When a family member dies, it’s a crushing blow that people around you understand and sympathize with. But when you lose a friend, those around us mention how sorry they are for the loss, but that’s where it ends. You don’t get 3 days leave from work to grieve for a friend, you are not involved in helping with funeral arrangements and you often end up lost in the crowd, being one of the random people paying their respects.
The stark reality is that your grief just isn’t as important as that of the immediate family. Friends are expected to support the family, send flowers, make casseroles and sign guest books. But what most people don’t understand is this: grief attacks everyone who knew the deceased.
I recently lost my most beloved friend of 18 years, Donna. She was a special “chosen relative” and we were more than friends, we were like family. Since my mother passed many years ago, I designated her as the Pie’s grandmother figure…she was Mimi. She treated the Pie just as any grandmother would – spoiled her beyond belief! Donna was the best Mimi any kid could ever wish for and my daughter adored her.
Donna’s health had been rapidly declining over the past few months and we all knew that the prognosis was not a positive one. For weeks, she had been bed-bound with no ability to move without pain. She and I discussed many times – even before her illness became so severe – how she wanted her death handled by those she left behind. In fact, the day she died, we talked about my role in supporting her husband emotionally and helping him through the transition. She again adamantly stated she wanted to be cremated and no services were to be held. In life, Donna wanted no attention brought to herself; she wanted to fade into the background and didn’t like people looking at her. It seemed fitting to honor her wishes, but it was not to be.
Funerals are for the living, to provide closure (if that is possible), to say good-bye and to celebrate the life of the loved one. I totally get that. However, some people are entrenched in tradition and insist on having the textbook service for their lost family member. I struggled mightily to not insert myself into the mix of the arrangements. I mentioned that Donna and I spoke about specifics and how I wanted to honor her memory by following those instructions. But since I had no decision making power, I let the family handle everything. I did ask to read something and to play two songs and I was honored that my requests were approved. It ended up being a nice graveside service with many more people in attendance than were expected. People spoke about how generous and humorous she was and told many funny stories involving her antics.
I found myself surrounded by people – many of them friends – and thought that the only thing missing for the event to be a real party…was Donna.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Alone Again? No Way, Jose!
Greta Garbo had the right idea when she uttered the famous lines, “I vant to be alone…” There comes a time in all our lives when the very idea of another person intruding into our personal space, whether in person or by phone, is simply unbearable. This is one of those times for me.
Inside of two weeks, I have had my dad in the hospital with pneumonia and excessive fluid gain twice. I am exhausted ! He’s an old man, so when he feels poorly, he acts poorly: grumpy, inconsiderate, bossy, frustrated. It’s a lot to handle when trying balance the needs of a preschooler at the same time. The Pie’s idea of a good time is most certainly not hanging out in a hospital emergency room and waiting for something to happen. She doesn’t understand what’s happening, so I can give her a pass, but my dad should know better.
Closed doors are fairly handy sometimes, but they also separate as well as protect. No one can see behind the closed doors of our home to witness what happens on a regular basis, so here’s a glimpse:
Dad sits in his recliner the majority of the day, barking orders trying to be heard over the blaring television. Then he routinely cusses the dog for reasons I have yet to figure out. He shuffles into the kitchen a few times a day and merely stands there, gaping at the room, demonstrating no knowledge of where he is or what he wants. I have to lead him back to the dinner table and play 20 questions to determine what he needs. He slings swear random swear words at inanimate objects – the fridge, the barstools, the drawers or chairs. In his case, I need to escape the noise that surrounds him.
The Pie is under the impression that she must be touching me at every waking moment. She will not tolerate us being in different rooms in the house, so I have not voided in private in nearly 6 months! Upon occasion, she will allow me to take a shower uninterrupted, but those times are few. When I am in the shower, I sometimes wash a few extra times just to take up some time. The Pie follows me from room to room, touching my leg, my shirt, my arm, my hair, my face…anything she can reach. I feel like an alien being probed on the mother ship!
Want I want more than just about anything in the world is a few hours with no one to do nothing. I want quiet…I want solitude…I want to be alone.
Inside of two weeks, I have had my dad in the hospital with pneumonia and excessive fluid gain twice. I am exhausted ! He’s an old man, so when he feels poorly, he acts poorly: grumpy, inconsiderate, bossy, frustrated. It’s a lot to handle when trying balance the needs of a preschooler at the same time. The Pie’s idea of a good time is most certainly not hanging out in a hospital emergency room and waiting for something to happen. She doesn’t understand what’s happening, so I can give her a pass, but my dad should know better.
Closed doors are fairly handy sometimes, but they also separate as well as protect. No one can see behind the closed doors of our home to witness what happens on a regular basis, so here’s a glimpse:
Dad sits in his recliner the majority of the day, barking orders trying to be heard over the blaring television. Then he routinely cusses the dog for reasons I have yet to figure out. He shuffles into the kitchen a few times a day and merely stands there, gaping at the room, demonstrating no knowledge of where he is or what he wants. I have to lead him back to the dinner table and play 20 questions to determine what he needs. He slings swear random swear words at inanimate objects – the fridge, the barstools, the drawers or chairs. In his case, I need to escape the noise that surrounds him.
The Pie is under the impression that she must be touching me at every waking moment. She will not tolerate us being in different rooms in the house, so I have not voided in private in nearly 6 months! Upon occasion, she will allow me to take a shower uninterrupted, but those times are few. When I am in the shower, I sometimes wash a few extra times just to take up some time. The Pie follows me from room to room, touching my leg, my shirt, my arm, my hair, my face…anything she can reach. I feel like an alien being probed on the mother ship!
Want I want more than just about anything in the world is a few hours with no one to do nothing. I want quiet…I want solitude…I want to be alone.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Terror in a Child's Eyes
It’s been 10 years. Seems like it was just last month, but in truth, an entire decade has passed since the worst terrorist attack in American history. Of course, the Pie was six years from being born and the last thing I ever expected was to have to explain to a child what happened that fateful day.
With all the media coverage and network specials flooding the television, the Pie was bound to see something she didn’t understand. She witnessed a shot of the twin towers spewing smoke into the sky and simply asked, “What happened?”
My initial response explained that it was not happening right now, but that it happened a long time ago. I had to set her mind at ease we faced no imminent danger. She climbed into my lap, stared at me with her indigo eyes and asked, “Is it bad?”
I told her that a long time ago, some very bad men stole some airplanes and flew them into some buildings to hurt American people. Of course, her natural response followed: “Why?” I was stumped. I couldn’t answer the why…fact, is I have never known the real reason it happened. I only know that it resulted in death and destruction. If I can’t understand it, how can I explain it to a four-year-old?
I was not directly affected by 9/11 but as a member of the national community, it left an impression on me. I get emotional when I hear stories of bravery and sacrifice that occurred that day. On a trip to New York in 2004, I stood at Ground Zero and wept. Still, I’m at a loss as to how to bring understanding to my daughter about the horrific events.
The images she sees on the television are of burning buildings, ominous clouds and people running for their lives. Not exactly Sesame Street fodder, so she has questions. But I don’t believe she needs to know details about what happened; she needs to know how to live with the knowledge that it happened.
In her eyes, she is safe and nothing bad will ever happen to her. In my eyes, the world is just waiting for her…
With all the media coverage and network specials flooding the television, the Pie was bound to see something she didn’t understand. She witnessed a shot of the twin towers spewing smoke into the sky and simply asked, “What happened?”
My initial response explained that it was not happening right now, but that it happened a long time ago. I had to set her mind at ease we faced no imminent danger. She climbed into my lap, stared at me with her indigo eyes and asked, “Is it bad?”
I told her that a long time ago, some very bad men stole some airplanes and flew them into some buildings to hurt American people. Of course, her natural response followed: “Why?” I was stumped. I couldn’t answer the why…fact, is I have never known the real reason it happened. I only know that it resulted in death and destruction. If I can’t understand it, how can I explain it to a four-year-old?
I was not directly affected by 9/11 but as a member of the national community, it left an impression on me. I get emotional when I hear stories of bravery and sacrifice that occurred that day. On a trip to New York in 2004, I stood at Ground Zero and wept. Still, I’m at a loss as to how to bring understanding to my daughter about the horrific events.
The images she sees on the television are of burning buildings, ominous clouds and people running for their lives. Not exactly Sesame Street fodder, so she has questions. But I don’t believe she needs to know details about what happened; she needs to know how to live with the knowledge that it happened.
In her eyes, she is safe and nothing bad will ever happen to her. In my eyes, the world is just waiting for her…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)