Even though we are indoctrinated from early on in life to accept death nothing quite prepares us from dealing and coping with loss. There is simply not enough support in our society to address this issue. Even googling on the web you can see there is a vacant spot where avoidance and apprehension seem to point to what is lacking. Death scares people and grieving people make others very nervous. Everyone is willing to pat you on the back and throw a few worn out words of moral support but you are expected to carry the burden by yourself the rest of the way and unfortunately that can be a very long road , one with no end in sight.
Death comes in two forms, expected and unexpected and each have their own special sting. I am not sure if one is better than the other for those left behind but I find that we deal with death much as we live life. Since the words that occupy this space come from my heart and my experiences I have the ability to look back and see how death has shaped my life and my understanding of myself. How we handle death and grief in society says something about the time and space which we occupy in the universe.
The first death I experienced was that of my great grand father who passed away in his sleep peacefully at a very ripe age. When he died I was six years old and I was flanked by my cousins who were respectively three years older than me and younger than me to each side. I had gone withmy parents to my great grand fathers home as they packed up his possessions and removed all traces of what had been his life. They had not spoken to me about his death and they were somewhat blindsided when I asked them what they were doing. They looked at each other and realized that somehow in the midst of all this they had forgotten all about little me and my inquisitive mind. A quick and fast respons from my mother was " He has gone on a long trip". My equally rapid response was " Isnt he going to be upset when he gets back and finds out that you have moved his stuff?". They just looked at me and said nothing and returned to what they were doing. Several days later at my grand mothers house with my cousins in hushed voices we began to talk amongst ourselves about all the activity surrounding great grand pas absence. I remember telling my cousins "He is dead and they think we are stupid." I frankly have no clue how I knew he was dead or what chain of events had already indoctrinated me in that reality, but I simply knew and did not appreciate being passed off by the adults and not included in what was really happening. The moral of this story is that small children see and understand more than we give them credit for and they too grieve in their own capacity so take them into consideration and dont think that shielding them is doing them a service.
The next significant loss was of my mothers father who was killed at the hands of another when I was 15 years old. At the time we were out of the country and not only were we blindsided by this needless act but there was a lack of closure because there was never a chance to attend his funeral. My grandfather was a distant and reserved man and his relationship with my mother was strained and his death and its aftermath was a bizarre experience. My relationship with my own mother was as strained as the one she had with her own father so watching her grieve was like looking through a fishbowl with a magnification lens, everything seemed very distorted. My mother did not like being talked to, or about and all I could do was step on eggshells for weeks as she went through the process and i silently wondered when it was going to end and what was going to come next. This was my first experience with the roller coaster of grief, emotions that ebb and tide and crest and weave unexpectedly and at random. I felt horrible that she was grieving alone in her self exposed assylum and would not include or allow anyone near her to assist her. Grieving is painfull but it should not be a lonely process and you should allow yourself to lean on others and allow them to console you. Self control is not always the best thing and losing your composure and a few makeup stains will not be judged by others. Allowing the pain to flow outwards is a part of healing. Simply let it go.
The next blow was perhaps the biggest in my life and could not have come at a worst time, death never has good timing. This was a very complicated situation because I was emerced in so many difficult situations at the time that had already torn me apart and this was like the final bullet. My father was my best friend and I was his only child, he had always been there for me and the best I could do was to be there for him. In September 2001 in the weeks following 911 my father was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. My parents were living under my roof at the time because of financial turmoil and I was going through a bitter and nasty divorce while parenting my small son. This was totally unexpected because noone took better care of himself than dad and it just did not make any sense, atleast then it did not. I remember driving him to a doctors appointment because I feared that he did not look well enough to drive. I was in the room with him as the doctor reviewed the results of recent X-rays and tests and kept on muttering that things did not look good at all. My father sat there passively and I felt like I was going to explode. I asked the doctor what his comments meant in proper english and he asked my father if he could have his permission to speak to me alone. Even face to face in his office he was unwilling to come clean and i asked him angrily if my father was going to die and he nodded yes.
That was the moment my world plunged into darkness for a long time to come. It literally felt as though the ground had given way beneath my feet and I was totally numb inside and out. We drove home in utter silence, I did not know what to say or what to do, I had just been initiated into the adult world of impending death. The next few weeks were filled with activity. more doctors, more tests and the helplessness of dealing with a medical system that is very cold and unkind. At every turn I was surprised how doctors and nurses were afraid to use the word death and look you in the eye. Could it be that they felt that by calling it death they would have to take blame and anger? perhaps. My father continued to get weaker and I felt lost and angry not knowing how to help him. I reached a point of total denial where I was sure that this could not be happening to my father and that someone was going to realize that they had made the wrong diagnosis. Something was going to happen and everything was going to work out in the end, or so I thought.
In those last five months of his life a strange dance took place around my father. A whirl wind of activity hinting at what would follow but never a direct mention by anyone of what this portended. I accompanied him for a biopsy atthe hospital and after the exam I was given a paper that talked about tumours that were in operable and untreatable. When I asked the physician if this meant that that illness was terminal he almost looked upset and scurried away without a response. As my father recovered in a hospital bed after the out patient procedure I excused myself and went inside the bathroom and sobbed. I called my mother in muffled voices from the bathroom and explained to her as best as I could that there was no hope and that dad was dying. I told her we would be home soon and to brace herself for what was about to come.
Several of my fathers siblings came from around the country and from abroad to spend some final moments with him and the strange dance continued. They sat by his bedside and talked about the past ommiting the present and denying the reality that looked at them eye to eye as I watched dumb founded. All emotions were contained and the word death was avoided at all costs. I remember vividly and with great anger as my uncle took out his camera and asked me to pose with my father as he lay in bed. I was in such pain and it took all my strength to keep the tears at bay. He was not happy about the look on my face and berated me for not being happy and cooperative and attempted to direct me on how to sit and how to smile. I did not see those photos for a decade until i found them in my mothers photo collection after her death. Even after all this time it was horrifying to see what the lens had captured.
As his siblings arrived and got ready to leave I observed more strange and bizarre behavior. I felt that I had been robbed of all ability to function when the last minutes arrived and my uncle kissed my father goodbye for the last time and got ready for me to take him to the airport so he could take a flight to Germany. I had been wondering how they would each handle this crucial moment, would they talk about death? would they break down and cry? the answer was no the dance of avoidance continued unabaited with great composure. I felt great anger and sadness at the same time. I felt a scream was caught deep in my throat. Even revisting that moment twelve years later I feel divided and confused.
My father continued to sink further into this place from which there was no return and I wondered about what was going on inside his mind just as I had wondered about the actions and thoughts of those surrounding him in those last months. My father was singularly a great man during his lifetime. He was an intelligent and compassionate human with great respect for others and died much as he had lived life. I am pretty sure that his illness had much pain and dis comfort but not a single time did he complain, not even once. When things had been good he had placed his family in front and it was no different during this time that he was not happy about having them watch him die. He had always been strong and seemingly indestructible but I could see that his diagnosis had completely robbed him of self esteem. A very approachable person and easy to talk to he completely withdrew and would barely speak or even look us in the eye. He had seen it as being his job to provide for his family and to leave them with enough financial cushion to take care of them in his absence, he had never dreamed that the end would come with him living under my roof and under my care. I wanted him to know that no matter what came that he was my father and I would do all I could to the very end.
In five to six months a strong man was losing his battle and now we were all watching the many unfolding phases of approaching death. As we watched we also grieved silently, we never spoke about what was going to happen but the cumulative pain of everyone in the house was palpable. As he diminished each day so did we in our own way. He became less mobile, he withdrew, he lost weight, he began to turn a strange shade of grey. Someone arrived from a local funeral home and he signed papers and prepaid for a cremation. I saw the yellow reciepts laying onthe table and read them with a morbid facination wondering what it must have felt like to pay money to have your own body disposed of. I felt a slight twing of disgust as I wondered what kind of society does not even provide a free service for its members at the very end. I looked at his signature at the bottom of the page. Everything I observed about death and dying in our world lacked warmth and recognition.
His doctor had helped arrange hospice care for him and I cannot thank the wonderful people of hospice enough for their kindness and straight forward approach towards death. They provided equiptment, medication, literature and all the assistance that we felt that we either could not give or did not have the medical knowledge to handle. They bathed and cleaned him and arrived and departed without any fuss by allowing the patient to remain the focus. as things grew more difficult and we approached hurddles that we were unsure about they came in the wee hours of morning and weatheredthe storm with us giving us the strength to try and see this through to the end so he could die at home and with his family by his side.
As he sank into death he became a mere presence in the room. Each day he seemed to get smaller and thinner and amongst the bed sheets he seemed lost. As he lost his ability to communicate through speech and then eventually lost the ability to open his eyes it was now a body that required daily care. We knew he could hear us and we refrained from saying anything that might upset him. One constant reminder of his tanacity was the hand that clenched the metal bed gaurds of his hospice bed. It was that arm that kept him firmly in this life or so I thought. He was now like a kite in a windy sky attached to the ground by a thin string that could break at any moment sending him into the heavens.
In six months we had perfected the dance of avoidance and we all went about our daily routines without emotion and in total silence avoiding the truth right in front of us. In a srange sort of way I now wanted it all to be over, there had to be an end in sight. I began and ended each day with the sight of my father being a little less than he was the day before. I didnt know how much longer I could go on. And so like a well worn book the end did eventually arrive just as unexpectedly as the whole process had begun, without warning. When death arrives you expect darkened skies and some omen to warn you of impending doom but that only makes for a great movie. In real life death comes and goes every moment of each day without introduction and without applause. As I am typing these words someone somewhere is dying you can be sure of that. And somewhere there are people grieving and begining their journey of acceptance whether they like it or not. life does not invite you to participate it drags you in by the hair and makes you watch, like it or not.
I had gotten dressed that january morning and i was ready to leave for work. I had to pick up a co-worker who had car problems and get us both to work on time. Just a few hours before in the early morning hours and away from prying eyes and ears I had crawled into bed beside my father. I had held him in my arms and spoken to him. we had never talked about thentruth until this moment and i could not let him go in pretence. I knew that he was running out of time swiftly, he had stopped eating weeks before and he had stopped drinking days before, I did not need anyone to do the math for me. I knew he had 72 hours at the most and likely far less. I didnt know if he could hear me or if he was present in mind but it soon became evident that he could both hear me and understand me clearly. I explained to him how much i loved him and how much he meant to me and always would. I told him that I knew that he was hanging on for his family but that we would have to learn how to navigate life without him. I told him it was ok to let go. I asked him if he could see his parents, because they were waiting for him at the other end. suddenly a man who had not moved in days used his last reservoir of energy and pushed up against me and try to sit up and with both hands he reached out into the space in front of him and I saw his eyes flutter and he said something I could not understand. But I felt he could sense a presence unseen to me and it gave me comfort.
I had been at work for only minutes and i was standing by the phone just staring at it, as if a part of me already knew what had happened. As i stared at the phone it rang, my mother was at the other end, she said I needed to come home. Before I could say anything she said, he is gone. I ran out in tears forgetting my bag and drove home in a flood of tears and emotions. My little boy had been spending the week with his father that week as we both had joint custody and I now faced another terrible moment I will never forget. My son had a very close bond with my father and my father illness and impending death has left an open wound til this day which has not healed. He was at school that morning and his school was located directly across the street. I had already spoken to his school about what was happening with his grandfather and i called them from my car to let them know that I needed to pick him up because his grandfather had just died. I did not want him to come home and just find his grand father missing and be told that he had died. I felt that he had a right to say goodbye and have closure, after all he had been eye to eye with death for months and it was only fair to see the end as he had seen the beginning.
When i arrived he had already been removed from class and was waiting for me in a solitary room. I remember the look on his face as i wakled around the corner, he too like my father looked small and lost. since the house and then school were adjacent there was no time for a long explanation but a simple acknowledgment that yes your grandfather has passed. I told him that we were both going to be new to this because I had never seen a dead body either. I assured him that everything was going to be ok and that noone was going to require him to do anything he did not feel comfortable doing. I told him i did not want him to come home and see an empty space where his grandfather had once been. He did not say much, he just held my hand and we proceeded to open the door and walk in. There are many things that we each do for the first time and this was a first for both of us and an experience that has on many level bonded us whether he realizes it at this point or not.
Once inside we were not alone. My mother was sitting in a wingchair and a member of hospice and a chaplain were present. I had only left for work less than an hour ago so I was confused on how this gathering took place so rapidly but i was glad that we were not alone. There was no crying, no emotion , nothing that looked any different from what was visible this morning. My son took a quick glance and went up to his room and I walked up to my fathers bedside and attempted to verify for myself that he was indeeed gone, looking at him I could not tell. As i sat by his side my hand reached for his without thinking and the result of that contact told me all i needed to know. His hand was ice cold and rigormortis had firmly set in and his fingers and hand were tightly against his body and would not budge. I suddenly realized that it was now 10am or close to that and that he had more than likely died shortly after I had spoken to him and given him pernmission to leave. My mother had probably not realized what had happened until later in the morning when she had gone to his side to give him his morphine drops. So all the angst, drama, fear and turmoil had come to this rather undramatic moment. A moment that time seemed to stand still in utter silence.
The visitors asked us if we would be ok and if we needed any assistance we we said no and they were gone. My son was in his room. My mother had too left the room and gone upstairs without a word. She had her own way of dealing wih everything and I heard no noise or crying from anyone and so i was the last man standing. I had no idea what the death protocol was and I decided to call the funeral home and give them notice and see what information they had to impart. Somewhere in the back of my mind I assumed that there had to be a state law about the pick up and disposal of dead bodies. My call was duly noted by the person on the other end but I was told that the pick up of the body soley depended on me and when I wanted them to come. Let us know when you are ready is all they told me. After I hung up I realized that I faced the last moments of us all together as a family and that when his body was picked up a whole new chapter would begin. I felt deep guilt knowing that there had to come a point of departure. I felt a deep weight as if I was a block of granite, passive and imovable.
The next few hours were as important then as they are now. I walked by his bed. I sat by his side. I touched his hand and his face and I laid beside him. I then sat several feet away across the room and observed. I could feel his energy in the room and that surprised me because he was supposed to be dead. My parents were both atheists and I had been raised to believe that death was the end, and now that the end was here I was not sure what to think. It was a cold , overcast day and as I sat there observing and reliving life with dad in my mind, having a quiet converstation in my head I noticed something odd. Something that i knew nothing about and would puzzle me until my journey would begin towards understanding years later. At the cieling level directly above his head was a ball of light that remained constant and unwaivering. That ball of light captured my attention and I spent hours trying to find out what was causing it to no avail. It was not a reflection from anything that I could find and as the hours went by it only diminished as the day went by and it got progressively darker.
Nine hours later the knock was heard at my door and two men in black suits handing me a business card giving me their condolensces stepped into my home. Once again I observed the strange dance as the body was carefully and ceromoniously packed and loaded into a van for its final journey. I was going to be with him on this last trip so a friend drove behind the van until we arrived at the funeral home. I asked them if I could see him one last time and I said what I believed would be my final goodbye by kissing him on hs forehead. The journey back was in silence and uneventfull as it was all begining to seem like a dream happening to someone else. A dream that i would wake from and utter a sigh of relief.
Just as I had prayed for all the pain to end the next day and those that followed were strange in their own way. There lay the empty bed, each time I looked at it a sharp pain ran through my body. I picked up the phone and asked hospice to please expedite its removal and they said they understood and would do so. I spent hours cleaning it was as much a physical exercise as it was an emotional and spiritual activity. A cleansing or clearing of things that had bunched up and gotten stuck in my mind and in my body. i knew that to a stranger i would appear uncaring but noone knew the pain we had endured. I had a small child to raise and I needed to bring things to normal state as rapidly as I could. I had no idea that years would pass before any of us would be able to grieve. These words today are delayed grief in process and it has been ten years.
Life does not stop and wait for you to make a safe exist or entrance it just keeps on moving forward. Several days later after a small break , death and I came face to face yet again rather unexpectedly. The funeral home had agreed that i could be present for the cremation on an early thursday morning. When I arrived, there was a van outside in their drive way in front of the door. As I peeked inside the van through the tinted windows in the back I could see a very long cardboard box large enough to contain a human body. I wondered what and whom it contained, my father perhaps. I was greeted inside by the owner and he asked me if I would like to see my father one last time before the cremation. I didnt know what to say. i reminded him that he was used to the many faces of death but my father had died several days before and I did not want to see something that would open a wound and haunt me for a long time to come. he assured me that everything would be fine and not wanting to deny myself one last moment i ageed.
I was led into the cremation facilty containing the large oven. A long box, the one I had seen before was on metal rollers leading into the oven. they removed the top and left me alone. In the box were the remains of my father, there was a distinct feeling that came with seeing it all over again. last time there was a living energy but this time I had a sense that i was looking at an object rather than a person. The body was untouched, dressed as he had been days before with his arms in the same position. The few minutes that i spent that day in that cold room where very important. There i began to observe and learn things that have opened doors to moving forward.
The father that I had known as a living, breathing, active individual lay before me in a state deactivation. There had been some physical changes since his death and I observed the initial stages of what results in decomposition. I touched his hand and face and the skin felt like sand paper and the body hard to the touch. I was filled with curiosity about this thing called death and I observed very carefully all the things that were different. Somewhere in those few minutes I felt a sene of ellation, suddenly a light bulb went off deep inside and I just knew that this is not what made my father who he was. This was like some outer shell of an inner organism that had long since moved on. The longer i stood there the less of an attachment I had to this thing, i knew my dad was ok somewhere else. I stayed at the funeral home until the process was done and I even watched as they opened the oven, removed what remained behind and showed me how they remove metal fillings with a magnet and then grind down what remains to a fine dust. My fathers remains where then placed in a plastic bag and placed inside a black plastc container and given to me. i drove home thinking how crazy all of this is, being human , working, living, having children, worrying and going through the entire angst of life only to end up as dust in an ugly plastic box. If that does not open your eyes and make you ask questions then what will?
Each time we grieve its done in a different way. Each loss has its own unique fingerprint. Why and how we grieve is directly associated with our connection and bond with that individual and how they defined who we are. When we are grieving, we are actually shedding tears for our selves about losing a part of ourself. I dont think anyone is really to accept or deal with a loss when it happens, it is bled out over time and with our own growth as we look back and take in the past. each time we lose someone we come face to face with our own mortality until you cannot run any longer and realize that someday you will join the ranks of the dead. There was a time in the past that you did not exist and the world was still there and there will be a time in the future when you are no longer in the world and it will not miss a beat. How does that feel? Today is filled with so many issues and choices all of which will effect tomorrow and the tomorrows after that. We spend each day juggling decisions that will effect us and our families. We try to think of all the possibilities and take all the precautions so that if and when the end comes they will not be hit hard.