My dad passed away in January of 2013. I miss him. I think about him often. He was 84 years old when he died. He had a long, eventful life, and by the end he was ready to go. It was time. I was sad when he left, but the sadness was mixed with relief in knowing that he was ready and he was no longer suffering. We expect to lose our parents. It's the natural order of things. Knowing it's coming doesn't make it easier, but I do think it softens the edges of death a little bit. After my dad died, I was sad for a long time, but I didn't have any of the other emotions associated with grieving. I was never angry. I didn't feel guilt. There was no denial or despair or numb. We all knew it was coming. We were prepared. Above all, my dad was ready to go. He was tired and worn out from a life lived well and hard.
I expected to outlive Scott. He was seven years older than me, and by all statistical models, women live longer than men. In the back of my mind, I knew one day I would more than likely have to face the reality of losing him. I was not prepared to lose him when he was 53 years old, fit, healthy, active, and happy. I was not prepared to find him lying so peacefully in bed and having to do CPR on him until the paramedics arrived. I was not prepared for the avalanche of emotions that followed. Infinite sadness, despair, numb, disbelief, anxiety, anger, more sadness, and more anger, and on and on, relentless in their pursuit to crush me into a million tiny pieces and throw me into the wind. This was grief unlike anything I had experienced before. It was all-encompassing and all-consuming, and often I felt like it was suffocating me.
I don't have children. I can't even begin to imagine the grief that comes with losing a child. I know too many people that have lost children, Shannon being the most recent. Parents are not supposed to outlive their kids. That is not the natural order of things. Yet it seems to happen all the time.
After my dad died, I suddenly began hearing from other people who had also lost a parent. We shared stories and experiences about our parents with each other. I felt like I had been initiated into a club that no one talks about, but everyone knows is there. When Scott died, the same thing happened. I had friends and clients who had lost spouses over the years, and they all reached out. Now, it feels like we share a bond, all members of a club we didn't choose to be in.
Shannon and I were at a store several weeks ago. The lady at the cash register was making small talk as she was ringing up our items. "How were the holidays?" she asked politely as she scanned another item. Shannon and I looked at each other, then grimaced.
"Pretty terrible," I said as I shook my head.
The lady looked up from our groceries and met his eyes. "I bet mine was worse," she said softly.
"My son died two weeks ago," Shannon offered.
The lady put her hand to her heart. "My brother passed away three weeks ago." She shifted her gaze to me.
"My husband died in August," I said quietly.
The three of us stood silently for a few moments, tears stinging the corners of our eyes as we looked at each other, acknowledging the pain and sadness reflected in each of us.
I don't know what it feels like to lose a sibling or a child, but I do know how it feels to lose a parent and a spouse. Grief is such a personal, individual experience, and it is also universal. The sadness, the grief, the emptiness is there in the eyes, hearts, and souls of anyone who has gone through it. We all become members of the Grief Club.
Comments
Post a Comment