Tuesdays with Morrie (part 1)

I am reading Tuesdays with Morrie, written by Mitch Albom. It was published by Doubleday in 1997. I focused on chapter two: The Syllabus. 

Morrie was an exciting and thoughtful sociology professor who didn't seem to have much self consciousness about displaying his true self to others. His body began to break down and he gradually realized that it wasn't simply old age. He allowed doctors to perform series of tests, which led to the diagnosis of Lou Gherig's disease; a debilitating neurological condition. Morrie was no longer able to live a normal life, and it became neccesary for him hire helpers to assist him in all aspects of his life. However, even as his body deteriorated, Morrie did not allow shame about his illness to limit him. Instead, he chose to speak openly about his illness and his impending death.

Mitch, the author of Tuesdays with Morrie, lost touch with the relationships he had formed during college, including his relationship with his professor and close friend, Morrie. After his college graduation, Mitch set his mind on chasing his dreams of becoming a musician, but when his uncle became fatally ill, and Mitch witnessed the death, the pathways of his life took a sharp turn. He dove into a world of constant movement, becoming a columnist, he focused all of his attention on his work and things that before had not mattered. 

Morrie's conscious decision to allow people to learn from his death, along with him, interested many, and he was interviewed on television. Upon learning of Morrie's illness, Mitch reached out to Morrie and began to pay him visits on Tuesdays.

Whereas many people fear death, Morrie decided to confront his illness for exactly what it was and to make his impending death the subject of his last class. It is his resignation and courageous openness about his own deterioration that makes Tuesdays with Morrie an invaluable lesson about mortality. 

"Do I wither up and disappear, or do I make the best of my time left? he had asked himself. 

He would not wither. He would not be ashamed of dying. Instead, he would make death his final project, the center point of his days... Study with me in my slow and patient demise. Watch what happens to me. learn with me." (page 10) When I first read this, I imagined myself thinking something similar to Morrie's thoughts (when my time comes). I then re-imagined myself not being able to allow somebody to study my own death. I realized then that my first reaction of wanting to follow Morrie's footsteps were because I appreciated his confrontation and his attempt at normalcy with death. Morrie decided to allow people to learn from his narration of his own death because he wanted people to be able to reflect on themselves and to learn from his experiences. Having been an educator for most of his life, he was able to think critically and reflect on the pathways that his illness would take to his death. He did so through open introspection, and in a manner that many people would be fearful to undertake. 

"And on a cold Sunday afternoon, he was joined in his home by a small group of friends and family for a 'living funeral.' Each of them spoke and paid tribute to my old professor." (page 12)This piece struck me as powerful because it is clear that Morrie is not afraid to question certain traditions. To change the traditions of funerals can be seen as taboo, but as Morrie approached death himself, he realized that he could do things differently if he pleased to. He felt that funerals were not sensible because the person isn't able to hear what their loved ones have to say about them.

"Morrie was in a wheelchair full-time now, getting used to helpers lifting him like a heavy sack from the chair to the bed and the bed to the chair. He had begun to cough while eating, and chewing was a chore. His legs were dead; he would never walk again. Yet he refused to be depressed. Instead, Morrie had become a lightning rod of ideas. He jotted down his thoughts on yellow pads, envelopes, folders, scrap paper. He wrote bite-sized philosophies about living with death's shadow: 'Accept what you are able to do and what you are not able to do'; 'Learn to forgive yourself and to forgive others'; 'Don't assume that it's too late to get involved.' " (page 18) One of the many reasons why Morrie is seen as an inspiring character is because even in the last days of his life, when his sickness becomes more serious, he sets goals and reflects on the way he wants to live the remainder of his life. One dominant social practice that Morrie consciously chooses to resist is succumbing to feelings of depression as his death drew near.  In the culture that we live in, it is common for people to retire and withdraw as they enter old age and their bodies and minds begin to fail. Morrie refuses to give in even as the illness renders him unable to move and he must rely on others to perform even the most simple and basic tasks.

As I read Tuesdays with Morrie, I asked myself whether or not I would be able to teach a class about my coming death. I felt as though I might be too embarrassed with my condition to allow people to study me while the illness gradually overcomes me.I imagined that this must be a common feeling among those who have fatal illnesses. When my mother was first diagnosed with cancer, my family chose to trust her illness in the hands of the doctors.  Western medicine called for treating lymphoma with chemotherapy; a poison applied to  remove the tumors. After this process, my mother began to lose her hair slowly. She prepared for the hair loss and bought a wig for when she would leave the house, or for when guests would come over. Personally, I thought the wig weirded me out. But I also felt uncomfortable with her hairless scalp. I realize now that not only was there an embarrassment that began to bud inside of her, but at the stage of adolescence that I was in, a similar embarrassment, of having a bald mother, bloomed inside of all my thoughts when we walked publicly. What embarrassed us both was the realization that her baldness made it clear to everyone that she was sick and dying.

Unlike Morrie who spoke openly about his illness and the coming of his death, my mother used the wig as a shield; a way to fit back into the society as society knew her- with long, curly hair that, to me represented her liveliness. Whereas Morrie spoke freely about his death, even appearing on television, my mother drew inward. She rarely saw friends, and spent most of her time drawing, sewing, painting and writing notebook entries. It was as though she was conserving her energy and channeling it into products that we could remember later. She never once shared with me what exactly was going on inside of her body. She closed off the illness inside of herself and didn't allow me to watch what happened to her. She didn't allow me to learn with her. And maybe it was my relationship with her illness and that caused her to keep the mysteries of her impending death to herself. I think that this is a result of a dominant social practice that remains strong at the root of our opinions on illness. We all understand that illness and dying is natural, but we don't want to accept what is happening. And once we see signs that our bodies are deteriorating, we try to hide it as best we can in order to try to maintain the appearance of being "normal", even if we are dying inside.

Comments

To Beatrice: 
"I really liked what your aunt had to say. I agreed with most of her perspectives on allopathy treatment. I really liked the second question that you asked her, which goes into the reasoning behind choices that the dominant discourses make. What I think you could do to better this post is add some of your own insights, and your own perspectives. Otherwise it was really great and interesting to read!"
From Beatrice:
"I really enjoyed reading your blog post because it flowed very nicely and wasn't trying to be something pretentious moreover something genuine and sincere. You outlined your insight well with the beginning being about the dominant discourse versus what your family does differently. Next you wrote about what your brother had to say and added in your own personal insights on top of his and added in your own personal experience about your mothers death (I knew you were a strong lady but I wasn't aware of to the extent, I'm sorry about that). Finally you concluded your post very nicely with your brothers insightful quote, It's important to check in with oneself."

To Ruben:

"I really liked that you showed how your parents developed their ways in caring for the ill and dying, it was a great way to show how you have adopted these ways. However, I do think that your post could use some proof reading and more depth and insight. I love that you've acknowledged that you now "feel bad" and "show respect" to people who die, but I would like to know that you do this because it feels right, or maybe because that's what society tells us to do? I would just like you to go more into depth in this post."


From Ruben:
"I agree with Beatrice. I also wanted to say that I thought it was really cool for you to ask your brother about his thoughts, and still try and find other opinions about illness and dying. You really took the initiative, and I also thought ending the post going back to your brother, was good also. You wanted to make sure that he got what he wanted to say out, and you got what you wanted to hear."

Younger person (Cai Oglesby):

"I really admire you for choosing to write about this. It couldn't have been easy, and you are such a strong person.

Your last sentence stood out to me, about stepping out of your comfort zone. I completely agree with you. That's an interesting thought that you could look deeper into. Why? How does one go about doing that? Just stuff to think about."

Older person (Joaquin Noguera):
"Naima Bambina,

Thank you for selecting me as one of the readers of your blog! :)

This particular topic happens to be one that is of great interest to me. As the interviewee, I enjoyed reading your piece and found it gripping and thought-provoking, with hints of your smug, silly sense of humor smeared throughout each line. ;)

In my favorite line from your blog you apply descriptive language that allows the reader to more clearly envision the subject and the conversation as it develops. You created a slight tone of suspense and offered a quote before presenting the ideas of the subject. Very engaging! I particularly like this point "...After laughing about his runny nose, his facial expression rearranged to a more stern look. "I have witnessed many different illnesses, like the ones I mentioned before."

Nice to read you. And I look forward to the others ;"

Hey Evan,

On the morning that Evan's mother came in to speak about her experiences with death, I did not come to school because I was sick. I do not I like missing school or making excuses.  Since I was not present the only thing that I could do was to be resourceful and read blogs written by other peoples' blogs, to find out what I missed. 

Here are some of the insights that I gained from reading the class blogs: that people have trouble speaking about how those who lose a loved one may feel about death; that people sometimes pity and become uncomfortable when the topic of death comes up; that people like to speak positively about the dead and try to avoid commenting on the negative aspects of a person's life, even if they are truthful; that people don't like to confront the reality of death until it is right upon them; that hospitals are unpleasant places and leave lasting impressions that cloud our memories of those who die. 

The first blog that I read was Evan's. I think his name was the first blog I chose to read because I wanted to understand how he might relate to the death of someone who was close to him.  I also wanted to see how he wrote about his father's death being spoken about in front of his peers. After reading Evan's post, I noticed that I might have responded similarly to a conversation about the death of a parent. Like Evan, every time stories about my mother's death are told, people who have not known her seem to grow uncomfortable. In reaction to their discomfort I've tried to disconnect myself as much as possible from the situation. My face remains serious, and I might look down or away. I've never found pity amusing, but I do appreciate it when someone is interested in discussing my mother's death and how I might have dealt with it.  However, most of the time people change the topic or become quiet.  This is similar to what Evan described in his blog.  People talked about the death of his father without commenting on how Evan might have been feeling.  This is an example of the way people can become disconnected when we speak about death.  At the end of Evans post he spoke about our peers, and how his name didn't show up in their posts. I found this interesting, and I was able to relate to his observation because when people hear that my mother passed away from cancer, they apologize (pity) and then change the topic (disconnect).  I see this as an indication of the way people  deal with death.  They are often unsure of what to say to a person who has experienced a devastating loss.

The next blogpost I read was Casey's (possibly because the words 'good model' have been written next to her name for most of this school year). In this blogpost, I was able to gather a completely different perspective about Evan's fathers death. From Casey's blog, I got the impression that Evan's family liked to think of his father's life in a more positive light, but also understood the reality that Evan's father had flaws too. I thought about this balanced way of looking at a person who died and related it to my mothers death, and other friends and family who have died in recent years.  An insight that I have concluded from funerals and from gatherings where we speak about those who have recently died is that people like to speak highly or positively of the dead and it can be considered taboo to bring up things that might not be seen as flattering, even if they are the truth. For example, if I were speaking to my grandmother (mother's mother) about my mother, and mentioned that sometimes my mother could be stubborn, I think my grandmother might not speak to me for at least a week. Another thing that Casey's blog mentioned was that Evan's family didn't confront the actual death until the last months before it actually happened. I connected this denial to my own experience with my mother's fatal illness. Although we knew her illness was serious it was not until the doctors informed us that there were only a few weeks left that we began to lose hope.  In fact, it was only in the last weeks that I realized, "Oh shit, my mothers about to die". From Casey's blog I realized that the denial I experienced was similar and that it is common for people to avoid accepting the truth.  To accept death in its permanence and in the life changing consequences it invariably creates, is difficult for many people. I connected this tendency to avoid the truth to our book, Tuesdays with Morrie, where the dying protagonists, Morrie wanted to accept the death for what it was, and in this process, decided to have a "living funeral" because he felt that there was more importance to the words said in the ceremony if he were there.
 

The last blogpost that I read was John's, simply because I was interested in his perspectives on Beth's presentation. In Johns introduction to his blogpost, he stated that he agreed with Beth's perspectives on hospitals.  He also said that Beth would rather think positively about the dead, but he couldn't relate to the feeling of growing closer to somebody as they die. His comments about hospitals brought up very negative memories for me. He described Beths point of view of hospitals as a disconnection to the confrontation of death. John described a hospital as a place with, "a lifeless tone of white beds and sheets and walls." This reminded me of a brief period of my life where I spent almost every day in the hospital- florescent lights, that sour smell of illness, and the depressing feeling that washed over you as you enter a cancer patient's room. I then imagined Beth as a woman that might agree with more holistic ways of living, and, dying.  When John mentioned that he couldn't relate to the closeness of Erik's death, I realized that I could relate to that. When my mother was first diagnosed, I was really young. Memories of my mother before her illness are rare, cloudy, and disconnected, and it is so much easier for me to recall my last memories of her. People try to tell me that I should think of the "good times" instead of when she was sick, but I was too young to really remember those "times".  I respond to their naivete is to tell people that I knew and understood my mother best when she was sick. And I've grown to understand that there is nothing wrong with that nor even with her death.

Family perspectives on the ill

Most Americans deal with illness through allopathic remedies. If they have a headache, they take an aspirin. If they have a cold, they take advil (or if its night time, maybe nyquil). If they have a stomachache they take pepto bismol. For every illness, there is a pharmaceutical company marketing a remedy. A trip to any Duane Reade or Rite Aid might overwhelm you with all of the choices of over the counter medicines on sale. When that doesn't work? We got to the doctor in the hope that he or she will know what to do to get our bodies functioning normally again. 


My family has traditionally approached illness differently. Instead of relying on an allopathic approach, we have tended to take a more hollistic approach first. If we have a headache, we rub tiger balm on our heads.  Stomachache? Drink some tea. If I have a bloody nose, my father sticks tissue up my nose. When these remedies don't issues, and the problems become more serious, then we turn to Western medicine.
 
I interviewed my brother to get his take on how he felt about illness and dying. I started by telling him about my experiences with my 12th grade social studies class, "Normal is Weird". He kept on interrupting me to tell me about his love life, so I intervened. I briefly described our illness and dying unit, and asked him to define illness in his own words.  Joaquin smiled and said, "Illness is an imbalance of some sort. It comes in many forms and deals with a lack of equilibrium whether that may be a physical, psychological, emotional or spiritual imbalance." He then said that these imbalances must be addressed by individualized treatments specific to each cause or to occurrence. Because I agreed with Joaquin's definition, I thought I might have a bias. Since we grew up in the same household, I knew that we had similar beliefs circulating around our minds since we were children. 

To get a less biased definition of illness I looked up "illness" in the dictionary to compare the two definitions. On Websters dictionary, illness was described as "an unhealthy condition of body or mind". To me, this definition seems to reinforce dominant social practices related to the treatment of illness. We see illness as an unhealthy condition, then we probably see it as something that needs to be fixed or repaired. If we see illness as part of the body's effort to heal itself in reaction to trauma, fatigue, or injury, then we see it as a part of normal life, and not as something unusual.

My next question dealt with my brother's direct experiences with illness- "Have you ever seen somebody with an illness, or have you experienced one yourself?" He laughed again and said, " I currently have a cold, Nai." After laughing about his runny nose, his facial expression rearranged to a more stern look. "I have witnessed many different illnesses, like the ones I mentioned before." I then asked him how he reacted to the experiences of seeing someone he knew get sick. "The people who I have seen sick have caused me to reflect on myself. Its brought more awareness and insight to my own well being." He said that humans tend to empathize with the sick and "feel the pain", which is an important part of being human, from his perspective. He said that in one instance, he's cried for three months straight, and in others he's tried to help as best he could. 

Although we didn't talk about it in this conversation, I knew that my mothers illness and death from cancer had probably had a lot of influence on the way he formed his thoughts on illness. In my perspective, when you see somebody that is close to you become ill to the point of death, you no longer take health for granted (unless you were young like me). 

The last thing my brother said stuck with me"Its also one thing to witness a death, and another to witness one's illness, and watch that person overcome it. When you know someone can overcome it, you can rally with them and be apart of their fight, or it could be something you commit to less fully, be it your own illness. People often ignore their own illnesses. And sometimes they overcome it, sometimes not. Its important to check in with oneself."

Feast?

My family has gone through many changes over the past five years. I grew up accustomed to large thanksgivings, often times with so many people that I felt somewhat annoyed. Three years ago was the first Thanksgiving where I sensed the changes. My memory of this evening has blurred because of my disappointment. What I do remember is that there were about eight people at the table, all eating in silence, and there may have been some small talk. I was in the stage of cutting down on my meat eating, and a large, ugly turkey looked at me while I ate my food. My mothers spirit was gone, which added to the awkward sense I felt next to my soon to be step mother. Having been so young when my mother died, many memories of her have been blurred. But I can remember the Thanksgivings that would take place then, back in the day. My mom would mostly be in charge of the dishes, but each of us took part in cooking. One year I remember wanting to make a ginger bread house. My mom gave in to me, and when I realized that I hated the taste, I continued to eat it out of pride. The Thanksgiving during the year my mother was first diagnosed was difficult, but we had a great time. We all held hands and shared what we were thankful of that year. It got really emotional, largely because of my mothers presence.  I can remember speaking and laughing so hard that my grandmother came out of her room to smack me in the face. I got a bloody nose, cried, and then laughed about it later.

For many Americans, eating is an important social activity, but the very act of eating, and of consuming food, is often taken for granted. For example, we take for granted that when we eat organic material, (i.e. meat, fruit, vegetables) we are consuming life. Many Native Americans understood this and gave thanks to the spirits of the plants and animals that sustained their lives. This is even an issue that comes up in Avatar. The people of Pandora say a prayer even after they kill animals that were trying to hurt them because they understand that were all connected as living beings. You might think that at a holiday like Thanksgiving, we would not only give thanks for our loved ones, and for our material blessings, but also for the living foods that we consume. However, I don't think most people do. People sit around, stuffing themselves until they can't get up, maybe they watch some football or have a few drinks. The pilgrims and native Americans who mistakenly helped them, rarely come up as a topic of discussion.

Last year, my father and step mother broke our family tradition of having a large Thanksgiving dinner at our home. Instead, we went to my step mothers parents house in Virginia. While I didn't dislike my time there, I was struck by how different the celebration was there in comparison to what I had known. There were no words of thanks before we ate: no holding of hands in unity: we didn't even wait for everyone to get to the table and eat at the same time. It was pretty different. My step mom has an uncle named Ira with bipolar disease. I was fortunate to meet him while he was calm- not high, and not low. Last year Ira shared some of the songs that he had written and had us laughing with stories from my step mothers childhood. This year, he was down, and ate in silence.

I guess Thanksgiving is a difficult time for people with bipolar disorder and for vegetarians like me. Unless we really focus on what it means to give thanks and unless we slow down to chew our food, to think about where it comes from, and how it might affect our bodies, then Thanksgiving is just another day.