Sue Clement Cohen
September 25, 1943 - July 8, 2012
Years ago, while training to become a hospice volunteer, my mother completed a worksheet on which participants were asked to imagine their own obituaries, complete with age at death, cause of death, and information about memorial plans and survivors. One line above all stays with me. She wrote, "The cause of death was having been born."
My mother never objected to death, neither in general nor - this seems rarer - in the particular. She also did not object to cancer. She did not hate cancer, did not feel especially blighted by it, bitter about it, unfairly stricken. Her orientation to cancer did not include war metaphors; she was not "battling" disease or "fighting" illness, never spoke of "beating" it or "winning" against it. In fact she was clear and unapologetic about articulating the inaccuracy of those phrases, their inability to describe her own experience. For her, cancer was not a zero-sum game.
This is not to say she wished for or welcomed it. This is not to say she liked it. This is not to say there was anything passive about her relationship to cancer, or to death, or to life.
She spoke of "living into" the experience of cancer and in this way treated it no differently than she had every other experience she ever encountered: living into each with fullness, presentness, a spirit of adventure and ceaseless curiosity. She regarded cancer as kind of teacher, and in doing so taught those of us around her it was possible to regard it this way. She regarded it as yet another in a boundless stream of opportunities to grow, and so helped us grow from it, too.
I do a terrible disservice if I give the impression of sanguinity, complacency, beatification - she possessed none of these qualities. She lived not a state of certainty and accomplishment but in a state of radiant struggle. She was at her best when challenged, when at work.
All her life she loved, almost above anything else, snow. I think of the Rilke quote, "To love is good, too; love being difficult." Only now does it strike me, and not speculatively but with strange and sudden surety: her love of snow was inseparable from snow's being difficult too.
27 comments:
Even those of us who were not around her got to learn from her -- through you. Thank you.
An inspiring way to live a life.
So sorry for your loss. May you take comfort from your memories of her.
This is really beautiful.
Leah, Your words in honor of Sue (and life and death and snow) are so exactly...the words. Thinking of you all
Leah, this is so beautiful. We are all of us at Riverhead thinking of you and your family. Love, Sarah
My mother was short-tempered, irascible,quick to take offense, and took a stubborn Irish pride in holding onto slights and hurts, neither forgiving nor forgetting. But on her deathbed (and I use that old-fashioned word deliberately, in its old-fashioned sense, for it was the bed she was born in, the bed her mother died and was born in, and the bed her grandmother died and was born in, and the bed her great-grandmother was born in) she addressed outlying family members who had come to pay their final respects with a courtly and diplomatic grace I hadn't suspected her capable of. Some of them were people she neither particularly liked nor respected; one or two were people she actively disliked and held in contempt, yet each one, individually, was treated with grace and humility and dignity. She asked each for forgiveness for sins she had not committed, dismissing apologies to her as being unecessary and not worth the bother of mention. She absolved pettiness and ugliness and mingy jealousy, some of which had continued right up to that last moment and some of which was gleefully resumed after her death, and she did it all with love and compassion. Death brought out a kind of greatness in her I have tried - mostly unsuccessfully - to emulate. Your mother, through your blogs, set an example of grace and humor I would also hope to emulate. I'm glad you wrote about her and I hope you continue to do so. To use a catch-all Irish phrase, I'm sorry for your troubles.
Jameson Parker
Let's hear it for snow as a shoveled object - requiescat in pace
Thank you for writing this, Leah, especially at such a time. My heart is hurting for you and your family. I loved what you wrote, though, and I loved the picture and metaphor. Have been thinking of you all since yesterday. Sending you love,
Kate
Read your post because I am a friend of Kate's and a fan of your work for many years. The photo is so beautiful and it reminded me of a favorite quote of mine by poet Barry Meyer - "Time does not pass when snow is falling." The picture of your mom has that quality of timelessness - it captures a moment of normalcy which are the moments most missed. So sorry for your loss.
For your loss, I am so sorry...
For finding this blog, of all days, today--a day after your mother's death, I am grateful beyond belief. Your words offer a picture of an amazing woman who took an incredible journey. I am looking forward to starting at the beginning to get to know her and you better.
My mom also had ovarion cancer, and decided she was done 7 months ago. She too, never talked of a cancer battle, or fighting cancer. In fact, when asked how she was doing in regards to the cancer, she answered, "Oh, I just have a little cancer". She continued her vibrant and busy life up until age 88, complete with running two book clubs and reading every page of the NY Times and New Yorker Magazine each week. As an avid reader, I am sure she was aware of you.
When I feel her still stunning absence, I am comforted by the quote, (ascribed to several people) "Death ends a life, not a relationship." There is no doubt that my relationship with my mother grows, morphs and is more intimate everyday. It is a huge gift. I wish that for you.
As a hospice volunteer myself, and a trainer for volunteers and caregivers, my mom and I could talk about death openly, lovingly and with lots of humor. Still, nothing prepared me for the silence, except to break it with a conversation of a different kind.
My thoughts are with you.
Patty Burgess-Brecht
TeachingTransitions.com
I came to read this through a friend's facebook page. You are a beautiful writer, and this was a pleasure to read. Thank you.
Thank you for sharing so much about her beautiful life and death with us all.
Leah, I'm so sorry for your loss. But thank you for sharing this--it's a beautiful essay, and your mom sounds absolutely wonderful. (I came here because of Nikki's Facebook link to your post, and I'm so glad to have found you--I look forward to reading more of your writing.)
Leah,
Thank you for sharing this with us. From varying proximities to Sue and her wonderful family, we saw the interdependent elements that informed your Mother's view of life and love. That which we love can be difficult and that which is difficult we can embrace with love.
Sending love and warm embraces to your family.
Andy R.
Snow, snow, snow.
Love, love, love.
I think of her legacy. Three children and ten grandchildren who adored her and in their memories she lives on as the essence of courage and grace.
Terry Hekker
Leah, I'm so sorry to hear of the loss of your mother. Reading about her personal outlook, her modus operandi, if you will, in spite of her death, is very inspiring to us all, no matter what obstacles we face in our lives. Thank you for writing such a beautiful piece. My thoughts are with you during this difficult time.
Leah! ... I'm so sorry to hear of the loss of your mother as well. However, I love how you've written about her and, in particular, about her attitude about life and death and cancer. Her outlook and your writing about it are a gift I will share with other friends of mine whose loved ones have or had cancer. Peace, Robert
Dear Leah,
I am thinking of you and the rest of your family and sending you the strength for this part of it all...Your Mom was such a thoughtful person. And her (and your Dad's) help thru my mom's illness was tremendous. I'll always be grateful for that. I spent a day with both our mothers a couple of years ago, making home made Valentine's cards. It was a good day, creative and calm. I think of it often. Sending you all my thoughts. Love, Allison Katz
Thank you for this blog. I found it when my mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer four years ago. Somehow, reading about your mother's experience has helped me be present for my mother, though they are very different people.
I lost my father two months ago. He lived a very full and vibrant (and long) life, and for that I am grateful. And though he is still with me and very much alive in my heart, my life, my mind, I feel his absence, the space he has left behind, sharply, every day. For everyone it is so personal and unique, this experience of losing the physical presence of a loved parent. I can only say that I wish you comfort, love, support, or whatever you need, as you adjust to your mother being gone from this earth.
Hi I’m Heather! Please email me, I have a question about your blog! LifesABanquet1(at)gmail.com
I'm awfully sorry, Leah.
Leah, I came to your blog a little bit late--reading all about your mother four months after she died. What an admirable woman, and what an admirable job you have done portraying her life. Please dont stop writing on this blog. I for one, would like to know your feelings about coping with the always difficult holiday season knowing that she isnt there. Mary Ann
So now there is snow but not the one who loved it. My favourite aunt planted bulbs in her last autumn of life and did not get to see them bloom. But the sense of hope was sustaining through to the last. I hope you find your way through your grieving to a better place, here on earth, and that others can benefit. I know I became a better doctor through my aunt's illness and death, and that of her husband four years earlier.
An inspiring way to live a life.
Thank you for writing this out.
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