If the story of my life is ever written, one of the bitter ironies will be that even though I am not married I ended up with a mother- in-law. If there is a better example of punishment without crime I can’t think of one.
Another irony is that I see my partner’s mom more than he does. Because I am frequently in New York on business, I often take the train to Jersey to have lunch with her. After almost 20 years we get along great; I am even able to do something that neither my partner nor his brother can do: I can eat an entire meal with her and not make her cry. But, as she explains the mealtime trauma: “This is what families do.”
And so it was that when I went to take my “mother-in-law” to lunch a couple of weeks ago, I found her busily preparing to die. I was surprised because, at 83, she is hale and hearty with an appetite like a lumberjack. But here she was, going through wills and insurance policies to ease, as she called it, her “transition” to a better world.
After we settled down at the restaurant and ordered our lunch, she began explaining her final wishes to me. “Is your ship sailing soon?” I asked.
“I’m 83,” she said, tucking into a bowl of chicken soup, “I’m not as healthy as you think I am.” A basket of crackers came with the soup; she emptied it into her purse. “It pays to be prepared.”
The waitress served my iced tea which I had to drink unsweetened because all the Splenda on the table were in my mother-in-law’s purse, keeping the crackers company. I hid the salt and pepper shakers, just in case.
She was still explaining her final wishes to me when lunch was served. “I could go any time,” she said between mouthfuls of a chicken sandwich the size of her head. “My friend Tillie’s husband died unexpectedly just a couple of weeks ago.” I nodded, speechless: Tillie’s husband was 96, with congestive heart failure and emphysema. How “unexpected” could his death have been?
Over dessert she asked me to review her “emergency call” list. There were 10 names on the list. “You can never be too careful,” she said. “What if I keel over on a Saturday night when no one is home?” I was about to explain a novel concept called “cell phones” but I looked at the list and was rendered speechless.
The first person on the call list, reasonably enough, was my partner’s brother, who lives 5 minutes away. Next was my partner, who, was relegated to #2 status because he lives in Florida. “Family gets called first,” she explained. Numbers 3 and 4 were, surprisingly, my sisters, also in Florida, who have seen my mother-in-law twice in the last 5 years. Number 5 was Tillie’s husband, who is dead. Number 6 was Carlos, her neighbor who speaks no English. And so it continued until at the very end, at number 10, was me.
Now, I know it was petty of me to feel slighted at being last on her emergency list, to know that I am lower in the pecking order than dead people and immigrants. Besides, if something happened those favorites at the top of the list would certainly tell me. I decided to take the high road and say nothing. And then I decided not to.
I cleared my throat and looked my mother-in-law in the eye. “I’d like some Splenda, please,” I said. As she unwillingly dug a Splenda out of her purse she looked like she was about to cry. Maybe I’m “family” after all.