September 2002

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Communication
Write to me

I'm sorry, I've hit a sort of slump the past few days. I think the combination of a not-unexpected death, having the Labor Day holiday from usefulness, and being tired from all the pre-holiday work have combined to make me unwilling to string too many words together, for fear they'll turn into gibberish.

The recent death has made me think again about grief. Knowing that someone I care about is deeply in grief has brought a lot of things to the front of my mind.

It's been my experience that when you know someone is going to die, you think the grief will be a bit easier, because you will have had some time to prepare yourself for the loss. But the loss isn't real till it happens. Until that final, no-spark-left moment, you have hope. Maybe not hope that the person will miraculously recover, but hope that there will be another moment. Another chance to say "I love you." Another moment of feeling warm flesh before the coldness of the Inevitable takes hold.

And then the death happens. And you're left to deal with the world. A world minus someone who has been part of your life for however long. A someone whose being gone leaves one hell of a hole in your life. And a world that will neither stop nor really slow down to mourn, and will barely acknowledge your state of grief. How dare those people want to go shopping and to work and to eat and drink and be merry? Don't they have the decency to realize you are walking around inside a body-sized wound?

If it's fallen to you to be the one in charge of the next steps, you either have to plan a service of some sort, or follow through on already-made plans. People will ask you questions about the plans, and if you're lucky you'll have some answers. If you're not lucky, you'll have to fake your way through answers, hoping the questioners will be merciful and fill in the words you can't find.

Then if you're still in charge, there's paperwork. You may well have good help with that, but it's not easy, even with help, because it's another goodbye. Once you've signed the papers that close the estate, you have shut a door as firmly as the lid is closed on a coffin.

And then you feel alone, and vulnerable, and miserable, and why in the hell is no one else grieving with you right now? Did they all think the damned funeral was the end of it?

Maybe that's what's missing at this stage: another ceremonial time, religious or not, to mark the passing of the very last stages of your responsible time. Maybe someone needs to say, "You have done well by your loved one. Go in peace." Maybe I'll give that idea some more thought.

I guess if there is a point to my telling you this, it's to remind you that those most deeply affected by a death don't magically get over the grief before the funeral flowers wilt. They'll still need your support and concern, long after the fact. They'll need you to be apart from the rest of the world, to slow down and mourn with them. And I will tell you from my own experience, those continued things are acts of love.