How to Become Lonely: A Selection from The Old People Files

Leslie Weber

Introduction

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• Meet my mother, the bereaved, the aggrieved.

• Notice my mother’s lament, her anger, her grief.

• Read my mother’s chapters, her stages of knowing, her clauses of becoming.

• Listen to my mother’s story, her recollections, her ruminations.

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Book 1: Recollections

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1. Prayer

I prayed. I prayed and prayed. I prayed that there was a god. I prayed that there was a god who heard and listened and cared about me. I prayed that Dedushka, my grandfather, wouldn’t die. I was very specific. I prayed that he wouldn’t die until I was 20 years old. Because then I could stand it.

2. Dayenu

When I had Dedushka, it was enough. I sometimes wished I had a mother, but I didn’t long for one. I wished I could live with my sister, but as long as Dedushka kept reminding us of our bond, I knew it would be all right. I wished I didn’t have to always be the smartest in my class, but as long I had Dedushka, I knew I was the smartest for him.

3. Before

That day I was just starting my assigned reading. I don’t remember what. I was sitting on the couch with my legs pulled up and my shoes off, but got distracted by the dusk, by headlights on the street. There weren’t so many cars then, so I noticed. And I remember wondering if I should get up and draw the curtains.

4. Little Cat Feet

Emmie came in from the kitchen. But not in her usual big sisterly yet maternal way. Not talking, wiping her hands on an apron and asking me if I needed something to eat or inquiring about my day or wanting very much to tell me something in her excited and breathless way. Instead, she came in silently. Like Robert Frost’s fog, on little cat feet. And she sat down next to me, pushing my legs away to be closer to me on the couch. I had a bad feeling.*

*Note: Even the telling is nearly too painful bear. The narrator balks. But needs must.

5. To Know or Not to Know

I wanted to know and I wanted to never know. I wanted Emmie to put her arms around me and pull my head to her breast and let me wail and sob until I fell asleep. I wanted Emmie to go away, to get up and turn her back, to say, “never mind, it’s not important.”

6. What she did

Here’s what Emmie did. She took my hand. She spoke softly. She stroked my hair. She said, “you know he’s been sick.” She said, “No matter what Mama told you, I know he loved you very much.” She must have given me a handkerchief.

7. What she said

Then she said, “you have to be strong.” And I remember thinking, “how?” and “why” and “what does that mean?” But of course, deep down, I knew. It didn’t mean “don’t grieve.” It didn’t mean “don’t hurt.” It meant ”don’t let others see your pain.” It meant “don’t let others be disturbed by your distress.” And I think in her fastidiousness, she was disgusted by all the fluid. The tears, the snot, the spit. She said “I know how sad this must be for you.”

8. That stopped me.

Not instantly. There was too much momentum. But there was an abrupt slowing and gradual glide into full stillness, with the only tears left the ones that were already on my face and chin and the end of my nose.

Because no one could know.

9. Keeper of the Pain

That pain is sacred. I keep it like a cloak in a secret closet where it can never fade or fray, but where I can take it out whenever I want and drape it over myself. It is all mine. I am myself inside it.

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Book 2: Much Later; Ruminations

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Those people are all so incompetent insensitive don’t understand old people like me are impatient with me are taking too long going too fast talking too loud speaking too soft not listening. They don’t understand me they are too old too young too boring never had to work as hard as me never suffered like me didn’t live through the depression like me didn’t live through the war like me didn’t get divorced like me weren’t on their own like me can’t appreciate me can’t understand me. Their choices are stupid what they do is shallow stupid lazy what I do is noble challenging rewarding. All those other people are not like me those women are not like me those old people are not like me those divorcees are not like me those mothers are not like me. Those people are satisfied with the unsatisfying. But not me, I AM NOT SATISFIED. I can’t be around people who don’t understand me. I can’t relate if people don’t understand me because those people haven’t lived like me don’t have values like me have never had to strive to suffer to overcome obstacles like me, have never achieved like me have never wanted to achieve like me are satisfied with so little are so passive so lazy so boring, NOT LIKE ME.

I need you to understand me you can’t possibly understand me you must listen to me to understand me you must read this to understand me you must know this to understand me but you cannot possibly understand me.

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Epilogue

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She has sewn herself into the cloak where it is private and safe, and no longer remembers why it is also dark.