know since everyone else had known that Ted had made that request. It just never got to me. Okay. More information, but not much.

I dropped a vegetable share at a house in Reston (a homebound CSA customer) and went home to write. 

Meanwhile, Jon had a task of his own, separate from lunch preparation. Roz asked him to be part of a group of men that performed the last mitzvah for Ted -- washing the body before burial. We don't know anyone else who has done this, but our rabbi Michael studied up on it very quickly and he led them through the ritual, hands-on. Jon said it was absolutely real. They took all the bandages and labels and tags off and they washed the body thoroughly. Roz wanted the last hands that touched Ted to be hands that loved him. That is what happened.

The funeral was exactly what Ted would have wanted, I am sure. The choir sang two beautiful psalm songs that we often sing at funerals, and it felt to us that we sounded better than we ever had. It is hard to sing when you would rather be crying, but somehow this time we did it.

I did the first eulogy and the rabbi followed with a really beautiful one that filled in all the details. As he said later, we were a good match. I was brief (thinking about what Ted would have said if I went on for too long) and Michael took the liberty of telling everything else that added meaning and context, telling the story with such love and humor.

Right after Ted died, Roz said (knowing the answer full well): why do Jews have this terrible, tight timeline after a death? It's crazy.

Monday was a great day, really.  We fulfilled all the requirements of burying our loved one, we took care of each other, there was a shiva in the evening and there will be seven in total because as Roz says, I don't understand how seven can end with a three (shiva is seven, but many mourners choose to have one shiva, or two, or maybe three). She is, after all, a rabbi. 

I only told the parts that I know, but there are plenty of other people who have also stepped in to take care of Roz. A dear friend came right up from Richmond and stayed with her for a few days. Her big circle of friends will make sure she has something to eat until she says to stop doing that.

May his memory be a blessing and may we all remember to take care of Roz in the weeks and months and years to come.