This Is Us
I Am Pre-Mourning My Parents
What it’s like to mourn the living
Over the winter, I got the urge to travel to my hometown, Pittsburgh. If you’re familiar with my writing, you know I have a love-hate relationship with that place. Two things bring me back home: holidays and funerals. But this time, neither was the reason for my trip. Before shutdown began, I was battling what I thought was depression.
I was preoccupied with the passing of my parents, who I could still pick up a phone and call. I began to obsess over the pain of their passing, almost to the extent that I could already feel it. I would call them just to check in, and I’d become teary-eyed at the sound of aging in their answers: the repetition, the forgetfulness. It was all becoming too much for me. It wouldn’t take long for my anxiety to take me on an agonizing journey through the ugly inevitable. One minute I’m thinking of home-going ceremonies, and the next, I’m thinking of who would take in the widowed parent. Then I’m thinking of losing them both because they can’t bear to be without each other, and before I know it, I’m one big emotional mess.
I thought I might feel better about things if I went home, set sights on my parents. To my surprise, seeing them made me feel even worse: the clatter of the teacup as my mom struggled to steady the…
