This story is not just about a fine meal and good company. It is the story of a conversation that occurred during a dinner party at my son’s home. I was seated next to Carol whose mother had died recently. I met the mother some years ago and remembered her as very pleasant but somewhat opinionated.

The dinner table conversation turned to Carol’s mother’s illness, treatment, time, and place of her death at ninety-four. That seems like a ripe old age to depart, reminiscent  of  my  own  mother’s  experience.  She  died  at ninety-three, and I have long been convinced that she died from sheer boredom when she became bereft of friends with whom to argue politics. What constitutes a ripe old age is, after all, a matter of perspective. So is an individual’s response to death. Carol clearly needed to talk about her reaction to her mother’s passing.

…my mother… is gone, and I don’t know how to act like a bereaved person. My mother was very smart and well informed, but for some reason, we just didn’t get along. To make matters worse, my dear husband got along with her just fine. So now she is gone, and I still don’t know how I should feel or act. I am sorry that she has died, but my life will be much more peaceful now. For the life of me I can’t figure out what I am supposed to do. Should I look sad and tell endless stories about how I miss her and about what a loving mother she was, or should I just be myself and say nothing? I have run into people who tell me that I was so lucky to have had such a wonderful mother for so long. What are people trying to tell me?

My son appeared in timely fashion to freshen our wine glasses, so I had a brief moment to think. I guessed that Carol was listening to how others thought she should react to the death of her mother instead of grieving in her own way. We talked about the care that she had given her mother. We agreed that providing care was sometimes difficult and that there were times when the care was not appreciated, at least not in the way one might expect. I suggested that her friends, in talking about her mother, were simply acknowledging the care that her mother received from Carol. Finally, I gathered my thoughts sufficiently to address the essential issue.

Your friends at this table knew your mother. They understand that she was a bit trying at times, but frankly, she had spirit, and we all liked that fact. I don’t think anybody is trying to tell you how to act. In fact, if they did, you wouldn’t let them get away with it. I remember your mother as a very elderly feisty lady who spoke her mind. Sure, at times she was difficult, but that was who she was. You are you, and how you grieve for your mother belongs to you alone. There is neither a right nor a wrong way to grieve, and nobody has the right to tell you otherwise.

My son and the wine appeared once again in timely fashion. We toasted Carol’s mother, and our conversation trailed off into the ether of laughter and other stories evoked by shared memory.