From Mirriam-Webster on line dictionary
- 1com·fort
- Pronunciation:
- \ˈkəm(p)-fərt\
- Function:
- transitive verb
- Etymology:
- Middle English, from Anglo-French cunforter, comforter, from Late Latin confortare to strengthen greatly, from Latin com- + fortis strong
- Date:
- 13th century
1 : to give strength and hope to : to cheer
2 : to ease the grief or trouble of : to console
All my adult life, perhaps as far back as my late teenage years, I've been on the receiving end of my Mother's comment, "It comforts me." In fact, I've heard this uttered so many times that it is expected, the norm. I am not the only ear to these three words; I'm fairly certain that my siblings and others in the family recognize this brief and to the point statement as one of her fundamental truths. The sentence serves as a thank you, an acknowledgment to the giver of comfort that the "thing" they have done for her has satisfied a deep need for peace within. (definition #2 above: "to ease the grief or trouble of, to console").
"It comforts me." is usually spoken over the telephone in response to my/our call to report that the journey to wherever was safe and that I/we are fine. "Thank you," she will say, "It comforts me." My Mother is haunted by the specter of loss. She has forever sought relief of her anxieties over loss by waiting, sometimes impatiently and other times with incredible grace, for the phone call that confirms that once again tragedy has been outsmarted and that her loved one(s) is/are safe. Her self admitted "rich imagination" is at once fodder for great story telling but in her case, the source of nightmarish worry.
I have to wonder how my Mother's life might have been different had she known with certainty that she would not outlive her children, grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren. None of us is ever blessed with this guarantee but for those of us whose days are burdened and oft times paralyzed by the pain of anticipatory loss, the guarantee would symbolize the ultimate freedom. Eagle soaring in the sky freedom. Freed to really live, unencumbered, to risk making a mistake, messing up, or choosing the wrong path; all would then be acceptable in the grand scheme of things.
Why? What does worry and comfort and anticipatory loss have to do with living your best life? Everything. Worry is so time consuming and depleting that freedom from this need for comfort would change everything. Would that we could cut this lesion out with surgical precision and expunge it from our souls forever. For those who worry to excess, the beast itself becomes a balm, a potion, or a mystical antidote to those things most feared. The nonsensical notion that worry can affect the outcome of any situation, change the fates, or move mountains matters little to the worrier who is lost in the addiction.
Lest I be perceived as exposing too much of my Mother's private self for public view, it is really of me that I write. Although I don't use the phrase "It comforts me", my body receives a nourishing, yet temporary fix when I am assured that those I love are safe. And, as I've said before, my talent for defining the issue is solid, the solution (aside from "just get over it") is the challenge.
2 : to ease the grief or trouble of : to console
All my adult life, perhaps as far back as my late teenage years, I've been on the receiving end of my Mother's comment, "It comforts me." In fact, I've heard this uttered so many times that it is expected, the norm. I am not the only ear to these three words; I'm fairly certain that my siblings and others in the family recognize this brief and to the point statement as one of her fundamental truths. The sentence serves as a thank you, an acknowledgment to the giver of comfort that the "thing" they have done for her has satisfied a deep need for peace within. (definition #2 above: "to ease the grief or trouble of, to console").
"It comforts me." is usually spoken over the telephone in response to my/our call to report that the journey to wherever was safe and that I/we are fine. "Thank you," she will say, "It comforts me." My Mother is haunted by the specter of loss. She has forever sought relief of her anxieties over loss by waiting, sometimes impatiently and other times with incredible grace, for the phone call that confirms that once again tragedy has been outsmarted and that her loved one(s) is/are safe. Her self admitted "rich imagination" is at once fodder for great story telling but in her case, the source of nightmarish worry.
I have to wonder how my Mother's life might have been different had she known with certainty that she would not outlive her children, grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren. None of us is ever blessed with this guarantee but for those of us whose days are burdened and oft times paralyzed by the pain of anticipatory loss, the guarantee would symbolize the ultimate freedom. Eagle soaring in the sky freedom. Freed to really live, unencumbered, to risk making a mistake, messing up, or choosing the wrong path; all would then be acceptable in the grand scheme of things.
Why? What does worry and comfort and anticipatory loss have to do with living your best life? Everything. Worry is so time consuming and depleting that freedom from this need for comfort would change everything. Would that we could cut this lesion out with surgical precision and expunge it from our souls forever. For those who worry to excess, the beast itself becomes a balm, a potion, or a mystical antidote to those things most feared. The nonsensical notion that worry can affect the outcome of any situation, change the fates, or move mountains matters little to the worrier who is lost in the addiction.
Lest I be perceived as exposing too much of my Mother's private self for public view, it is really of me that I write. Although I don't use the phrase "It comforts me", my body receives a nourishing, yet temporary fix when I am assured that those I love are safe. And, as I've said before, my talent for defining the issue is solid, the solution (aside from "just get over it") is the challenge.
Poignant. Heartbreaking, really. You write of this so well - like a poet.
ReplyDelete