It sucks that with love comes loss,
but that's unavoidable, I think. When I get emotional about the December 20th passing of one of my loved ones, I repeat to myself a mantra that I've been very lucky to know him, to be influenced by him. He was is was a wonderful person who, along with his wife and son, permeated my outlook on family and community and milking the wonderful, simple moments out of life.
To be more specific, I lost a dear member of my extended family to a brain aneurysm so soon before Christmas that for the first time, I spent late December and early January feeling very out of sorts, or as I like to call it, "emotionally busy". On Monday, the 22nd, I bought earrings for my beloved grandmother and chocolates for my Someone's dad in the afternoon, then in the evening, strode around one of my fears - an open-casket wake. And on Tuesday I fell apart at a funeral, attended a memorial lunch at which my grandmother put a little pressure on me for the first time about how she hoped I would "get married by the time [you're] thirty", and went driving in the rain for a gift card-shopping spree. I walked around with an iced cappuccino, getting out my credit card, weaving between energetic, chatting families, passing busy fine jewelry shops, taking moments to think of that adopted uncle of mine, feeling like the world had been robbed, especially his wife and son, and just days later, I was doing my best to set that aside, stepping into warm, festive homes to joke and make small talk. It was weird.
I admire the resilience of people who are grappling with a recent death while walking the dog and picking up their kids at school, appearing to their neighbors and coworkers to be perfectly normal.
Another way of grieving, in my world, is speaking to the deceased. Depending on what relationship I had with them, I might simply ask them to keep an eye on their surviving immediate family and push me in the direction of those people if they could use my help, or, in the case of my mom's parents, with whom I hardly had a relationship, I've asked a couple of times that they learn their lessons, and be regretful for wrongdoings when they were alive, and when it comes to my dad’s father, who passed years ago, I ask for his advice, I complain, I sometimes ask for birthday greetings (to which he has always responded!), and I spoke to him after he called my parents and grandmother the day of my cousin's wedding. I had worn a ring he gave Grandma for the occasion, and my aunt put his cuff links on the bridal bouquet, so that left just two more households to inform that yeah, it was a big day, he'd be there, so that afternoon, both my dad and grandmother looked up at roughly 1:30pm to see my grandparents' home phone number calling their homes. Grandma knew her phone couldn't call itself! Both I and the mother of the bride were so pleased to get that sign.
These experiences really do have me believing that my grandfather communicated with us, and that you can't build a very solid, caring, joking relationship with another person and have it abruptly end just because they died. Sorry non-hippie types! I'm sorry to the major skeptics, regardless of the origins of your disbelief - I choose a life wherein my beloved uncle, my grandfather and all the other fantastic people I'm fortunate to know can reach out to me whenever and pretty much however. We choose our beliefs, in a way, I think, because we'll hear or read things that truly speak to us, things that feel right, appealing to whatever spirituality one has. We have to build our own belief systems, and that includes finding our own coping mechanisms for death. . You know we can't all be like Dave Anthony on Maron.
To be more specific, I lost a dear member of my extended family to a brain aneurysm so soon before Christmas that for the first time, I spent late December and early January feeling very out of sorts, or as I like to call it, "emotionally busy". On Monday, the 22nd, I bought earrings for my beloved grandmother and chocolates for my Someone's dad in the afternoon, then in the evening, strode around one of my fears - an open-casket wake. And on Tuesday I fell apart at a funeral, attended a memorial lunch at which my grandmother put a little pressure on me for the first time about how she hoped I would "get married by the time [you're] thirty", and went driving in the rain for a gift card-shopping spree. I walked around with an iced cappuccino, getting out my credit card, weaving between energetic, chatting families, passing busy fine jewelry shops, taking moments to think of that adopted uncle of mine, feeling like the world had been robbed, especially his wife and son, and just days later, I was doing my best to set that aside, stepping into warm, festive homes to joke and make small talk. It was weird.
I admire the resilience of people who are grappling with a recent death while walking the dog and picking up their kids at school, appearing to their neighbors and coworkers to be perfectly normal.
Another way of grieving, in my world, is speaking to the deceased. Depending on what relationship I had with them, I might simply ask them to keep an eye on their surviving immediate family and push me in the direction of those people if they could use my help, or, in the case of my mom's parents, with whom I hardly had a relationship, I've asked a couple of times that they learn their lessons, and be regretful for wrongdoings when they were alive, and when it comes to my dad’s father, who passed years ago, I ask for his advice, I complain, I sometimes ask for birthday greetings (to which he has always responded!), and I spoke to him after he called my parents and grandmother the day of my cousin's wedding. I had worn a ring he gave Grandma for the occasion, and my aunt put his cuff links on the bridal bouquet, so that left just two more households to inform that yeah, it was a big day, he'd be there, so that afternoon, both my dad and grandmother looked up at roughly 1:30pm to see my grandparents' home phone number calling their homes. Grandma knew her phone couldn't call itself! Both I and the mother of the bride were so pleased to get that sign.
These experiences really do have me believing that my grandfather communicated with us, and that you can't build a very solid, caring, joking relationship with another person and have it abruptly end just because they died. Sorry non-hippie types! I'm sorry to the major skeptics, regardless of the origins of your disbelief - I choose a life wherein my beloved uncle, my grandfather and all the other fantastic people I'm fortunate to know can reach out to me whenever and pretty much however. We choose our beliefs, in a way, I think, because we'll hear or read things that truly speak to us, things that feel right, appealing to whatever spirituality one has. We have to build our own belief systems, and that includes finding our own coping mechanisms for death. . You know we can't all be like Dave Anthony on Maron.
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