Letters to the Editor
kjwldn
Published Letters: 16 Editor's Choice: 2
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I married this guy
[Read the article: I'm acting like a monster so my friends are deserting me]
[Read more letters about this article: Here]Okay, maybe not this guy, but a guy just like this guy. Just reading his letter was enough to send me into a panic attack. A decade later, I can still feel the intensity of his need, how he would have been perfectly happy to completely destroy me if only it meant I would stay with him every minute of every day, protecting him from the horrible fate of having to spend a few moments alone with his thoughts. I know I should have some sympathy for the letter-writer, because he's writing a letter, he's asking for help, he wants to change! But I'm suspicious. I remember all the times I heard about the changes that were coming. And the drama of the letter itself - he has a monster in him! A monster!!! Not - I wrote her thirteen emails in one day and she must have felt terribly exhausted and pressured. Not the simple facts. Not what the other person must have felt. Just more drama - my monster! Ugh! Pathetic! I'm awful! I'm out of control!
My ex found himself losing friends in his thirties, and I suspect that has to do with people's willingness to invest time and energy in a draining emotional relationship at that stage of their lives. In the twenties it's one thing - the drama can be exciting. In the thirties, it's just not worth the work. And unfortunately, there's not much you can do if people have learned that this is how you are, how you handle things. They may come back around, they may not.
My best friend had also been a close friend of my ex, and they remained close after our breakup. She died two years ago, and while she was in the hospital, I asked if she wanted to see him (he had sent flowers and notes). She said she couldn't handle him at that point. I know he loved her very much, and I know it hurt him to be kept away when he was desperate to see her again before she died. But he had spent a lifetime focusing on himself instead of others, playing up drama instead of trying to achieve calm and balance, giving in to every passing emotion instead of nurturing detachment. And as a result, he was not the sort of person you want around while you're dying. I don't have advice really, except that you need to consider who you want to be.
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Okay, maybe it's just me
[Read the article: The strange case of midnight renegade oleander gentrification camouflage]
[Read more letters about this article: Here]But does anyone else find the fear of poisonous plants a little weird? What kids go around eating shrubs? Did you ever just start munching on the bushes when you were a child? Don't parents generally keep their children on a short leash until they get to the age where they can be trusted not to eat random stuff? There are all sorts of poisons in nature - mushrooms, plants, you name it. Are kids going to be kept away from the woods until adulthood? I understand that if you're going to, say, plant a border around a toddler playground, you might pick something absolutely safe. But it seems odd to freak out about the idea of just having a poisonous plant in the yard. If you're curious about the number of toxic exposures via plants, you can find more on www.aapcc.org, including the frequency of plant exposure by type of plant. The top plants are peace lilies, poinsettas, holly, philodendrons, Aermican pokeweed (which makes sense at least, since it looks like berries - holly, too), poison ivy.
That said, the neighbor's a jerk. I would let it go, but remain watchful.
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My best friend died two years ago
[Read the article: I should have gone to my aunt's funeral]
[Read more letters about this article: Here]She had been in the hospital for about six weeks before she died. Her funeral was one of the worst events I've ever attended - not just because she was my closest friend, or because she was only 33, or because her death was so stupid and needless. The funeral was also awful because her parents, with whom she had had a difficult and distant relationship, made it all about them. She was buried out of a church she had long rejected, with a sermon by a priest who obviously believed her mother's view of her as a bad and wayward child. The coffin was surrounded at the wake by stuffed animals and childhood pictures, as if her parents were deliberating erasing her entire adult life. It was unspeakably awful.
But, believe it or not, I am still glad I went. I'm glad because I saw a mutual friend - not a close friend, but someone we used to hang out with sometimes, and it meant so much to me to know that my friend has mattered enough to this woman that she showed up even after a decade of not having seen her. I'm glad I went because in the weeks that followed, I would sometimes, in the half-sleep of waking, and panic with confusion over whether she were dead or alive, and then I would remember the burial. I'm glad I went, because a nurse from the floor came to the funeral, and that was a tremendous comfort - that someone who had known her so briefly at such a terrible time would care enough to show up.
Always go to the funeral.