A lot of big, tragic and important things have happened to this wonderful country of ours since April 2014. None of which I have covered. I was too busy writing about hungover parenting, ancient philosophy and my dog Colin.
Out of the 536 columns I have written, 27 were about that guy. Far too few. He is such a good boy, he deserves an article a week.
Today is the end of an era for me, and whenever these final events pop up in our lives, we can’t help but think about the ultimate end.
Everything we do, we will one day do for the last time. That’s why you have to enjoy things while they are around. It’s not just big events like leaving a job, house or loved one either. Whatever moment you happen to be in now, you will never get it back, and you don’t know how many more you have.
Everything we do in life, from eating pizza to spending time with the people we love, to driving, writing, drinking or breathing, we will one day experience for the final time. It might happen tomorrow. This can be either a depressing or an inspiring thought, depending on how you look at it.
A few years back in this column, I interviewed professor of philosophy William B Irvine, of Wright State University, Ohio, on this very topic. He put it this way on a Zoom call: “Recognition of the impermanence of everything in life can invest the things we do with a significance and intensity that would otherwise be absent. The only way we can be truly alive is if we make it our business periodically to entertain thoughts of the end.”
Today’s column is very meaningful to me because it is my last. Like the last night with a lover before she goes overseas. And just like a lover, there have been some half-arsed efforts put in from me over the years. Last week, for example, I spent 750 words moaning about how bad my cricket team is. But the truth is that any of my columns could have been the final. If I had reminded myself every week for the past 10 years that the end is inevitable, I may have been more grateful for having a column and appreciated writing them all as much as I am this one.
While everything we do could have more meaning with a focus on finitude, some things are inherently more worthwhile than others. There is no doubt my column “The pros and cons of wearing Speedos” from November 2022 was less meaningful than most things in this world. That was a waste of everyone’s time. So, if we only have so much time, how do we pick the best things to do?
Well, Oliver Burkeman, the author of Four Thousand Weeks – Time Management For Mortals, suggested this to me in a 2022 column: “Ask yourself, does this choice enlarge me? You usually know on some unspoken level if it does. That’s a good way to distinguish between options.”
With that in mind, I don’t feel great about my 2018 article on “New Zealand’s best hole”. That didn’t enlarge anyone.
There will be people reading this column right now who have loved my writing in the Herald and are sad to see it end. Others will have hated it and are glad to see me go. Many won’t have any opinion at all. But for those in the first camp, I have good news. I have a book coming out on May 28 called A Life Less Punishing – 13 Ways To Love The Life You Got (Allen and Unwin Book Publishers). It’s a deep dive into the history, philosophy and science of not wasting our time lost in anger, loneliness, humiliation, stress, fear, boredom and all the other ways we find to not enjoy perfectly good lives. It’s available for pre-order right now (google it if you’re interested).
A Life Less Punishing took me two years to write and is equivalent in words to 100 of these columns. Which would be a complete nightmare for those in the hate camp, but as I say, great news for those who want more.
Anyway, thanks to the Herald for having me, thanks to the lovely people who make an effort to say nice things to me about my column nearly every day and thanks to the universe for every single second we get.
Bless!
My Daughter-in-Law Made Me Choose between Living in Basement or Nursing Home
After Cecile’s husband, Henry, passes on, she seeks solace by moving into her son’s house. But when she gets there, her daughter-in-law makes her choose between their dark and unwelcoming basement and a nursing home. What happens when Cecile decides on another option altogether?
Losing a partner after forty years of marriage is traumatizing. Loneliness is felt immediately, but it becomes all the more consuming as time goes on. When Henry, my husband, died of a heart attack, I felt this sense of loneliness harder than anything else.
The grief took over, and all I wanted was to be around family. I have two sons, Jack and Edward – Edward moved to Oxford straight out of college because he was awarded the opportunity to further his studies. He calls me every evening just to chat about our days. Jack, on the other hand, lives not too far away from me. He is married to Lucy and has a son named after my husband.
So, now that I’m all alone in this big house Henry bought when we were just starting our family, I’ve been trying to decide whether to sell the house or live with Jack, as he offered, or move out by myself.I decided to try living with Jack. It would be the most comforting thing. But little did I know, Lucy had other plans for my accommodation. I asked my niece to pack up the place while I settled into my new home with Jack and his family. So, I was at their doorstep, suitcases at my feet
. Ready to take on the role of a live-in mother and grandmother — taking over the kitchen whenever Lucy needed me. Lucy came to open the door, a mug of coffee in her hand, and told me that their house was bursting at the seams with the limited space and that the only room available was Henry Jr.’s room. But she wasn’t about to upset the room and change it in any way. It was for Henry when he returned from his semester at college. I understood that. It was his space, and I didn’t want to be a burden.
But I had assumed that Jack would have sorted something out for me — he was the one who asked me to move in if I needed it. “Cecile, we’ve got a bit of a space issue, as you can see,” Lucy repeated. “You’ve got two options,” she continued. “There is the basement, or there’s a nursing home. Your call, grandma.” Talk about a rock and a hard place. Now, let me tell you about their basement.
It’s not the basement you may find in some homes — there’s no converted space for gaming, sewing, or arts and crafts. It’s not a den or cozy room for guests. Jack’s basement is more of a cold, humid dungeon with a bedframe that sighed at every move and a mattress with sharp springs. This was not the comfort I needed.”Lucy,” I said, shuffling my weight from one foot to the other.
“I appreciate the options, dear. But I’ll pass on the basement and nursing home combo.” Cue to my son — trying to play the peacemaker. He came up from behind Lucy, his arm around her waist. “Mom, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking when I invited you to stay. Lucy has a point. We’re tight on space. I promise to get some furniture for the basement to make it comfortable for you.” A basement life wasn’t for me. A nursing home wasn’t for me — at least not yet. So, I just took matters into my own hands.
I dragged my suitcases to the car and drove to my niece’s home. I stayed there for a week while looking for a place I could buy. The house was already on the market, and once it was sold, I knew I would have more than enough money to buy a small place for myself. When everything was settled, my niece helped me move in, and I felt empowered. Maybe I didn’t need family as much as I thought I did.
Edward was worried about me being alone, but I reassured him I would be fine. I moved into the new apartment soon after – a cozy one-bedroom, perfect for me and the cat I hoped to adopt. The bonus was that it came fully furnished, so I didn’t have to worry about anything.
Then, Jack phoned and asked me to dinner with him and Lucy. I drove to their home, wondering what they expected from me. We sat down for dinner, and I told them I had bought an apartment and lived there alone. “I thought you were staying with Mia,” Jack said, referring to my niece.”You can’t be serious!” Lucy exclaimed at the same time. “I did stay with Mia until I moved. I needed my own space.”
“You said that you want to be around family, so I offered,” Jack said, turning red. “Yes, but if it meant being shipped off to a nursing home or having to stay in your basement, I think I’m better off alone.” Then, I left. A few weeks later, I adopted my cat. But I also rewrote my will, leaving everything to Edward, who continues putting money into my account every month, even though I told them I didn’t need it.
“A son must help his Mom,” he said. He also asked me if I wanted to move abroad with him — but how could I? I needed to be close to where Henry rests, at least for now. So, from basement dilemmas to a cozy haven of my own, life certainly throws you for a loop. If your child gave you those options, what would you have done? Here’s another story for you: Elizabeth placed her father in a nursing home and never saw him again. She only visited him at his funeral. But the young woman’s karma caught up with her and taught her a harsh lesson when she received a letter from him after his death…
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