On Grief

elder999

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If love would die, along with death, this life wouldn’t be so hard.

So, as many of you have probably surmised, the new job-and a few other things-have kept me kind of busy, and away from posting on the forum-I've missed it. That doesn’t mean, though, that I haven’t been thinking-or peeping in from time to time. I deliberately refrained from posting on the Newtown shooting-, though, it struck me, under the circumstances, as kind of disrespectful to do so. For those of you who are gun-control advocates, and chose that sad occasion as one in support of your position-shame on you. For those of you who are gun ownership advocates, and chose to use that occasion as one in support of your position-shame on you as well. At some point, I’ll chime in about Newtown and gun control, but for now, I want to talk about something a bit more vague, that I actually know something about, grief.

I am, as some of you know, a widower-at least, I was-I suppose remarrying frees me from that title, though not the grief that accompanies it; my mom is a widow. My father, rather comically, called himself an “orphan,” when his mother passed away in 1972-at the age of 72, when my father was 44, and hardly the image of “orphan.” My mother has also lost a child, and tellingly, unlike orphan, widow, or widowerm there is no word for that particular loss

Usually, I’ll define a problem or situation, then present a solution. In this case, there isn’t really one problem, or one catch-all solution-just some guidelines. I’m also going to take the liberty of offering up half of the problem, some of those guidelines, and then defining what I think to be the root of the problem…

Years and years ago-40 years this summer, I think, a little boy in my neighborhood rushed into his burning house, thinking his sister was still in there. She wasn’t, and the little boy-a boy of about 8 or 9 at the time-was killed in the fire. The boy’s family attended my family’s church, and my father knew him through Cub Scouts-so it was only natural that my father perform the service for the little boy. Being a priest’s son in those days usually meant that I got to assist (as altar boy or acolyte) on weddings, baptisms, and other occasions requiring a Mass-like funerals. This one was a first for my Dad, I think, and a first for me for sure-I’d never seen a child sized coffin in my life, one that hardly required two men to carry, let alone four. I was nearly 12 at the time, and my Dad would have just turned 44- remember that much because it was nearly the end of the school year when this happened. In any case, my Dad, who could be something of a clown, really liked all kids-and knew this boy, so it seemed natural to his parents that he not only officiate the service, but eulogize the lad. Dad-who’d recently been “orphaned”, as I said, and was dealing with other feelings of grief- nearly broke down eulogizing the boy, and barely made it through the service-after which, in sacristy, he broke down and had a good cry-something I’d never seen. I offered what little comfort I could to my father, impotently rubbing the back of his neck, when one of the parishioners came in and offered what I’m sure he thought were some words of comfort, some rah-rah along the lines of Jesus…blah, blah, blah…better place,….blah, blah, blah…..called by Jesus…blah, blah, blah…..you get the idea.

Dad had been a prison chaplain for about four years by then, and regularly socialized with fairly rough fellows-convicts, and he’d also been a Naval chaplain….and he was a New Yorker, so he was no stranger to rough language, and the occasional “*****” or “dammit” emerging from his mouth wasn’t an altogether unusual occurrence. I was surprised, though, when that parishioner left, and Dad removed his glasses, wiped off his face with his handkerchief and muttered, Please, Jesus, I hope I’ve never *****in’ done that to anyone.

I’ve recently had to watch a friend die. Randy Allen was one of those hippies I’ve talked about-a guy who came out to New Mexico as a young man in the 60’s, and wound up staying. He was a roadman in the Native American Church-ran ceremonies for all sorts of people, including natives on the reservations, many of whom thought a great, great deal of him. He passed away from cancer at 74, just this last month. Under the circumstances, I was glad to see him going on his own terms, and that his passing was easy and relatively free of suffering, rather than the long, lingering death I’d watched my father go through 26 years ago. I cannot, of course, say as much to Concha, his widow-it wouldn’t be appropriate, and she surely doesn’t want to hear it, At least his suffering is over,…..He’s in a better place, now. Best to keep my mouth shut, rather than offer such words.

So, half of the problem-what does one say under such circumstances-the loss of a spouse, a parent-a child? Whether sudden or expected, we humans-social beings that we are-want to offer something , some sort of comfort. Fact is, though, that even people who are religious, and truly believe that their loved one is in a better place, have no real comfort from those words-even as they say them themselves. My mother cared for my father through 6 months of dwindling from a great bear of a man down to a mere 90 pounds, and she never once said At least his suffering is over. Nor have I ever heard her say as much about my sister Karyl, dead five years now-in fact, the only thing I have heard her say, as recently as this past Christmas, is I wish Karyl hadn’t died

I can’t even begin to imagine what one might say to the parents of those children in Newtown, CT.

What then, do we say under such circumstances? Well, mostly nothing of course. We can ask, How are you doing? and avoid How are you feeling?, because, well, even with the utmost empathy, we don’t really want to know how they’re feeling- we recoil even at the thought of such a horror-to lose our child, to watch our wife drown and be unable to do anything about it-even with human empathy being what it is, we can scarcely bear contemplating such an eventuality for ourselves, and would rather maintain the illusion that we and our loved ones are going to live forever. We can say how we share their sadness, and how we’ll miss the loved one too, but even those words-welcome and true as they might be, offer little comfort to one who is, surely, sadder for their loss, and going to miss their loved one all the more. Leave it at that, though, and simply be with your friend-offer more substantial help, look in on them once in a while, and leave it at that.

After all,(and this is the ‘define the problem’ part)what is grief?

Grief is an empty place in our lives, where our spouse, our parent, our sister or other loved one, used to be, and the growing realization that no matter what one tries: religion, booze, drugs, food, other people, or activities both reckless and productive-nothing will ever fill that place in our lives-least of all the words of others, however well-intentioned or “truthful” they may be. Nothing will ever take the place of my father, my sister or my wife. In the case of a spouse-one might be as lucky as I am to find another companion who is understanding of that empty place, and can live with my grief as I do…..it may diminish over time, grow to be less and less of a presence in our lives, reduced from a howling echoing cavern of empty longing into, well, something very like the dry socket of a missing tooth, as it has done for me, but, as Rita-that's the wife- can tell you, especially when I wake up screaming, in horror, the name of another woman, dead 20 years this June- it never really goes away, and no words can fill that space, least of all the space left by a child-an absence for which, as I pointed out in the beginning, there are no words to define, let alone fill….
 
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Sukerkin

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Thank you, Elder. I have no idea if events in my life were a small part of the seed that caused you to sit, ponder and craft that; but you might as well have been talking directly to me.

It is especially apposite that I sat down and read that having just dried my eyes and washed my face after shedding more than a few new tears and raising, yet again, a hopeless plea to the uncaring Fates to bring my wife back to those that love her; they could take me in her stead if that's what it would cost, tho' I know that that is not what she would wish. For she would no more wish to live without me than I do without her.

People have said to me the very words that you mention; I know they mean to be kind and I would never let them see how much it hurts to hear them say it or how the wounded soul within me wants to snap and bite at the lack of comprehension of what it is like to lose half of yourself. For what else is there for them to say when their empathy will not let them be silent? Despite the pain she was in and the distress caused by the drugs administered to ease that pain, she did not want to leave me; even for her as she endured it, the suffering did not matter compared to staying with me a little longer. Her suffering being over is something that I might find comfort in over the years but not yet.

The last words she spoke, taking one ragged breath for each, were "I. Love. You". The last words she heard, as I held her, were "I love you"; then her eyes opened for the last time and she was gone. A howl of despair sprang from me at that moment and it has not stopped since - it is just that people cannot hear it, tho' some few do see it when they look me in the face. When grief is spoken of as "all consuming", I do not think any of us fully comprehend what that means until the beast is upon us ourselves.
 
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elder999

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Thank you, Elder. I have no idea if events in my life were a small part of the seed that caused you to sit, ponder and craft that;

They were.

but you might as well have been talking directly to me.[/QUOTE

I was.

And now, at the risk of being crass, friend Mark, I’ll offer up a few more empty words, hoping you might at least take some small measure of comfort from my experience.

I did not remove my wedding ring for two years after Lisa’s death-I only started dating when my kids sat me down for a family meeting, and told me that I should get a girlfriend. I’d had ample reason to “soldier on” in the intervening time-those kids among them-and lots of support and help from friends and relatives, some of whom were all to ready to tell me what I should be doing: You need to quit racing cars (I did) You should stop riding motorcycles (I did not.) You should stop climbing mountains…(as if!)…..what I can say is that for the longest time I’d have stayed in my bed moaning the day away, praying for my own end with each and every breath, if that had been even the most remote of choices-instead, I threw myself into my work, and caring for my kids…..in time, though, I eventually came to laugh at the Simpson’s with the kids again, without feeling at all guilty about it, and enjoying foods I’d enjoyed, and finding pleasure in all the more mundane pleasures of my life…..eventually, I took a try at Mt. Everest-without my regular climbing partner,whose idea the entire ridiculous notion had been, and who had been my partner for life.I traveled the world a little more without my travel agent, who’d shared my passion for travel, and had been my partner for life. I sailed a little bit more without my first mate, who'd actually raced Lasers against me as a teenagers, and had been my first-mate for life.....Somehow, I managed to take pleasure in quite a few other things along the way….eventually, I got to a place where I no longer see something marvelous, and think, If only Lisa were here to see this, or experience something and think,I wish I could tell Lisa about this or, at least, I don’t think it too loudly, most times…eventually, I found other climbing partners, and partners for other things as well….…..I wish I could tell you that whitewater rafting and kayaking will ever be anything less than the grimmest of chores for me, but that simply wouldn’t be true. I wish that I could tell you that I don’t get a little teary at certain songs, or even certain foods and wines, but such things are, after all, a part of life. In any case, things got to where they were in the course of their own time for me-while grief remained, I mourned less and less, laughed a little more, and went on living……while grief remains, mourning-which is, after all, what you're doing-does abate........I only hope that I don’t offend by offering this, or offend your atheist’s sensibilities by saying that I’m praying that things pass to such a stage as quickly as they should for you, in their own time….

In the meantime, though……how are you doing?
 

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I cannot thank you sufficiently for your considered and compassionate words, Jeff. It means much that you would sit and spend your time and look back at your own pain to try and help me. Fear not that I would take offence with such an outstretched hand extended with only grace and a desire to heal. Especially do not fear so when it comes to matters of divinity. I might not have faith but that does not mean that I scorn it when others exercise theirs on my behalf, for it is to their credit that they do so, particularly for one who does not think as they do.

I cannot articulate, in these dark hours of the night, how I am doing. Today has been a bad day following on the heels of a couple of days where I have tried too hard to 'pull myself together'; with the result that I am as distraught and despairing as I have been since the morning after my joudama was taken from me.

In some ways it hurts worse than the immediate release of grief because, at that moment, rationality flees and, tho' you seem wrought only of pain, it is as if your mind protects itself, as it does from any grievous trauma, by not consciously 'processing' it. Now, my conscious mind has to face that which it does not wish to; looking down what I have referred to as a 'nightmare road' stretching on into my future. It is unlit and already haunted with memory of what has been lost. Finding the courage to walk it is going to be hard. When getting out of bed to live another day is challenge enough, rediscovering the strength to set foot on that 'road' seems impossible. But I know that that is what Michelle would want of me; she would not want me to spend the rest of my days in abject misery and soul-deep anguish.

For now, the best I can promise her is "Maybe tomorrow, my darling; or the day after that".

Tonight it seems that I fear to go to sleep, flinching from what may await me - for most of this month, each night when I fall asleep I relive her passing, often awaking in tears. However, I know that I must get at least some rest ... so I shall go and try.
 

granfire

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Sometimes courage, perseverance is getting up in the morning, putting forth a brave face, taking one breath after another, setting one foot in front of the other.
 

Makalakumu

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Thank you for writing this. It gave me a sense of perspective on my own marriage and my family that maybe I'm trying not to think about. All of this will eventually pass. All of it will change and the wonderful people I love will eventually say good-bye and I may be saying such sooner than I think.

That said...

I deliberately refrained from posting on the Newtown shooting-, though, it struck me, under the circumstances, as kind of disrespectful to do so. For those of you who are gun-control advocates, and chose that sad occasion as one in support of your position-shame on you. For those of you who are gun ownership advocates, and chose to use that occasion as one in support of your position-shame on you as well.

This pisses me off. It scratches open the raw emotion I felt on the day this happened. My son is the age of the boys who were viciously taken and I can keenly imagine him cowering under a desk while a monster blows his terrified little brains out. You would shame me for wanting the ability to protect my children and other people's children from things like this? You would shame me for wanting other adults to have the ability to stop this? I'm sorry, Jeff, but sometimes someone just needs to be upfront with how they feel about that...life is too god damn precious for idealism. After reading about the hole in your life the passing of a loved one brings and knowing that this could be prevented, but was thwarted by a focus group and their vision of utopia.

How are you feeling, John?
I'm feeling grief for all the parents whose children were murdered. I'm feeling rage at the society that produces these monsters and prevents people from dealing with the consequences. I'm feeling relief that my son is playing in the next room. I'm feeling guilt for feeling relief.
 
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elder999

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I cannot thank you sufficiently for your considered and compassionate words, Jeff.

No thanks are needed, Mark.

It means much that you would sit and spend your time and look back at your own pain to try and help me. Fear not that I would take offence with such an outstretched hand extended with only grace and a desire to heal. Especially do not fear so when it comes to matters of divinity. I might not have faith but that does not mean that I scorn it when others exercise theirs on my behalf, for it is to their credit that they do so, particularly for one who does not think as they do.

One last bit, then-some more empty words.


My father was a selfish man. It’s true-he was the only child of old, rich people, from an age when “children were seen, and not heard” and seldom “seen,” at that…..his selfishness was a source of many lessons for me-I learned to cook because sometimes he wouldn’t cook for me, but he would show me how to do something for myself. It was difficult, though, when he’d bring candy home-for himself-and not share, Rollo’s chocolates, and, very often, bags of jellied spearmint leaves..

Can I have some?

Get away from me, you ugly little bugger-these are mine.

:lol: That’s my pop…..:lfao:

Of course., such behavior made those spearmint leaves all the sweeter when he shared them……some time after he died, though-months later, I was shopping in a grocery store that sold things in bulk. I walked by a barrel full of spearmint leaves when I heard a voice, very clearly,C’mon, Jeff-Jeff. Buy your old man some candy….
So I did. I gave most of them to my kids, of course-I really prefer chocolate most of the time……….
Or…..if you prefer-…..my father had taught me to cook, over the years-he’d been a cook himself, among other things, and inspired me to seek training as a chef-later, I’d taught my wife Lisa to cook-her mother isn’t much of a cook, and I’d do things like leave premade meals with descriptions and clever instructions in the refrigerator: Hello, Lisa! I’m a meatloaf! Jeff made be by mixing 1/2 cup of breadcrumbs, 1 egg, 1 lb. of ground turkey, ¼ cup of chopped green bell pepper and ¼ cup of chopped onion, coating this pan with oil then molding me in here… he’d like you to put me in the oven at 350F for about 30 minutes, then wake him up…:lfao:
We were in the midst of a long refueling outage when my father passed away. I returned to work, to our small, threadbare neglected office (as plant operators, rather than control room operators, our space was not considered “important”) and cooked a meal for my coworkers: London broil, baked potatoes, string beans, my father’s favorite meal…later, cooking meals became something of a tradition among the operators at Indian Pt., one that led to the company spending thousands of dollars to improve our office space and kitchen:Lisa learned to cook,my fellow plant operators got a nicer more professional space, and a tradition of cooking that carries on a quarrter century later, and rivals (bests!) any firehouse, and all because one day as a child, I got up to my father eating breakfast, asked him where mine was, and followed his answer:Get that potato over there…. told me while Randy was dying that the best way to honor him was to honor our marriage-she’s pretty wise for a dizty blonde, sometimes…:lfao:….. we went to visit Randy and Concha during his last weeks-he’d basically been told by the doctors, when asked what came next, Go home. You’ll get up in the morning and do what you do every day, and then one day you won’t, and that’s just how it happened. I cooked him some liver that day, and we had a good talk-it was a good day for him and for Concha, and for me and Rita as well-he even joked at me, with a twinkle in his eye, that next time I was there, Yeah,we’ll sing.…of course, there was no next time…..it will be hard not to feel Randy-who taught me sooo many songs-sitting next to me in ceremony when I sing those songs, and hard not to think of him(and Anthony Davis, and Henry Gomez, who are both gone and taught both f us) when I teach others those songs, as I surely must.. ….

Though it may not seem it now, in one way or another, the dead are always with us-whether in memory, in spirit, or in our deeds. I can’t begin to tell you what comes next for you, how to go about it, or what form your mourning should take-I ask, How are you doing? because it’s the polite thing to do, but, from the sound of it, I know from experience exactly how you’re doing. I’m pretty sure I have a fair idea of how you’re feeling. You’ll start to find the ways that Michelle is with you, if you haven’t already, and-I can almost promise you-come to feel good about them, as I did that day I bought those spearmint leaves, or even now, as I share what I feel and what I know-as I know Lisa would expect of me-and dimly, hear her voice, and her chuckling, Still trying to be the teacher….


Now, on to some unfortunately necessary housekeeping, Mark-please forgive me.

This pisses me off.

Is there a single reason I should care, John?

It scratches open the raw emotion I felt on the day this happened. My son is the age of the boys who were viciously taken and I can keenly imagine him cowering under a desk while a monster blows his terrified little brains out. You would shame me for wanting the ability to protect my children and other people's children from things like this? You would shame me for wanting other adults to have the ability to stop this? I'm sorry, Jeff, but sometimes someone just needs to be upfront with how they feel about that...life is too god damn precious for idealism. After reading about the hole in your life the passing of a loved one brings and knowing that this could be prevented, but was thwarted by a focus group and their vision of utopia.

Me, me, me….My, my, my. Ooh. We were butt-hurt and heartsick the day we found out that the world is a bad place, where 5 year old children, wives and mothers die? Guess what?

It always has been, and always will be,a dangerous place where 5 year old children, wives and mothers die.Believe me-you’d be no less butt-hurt, no less heart-sick, and no less pissed off whether it was by cancer, bus accident, bullet, or toilet from outer space.



‘cause life is just like that, for all of us, each and every moment of every day.(This was actually a very good show, in terms of exploring the nature of grief…)

More to the point, John, yes-shame on you.

Would you go up to the parents of those children and say, Oh, if only someone in the school had been armed, they might have saved your child? or would you go up to them at that time and say,If only it were impossible for anyone to get such terrible weapons, your child would still be alive? Would it be appropriate? Respectful? No?

Then why say it at all?


More importantly, why bring it any further into this particular discussion than I had-especially since I said I’d get to Newtown and gun control somewhere else. I wanted those conversations that you’ve brought up (the whiny little butt-hurt ones) to be separate from this one for a variety of reasons. Why, in the aftermath of such a horrific event, would you think of or say anything other than how horrible it must have been to be there, and how horrible it must be for the survivors? In spite of your lunatic-fringe political and world-view, I’ve come to expect some of the best in human behavior from you, John, but this time,instead,we get, Me, me, me. My, my, my You SHOULD be ashamed. :mad:

Me,me, me….my, my, my: ooh, I’m pissed, because somebody should listen to me, so this never happens to me and mine :rolleyes:
 
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Sukerkin

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For all the world, my friend, no matter how un-stiff-upper-lip-Englishman it is, I wish I could hug you for the understanding and true comfort your understanding brings. I also wish that my usual facility with the written word had not deserted me at present so that I could express what it means more eloquently than that. But, somehow, I think you know the strength of what I feel regardless.

Because, now, Michelle is not here to drink it, I have opened a bottle of 2006 Salice Salentino that we had been saving. It is so dark and rich it is almost black and I raise a glass both to the memory of my perfect wife and to the friendship shown by a man far away that I have never yet met face to face.
 
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Makalakumu

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Is there a single reason I should care, John?

None, whatsoever. See, I think the overall message of your letter is beautiful, Jeff, but with those few lines you tossed a turd in the punch bowl IMO. Everybody does it occasionally. You can see it as feedback...or not.

If you want to get into this some other time, that's fine as well.
 
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elder999

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For all the world, my friend, no matter how un-stiff-upper-lip-Englishman it is, I wish I could hug you for the understanding and true comfort your understanding brings. I also wish that my usual facility with the written word had not deserted me at present so that I could express what it means more eloquently than that. But, somehow, I think you know the strength of what I feel regardless.

Because, now, Michelle is not here to drink it, I have opened a bottle of 2006 Salice Salentino that we had been saving. It is so dark and rich it is almost black and I raise a glass both to the memory of my perfect wife and to the friendship shown by a man far away that I have never yet met face to face.

Consider then, Mark, that this thread is my hugging you, across all those miles, as best as I can, and I’ll raise a glass of my own pinot noir to the day that we do meet face to face. :asian:

(Quite fond of Salice Salentino myself, and would probably kill for some Negroamaro clones for my vineyard….:lfao: )
 

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Consider then, Mark, that this thread is my hugging you, across all those miles, as best as I can, and I’ll raise a glass of my own pinot noir to the day that we do meet face to face. :asian:

(Quite fond of Salice Salentino myself, and would probably kill for some Negroamaro clones for my vineyard….:lfao: )

Feeling a little cheap with my Oakleaf fluppes....but I have been toasting!
 
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elder999

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Feeling a little cheap with my Oakleaf fluppes....but I have been toasting!
Toast away! Don't feel cheap-Salice Salentino is quite yummy, but remarkably affordable-on the other hand, my own pinot noir, is, in fact, my own pinot noir, and it doesn't get much cheaper than wine ya made yerself, from grapes ya grew yerself, and pressed yerself.....:lfao: (says the New Yorker: if it's free, give me three! :lfao: ) And you're welcome as well, Gran, should you ever get this way-we'll raise a glass or two (or seven!:lfao: )
 

granfire

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Toast away! Don't feel cheap-Salice Salentino is quite yummy, but remarkably affordable-on the other hand, my own pinot noir, is, in fact, my own pinot noir, and it doesn't get much cheaper than wine ya made yerself, from grapes ya grew yerself, and pressed yerself.....:lfao: (says the New Yorker: if it's free, give me three! :lfao: ) And you're welcome as well, Gran, should you ever get this way-we'll raise a glass or two (or seven!:lfao: )

I will take you up on that offer, even if I have to redye my hair red! :D
 

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Thank you all for expressing what is so painful. I have yet to experience a loss as profound as the loss of a dear spouse, but your words bring tears all the same. After 20 years; I still hear my father's voice and occasionally smell his cologne. The pain is mostly gone and I believe that the memories are generally fond and consoling finally. I learned through the years that talking about the loss of someone was far more beneficial than platitudes. I hope that your pain diminishes and fond memories remain for you both as time passes.
 

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