Arrival

Many wise things have been said about a visit’s proper length.

It was a delightful visit—perfect, in being much too short. (Jane Austen)

Fish and visitors stink in three days. (Benjamin Franklin)

And we know that Hans Christian Andersen ruined his friendship with Charles Dickens by staying with him three weeks longer than planned.

The arrival, however, has been overlooked. Welcoming a friend into your life is like folding egg whites: it should be done gently and with good technique, leaving lots of air. Enthusiasm has its place—exclamations, hugs, compliments—but mainly the trick is to make people feel comfortable right away, and to do this both guest and host must conceal any work that has gone into the convergence. The preparation of the house, the altering of schedules, the travel. It’s usually a mistake to launch into a story about the difficulty of your travels, though that wasn’t always the case. In the Odyssey, it was part of the accepted pattern of hospitality:

The guest arrives.

The guest is offered a bath and/or fresh clothes.

The guest is given food and drink, usually at a feast.

The guest is questioned about his travels; there are speeches on both sides.

Everyone retires for the night to a soft bed.

Today people will leave a key so the guest can let herself in. Some want to be there when you arrive. Others want to meet you at the airport. Some show you where you’ll sleep right away. Others ask if you’d like something to eat or drink. The eating schedule is almost always the first hurdle for a variety of reasons: you may or may not have eaten at the airport, dinner may be early if there are children involved, or late if work is an issue. There are almost never feasts and entertainment, at least not the first night. And if there are, you are definitely expected to talk during them, though Odysseus got to eat first and talk afterward, which would be my preference. Almost no one asks if you’d like to bathe.

Speech making is out of fashion, but questions do arise. A common one: “How’s your family?”

Ah.

A Venn diagram might be helpful here. In the Attaway family Venn diagram, if x = my father, y = me, and z = my brother, then the point of greatest overlap between x, y, and z is where we agree that my mother died. What caused her death, relevant details of her last few years, her state of mind when she died, remain in dispute. My father and brother agree she was bedridden. My brother and I agree that her bedridden state was at least partially voluntary. My father and I agree her lack of mobility contributed to her death. My brother believes it was an accident. My father blames himself, while I have wondered what it is fair to ask of loved ones. Can we ask them to take care of themselves for our sake, because we love them, or is that an inherently selfish request?

Or perhaps a parable would be better. A woman was going from her forties to her fifties when she fell into a depression. It stripped her of her energy and beat her down. A man happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the woman, he had good personal boundaries established and so passed by on the other side. So, too, a woman; when she came to the place, she spoke to the depressed woman but grew frustrated, and was also very busy with her own life, and soon passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came to where the woman was; and when he saw her, he went to the woman and bandaged her wounds, pouring on oil and other balms. Then he put the woman on his own donkey, took her to an inn, and took care of her. The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper. “Look after her,” he said, “and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.”

Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the woman? The Bible says the one who had mercy on her. But what is mercy if, as in my mother’s case, the woman wanted to be left alone? What happens if the woman never again leaves the inn?

On a message board about the original biblical story, I found this question: “Which of the following could be reasonably understood as an accurate biblical definition of the term ‘neighbor’?”

1. Only one’s immediate associates.

2. Only one’s extended social or religious group.

3. Neighboring nations and cultures.

4. One’s enemies.

5. All humanity.

The most popular answer was 2. How can we live in a time when social media makes us friends with people all over the world, but our sense of neighbor is shrinking?

So, how’s your family?

I could say we’ve grown more comfortable with peace than joy, patience over hope, and perseverance feels the same as love.

I could say happy families are supposed to be all alike, but even the happiest, after forty years, probably has some reckoning to do.

I could say my brother hasn’t been home in eight years.

But I don’t. How can I when I’ve just arrived? Most of us, especially women, don’t have the luxury of an Odysseus or a Beowulf to deliver an epic speech upon arrival. So I say we’re hanging in there. And, where should I put my bag?