Content warning; death
I was 6 when my grandpa died. There was a full funeral, and then graveside at the stark desert cemetery. I had a clear view of the now closed casket. The talking went on over my head. Then this contraption began to lower the fancy box into the ground.
Suddenly it hit me, I would never see my grandpa again. My mom and her sisters were beside and behind and far above me. I heard one aunt say, “Oh, look, she’s crying.”
“Only because she sees us crying. She’s too little to understand.” Because sometimes people don’t believe in someone else’s emotions. Especially a child.
When I was 22 my dad died of a heart attack. He had been trying to heal enough that year to have a needed heart bypass. Years of smoking and hard drinking caught up before that happened. I was honestly relieved he was gone. My only tears were for my young son’s sorrow. Someone can be important in your life and yet not be deeply mourned or missed.
I was 30 when my beloved grandma passed away in her nursing home. Her unconditional love and wealth of life skills was a guiding light to me. It was hard seeing her decline those last years. Her funeral celebrated her life and I was thankful for the memories shared by her remaining friends that were able to be there. She finally was able to rest next to her loved husband. It was a timely end to a life well lived, but I will always miss her.
Two years after my mom’s well earned retirement, all her plans to enjoy it were cut short. Liver cancer is cruel, but at least it was quick. Unfortunately, details of her estate caused a rift with my brother. I was left to deal with her accumulated belongings mostly on my own. Grieving can come with a further burden of becoming the holder of more family mementos and baggage than a heart can hold.
The year I turned 50 my best friend died of a heart attack while working overtime on a Saturday. He also happened to be my husband, and my world crashed around me.
Mostly I felt like I was crawling numbly through each day. As we powered through the seeming endless legal and public closing of a life, my now adult children were a support and help. But the full expression of the depth of my pain felt too intimate for display, like the private parts of our marriage. It broke my heart over and over, slowly changing my face to the world from “we” to “l”. I learned to moderate my expressions of grief for the comfort of others.
Death is an inevitable side effect of living, yet each grief is different and personal. Sometimes it is a gift, and sometimes a dark void. There can be a clear map and helpful guides, or you can wander lost, feeling alone.
A few days ago my oldest son died suddenly, publicly among good friends, doing something he loved. It was most likely a heart attack. He was 51. And again I don’t have a map through this, despite my other experiences.
In large part, I started this blog because of questions he had. It is also for my other children and their children. We aren’t a family that makes history, but we have our stories that give context to history.
Now Michael’s stories are over. I and so many, many people who knew him and loved him and our family. The stories are being shared virtually and in person. The scope of this shared grief, the sheer number of people is overwhelming. And I’m thankful for the sharing.
These stories, too, will be written. I promise. But not yet. Hug the people you love. Share your stories.
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