So Strong
I heard some women talking recently about the death of one their friends. She’d had cancer and maybe some other complication—I can’t remember. What I do remember is that one person said, “She was so strong, she never complained at all.” It was said lovingly, even admiringly, but all I could think of was, “we gotta stop doing that.”
And of course it was a bunch of women who admired such strength. We’re taught at an early age to “suffer in silence.” I remember that phrase from my own upbringing, spoken, usually, by my mom. I don’t know what informed my parents’ buy-in to such a principle, but it was probably a combination of being raised by stoic, Swedish New Englanders (dad) and a working single parent in the 30s (mom).
I think about Annie and how she must have suffered from the disease and the pain and the limitations imposed upon her by cancer. Everyone said she was strong too. They might have even suggested she never complained. The staff at the cancer center where she was treated loved her! She was so nice, so friendly, so sweet. They, too, were probably heard to express “she never complained.” And she didn’t, to them. I heard some of her complaints and thank goodness she shared them with me. Maybe her visiting nurses did on occasion, possibly some of the staff during the dozens of emergency hospital stays she endured. But I bet 99% of them would say the same thing about her: she was so nice, she was so sweet, she never complained.
I am also a woman who never complains. At least not about personal strife and suffering. I can certainly get going about neglectful service at a sandwich shop or the hoops to jump through just to get insurance, but unless you’re my therapist or my doctor, you probably don’t hear me go on at length about my aches and pains.
And I have some. I actually do feel lucky that much of my achiness and pain is manageable and doesn’t prohibit me from going about my life too much. But remember, I was raised by a stoic New Englander and a 30s latchkey kid, so there wasn’t much I could complain about growing up that would be tolerated, much less sympathized with. I do keep a lot to myself and I guess that’s just the way it’s going to be.
Although, lately, and especially after that comment I overheard, I’m beginning to think that’s not such a healthy way to live. And I don’t mean I think everyone should be non-stop complainers about their latest hip discomfort or other age-related disappointment—honestly, some of us really need to just suck it up. We’re getting old. Be grateful you’re aging and not dead.
But, in the climate of our country right now, with all the rampant cruelty and death and terror, there is a lot happening in our feelings about that. It is way past the stage where we huff and puff against the latest grift or outrage, run to our social media to post about it, and then meet our friends for happy hour or a pickleball match. No, I think we’re in danger in our country right now and we’re grieving and frightened and a little in shock over what we’re seeing on a relentless 24/7 news cycle. How can we possible process any of it? Much less articulate how we feel about it, how it’s affecting us.
And yet, we’re still trying to get the kids up and off to school (the ones who aren’t afraid to) go to our jobs (the ones we still have that haven’t been cut) and maybe go for a walk (as long as we’re not in one of those cities that has been invaded by ICE). How can we complain when we’re not the ones being hauled off 1,000 miles away to a detention facility, or worse, to a country we’ve never even lived in. What have we got to complain about when we can still pick up a latte at the coffee shop without fear that someone will turn us in to the authorities. Our kids are mostly safe, they’re not being used as bait to lure family members out into the waiting guns of a masked police force.
But I feel like that’s exactly what we need to do. We need to complain to whoever will listen that our country is being decimated. We need to be loud and show up and not wait until it hits our towns directly. Our towns are their towns, if it can happen there it will happen here. And it’s already started.
Last night I dreamed that I went to where 5-year-old Liam Ramos is being held. He was sitting at the edge of a bed and I had to cajole him into coming with me, that I was going to help him. I picked him up and carried him down long hallways, telling people that I got this, I knew where I was going. It turned out I was bringing him down the jetway to a waiting plane and as I got to the door I somehow knew he’d be okay, that his father was already inside. And that’s where the dream ended.
This morning I woke to the news that he was “lethargic” and “depressed” and he’s fallen ill. If the fear is reaching into my dreams I think it’s time to start opening my mouth, maybe do a little complaining.
Being strong is great, but we can’t remain silent anymore.
Thanks Cindy.. Have you listened to Rachel Maddow's podcast Burn Order, it's really worth the time. And I don't know if you see all my Facebook posts but Im relentless.
Thank you for your candor and commitment Cindy. While I am away from the States I am not seeing the daily strife and chilling of our democracy though the ripple effect is global. When I think of our fathers and mothers who fought in the 1940’s to secure world peace, I know we, as their children and grandchildren we must keep our faith in the good and speak our truths. Be honest and move forward instead of keep calm and carry on!