That Night with David Rakoff

David Rakoff died about one month ago after a battle with cancer.  He was a frequent This American Life contributor and his writing was often funny, sometimes melancholy, and always compelling.  I obviously didn't know the guy personally, but I always enjoyed when he would read his work on TAL.  I'll be honest; he usually played second fiddle to another David who was often featured on This American Life - the public radio celebrity David Sedaris.  I'm a huge Sedaris fan, so I didn't get as excited when Rakoff hit the air, but my ears would still perk up when his name was announced.

I was sad when I heard he had passed away, but I knew he had been battling cancer.  I saw David on screen at This American Life Live! earlier this year.  He was already suffering from his illness, but read a story he had written about having to live with one of his arms losing the ability to function.



Let me make clear that I am not saying that parenting is akin to living (and dying) with cancer.  It's not.  Sitting in that darkened theater, though, watching this man tell us about his trials and tribulations of having to accomplish everything we normal people take for granted because we can use two working arms and hands, I formed an instant mental connection.

You see, when you have an infant in your family, you spend a lot of time holding him or her in your arms.  They're small and fairly light and crave the comfort of a familiar elbow.  Soon, it's become second nature and for several months, an infant (if swaddled) can be comfortably carried with only one arm.  Combine this with the fact that as a parent, you're loathe to put down - or even shift - a sleeping baby that you're carrying and you end up in a situation where you find yourself wanting to do many common everyday tasks with only one arm.

And as David rattled off a few tasks that were orders of magnitude harder with only one arm - brushing your teeth, grating cheese - it made a personal impression.  While I don't know what it's like to be weak and ill and unable to feel my arm, I do know what it's like to be pushed into that parallel universe where everyday tasks must suddenly be accomplished one-handed.

It made me understand David Rakoff just a little bit more.  Nowadays, when I'm holding Cecily and need to try refill a bottle, or if Simon's taking up half my body and I need to empty his potty, I sometimes think of David Rakoff.  And I wonder how many other parents he so slyly connected with that night with his story.