A Touch of Tarragon: Sometimes We've Earned the Right to be Trite

A few weeks ago I got a message from a Facebook friend, a gentleman who grieved the loss of his wife, who had died a couple of years earlier. They'd been married for 51 years. In addition he now felt doubly heartbroken because a new love of just a couple of months had yet to make a decision to become fully committed to him. He alluded to "Magnificent Obsession," a 1929 novel by Lloyd C. Douglas, later made into a blockbuster film.

Unfortunately, all the wishing in the world will not bring our deceased loved ones back into our lives

Expecting new ones to replicate the devotion of lifelong loves might be overoptimistic. I felt so sorry for this man. In an effort to offer compassion, I replied that sometimes when we're grieving it often pays to take the focus off ourselves and our needs. I mentioned that I used to share with my patients who felt overwhelmed that they might begin their days by thinking of three things that they can do to help them keep putting one foot ahead of the other. First, find a way to help somebody else. Second, create something: draw, write, cook, make a list of future travel plans.

I didn't share that this past Christmas, when I felt betrayed and sad, I cleaned a sock drawer. Just creating order out of chaos cheered me up. Third, I'd written, seek something that's personally comforting. For me, that might be reading one of the books I've yet to get around to and discovering why it was considered a classic.

In return I received an emotional note saying he wasn't asking for a professional consultation and that the advice I'd given him was trite. He interpreted my last suggestion to mean that I'd treat myself to a piece of chocolate. He said his whole life was constructed on the "paying it forward" concept introduced in "Magnificent Obsession." So my mild nudge that he make a mindful plan now daily was "ultra trite."

OK. But right now we're undergoing a worldwide pandemic and the elderly have been increasingly isolated. We are not going back soon to the Good Old Days. Young people don't want to visit grandparents for fear of infecting them. Those of us in my apartment complex have been forbidden to congregate anywhere together, so all of our common areas, our pool, spa, recreation room, computer room and gym have been locked. Even our front gate is locked, making it difficult for potential visitors since we'd have to stand outside in the rain and click them in.

Now it's St. Patrick's Day. I won't be going to an Irish pub today, after all. All my plans for the next few weeks have, as yours, been put on hold. I'm reminding myself that even if we don't have access to movies, libraries, museums or coffee shops, we still may find some comforts. I'd like to share these with those who are feeling like it's hard to find any brightness in their day. Lavender candles and camomile tea still sound good to me. So does watching a couple of good movies.

But before I succumb to a chorus of "Poor me, poor us," I remind myself to count my blessings. After all my years overseas in developing countries, it's clear to me what they are right now. I have groceries in my cupboards. Some people I've lived with could only afford to buy a cup of rice at a time. I have a warm bed with blankets. Yesterday, right here in California, the world's fifth largest economy, I drove by homeless people trying to snuggle in their sodden blankets under an eave. I've received some St. Patrick Day cards in the mail and some by email, including an Irish jig in a Jacquie Lawson card. When I lived in Seychelles I was still receiving Christmas cards on Valentine's Day.

So, no, the jig isn't quite up yet. I'm holding on to hope.