Being Gracious at 50!

It was an admonition from my mother to her children we we left the house — Be gracious. She meant, on the most refined and formal level: be polite. And also, be nice; be kind; be magnanimous. Show consideration for others. Show conscientiousness. On a more practical level, she meant: don’t embarrass me or yourselves out in public. From dictionary.com, the definition of graciousness is the quality or state of being benevolent, courteous, and kind. I love the first part of benevolence in the definition. It sounds powerful.

It was only at her funeral service that I learned her catchphrase was known to her friends and co-workers, as well. When she said, ‘Be gracious’ to them, it was in the context of a cheeky, gentle warning when someone was growing animated describing a grievance. It served, for them, as a reminder to keep your cool under pressure.

Now, ‘Be gracious’ has become my mantra. I’m not talking about mantra in the sense of a chant or affirmation — I mean mantra in the Sanskrit sense of the word as an anchor to use during meditation. So much has happened in the years since the world lost my mom in 2014. Much of it, she would have been thrilled to miss, too. However, the tough stuff (politics, plague, global unrest) is what has contributed to my wanting to meditate more and to my needing a mantra while doing it. In that way, I am grateful for the chaos that pushed me to desire an expansion of my own consciousness and likewise pushed me to re-examine my relationship with my mom’s death and now the caretaking for my dad.

I want to honor my mother, Sally Irene Didrickson, née Ogan, born February 28, 1943. I want to honor her small but high-impact gifts to the world and to spark introspection and growth from her death in a way that helps other people who may be going through something similar. Who knows — maybe that’s some sort of benevolence ( and graciousness) showing through in me?

How is my life right now? What I am learning? I just thought I might record what I’m seeing in the hopes that the information I am gathering would benefit other adults who are going through the same thing.

Where to start? I’m taking care of my dad. He just turned 87 and lives in my house with me, my husband, my 18 year old daughter and our 13 year old son. He has a cat, Kramer, and a lot of papers, folders and photos in frames. Oh, and he is quite hard of hearing, slowing down a bit cognitively, and not altogether steady on his feet. His bedroom is on the second floor. Great combo, right? Plus, I just turned 50.

Seriously, I have more to say about every single choice we have made about our living arrangements later. It’s all important if you are thinking about moving back in with your parent(s) or if they are going to live with you. The benefits to living together as a family unit are huge. The risks aren’t small; and there are some things that are just uncharted territory and will have to be figured out as you (and we) go along. I have found that I have learned so much just over the past 8 plus months since my dad sold his house in Southern California and permanently moved in with me and my family in the suburbs of Chicago.

First, how did we get here? Well, I would say the journey to my dad, who we call Opa (German for grandpa), moving in to my house started when my mom (we called her Oma — German for grandma) passed away after a 13-month battle with cancer on July 29, 2014. My family — two sisters, one brother-in-law, my three kids, husband and father and numerous friends and community members were all devastated. In some ways, we still are devastated, but more on that later, too. Right now, I want to set the stage for how the wheels started turning for my dad to move in with me and how I have grown to accept my mom’s death graciously. This is the story of us losing my mom, from my perspective. I know of no other way to share it. It's a long story but informs much of what I do for my dad and for other family members.

(Opa and me 2019)

(Hubby, Mark, and kids: Matthew, Bela and Joaquin, in November 2017)