it feels good to be home again. i first have to say how thankful i am for all of the love you’ve shown in your comments left here on the blog. some of you sent me messages other ways and i thank you, too. it is hard to go from such a thing as two wakes, a funeral, a burial, picture sorting, story sharing, and several meals, all surrounded by a family as large as mine, and return to a regular routine. in some ways i am comforted by the familiarity of home, the smells, even the mess. i am happy most of all to see my husband and feel protected by him as he waits patiently for me to peel away the layers of the past few days. but when i walk through my front door i have only enough in me to collapse on the couch and cry quietly to myself as somehow now the reality sets in that my grandfather is gone. i guess what makes me the most sad after his death is not just the loss of a family member but the realization of the loss of someone who had such a profound impact on me, on my family, on so many people.
and many moments from these past few days will leave a permanent impression on my heart:
the feeling of arriving into town to find people that are ahead of you in the grieving process. the first thing you do when you see everyone is cry and they comfort you. a little while later someone else arrives and you comfort them. the process continues.
the guilt felt by having to split your emotions between being happy to see family that you haven’t seen in years and the sadness that brought you here in the first place.
the feeling of having your breath taken away when you see someone dead in a casket and the morbid curiosity that comes with it.
the need to want to look at the person alone, on your own terms, without someone putting their arm around you or rubbing your back because you already feel vulnerable enough.
the pressure of what to say when it’s finally the last time you’ll see this person.
the honor and pain and responsibility and pride of carrying the casket.
the look that people in their cars give you when you drive by in the funeral procession.
your complete lack of control when Taps is played on the bugle or when the flag is handed to your grandmother.
watching your very young cousin cry as the loss of his grandfather becomes his reality.
running away when the father you haven’t seen in eleven years decides that this event is important enough to attend. with his son.
the fear of falling asleep and dreaming about him.
i am tired again for having written all of this down. having this experience makes me fearful for the loss of my parents, of my husband, of my child. it makes me wonder if when i die will they know what to do with me?
many people describe the feeling of some part of them being lost with the death of someone loved. for me, i hope that what is lost is some part of my foolishness, my selfishness, my laziness. i hope that my load becomes lighter in every sense of the word, so that one day i will only carry that which is necessary for me to show those around me how much i love them.
1 comment:
A funeral is so bittersweet. It was strange reading your description and realizing how universal this process is (at least in this country). We lost 4 people in our family last year between my husband and I after not ever having lost anyone close to us: his grandpa (died in a plane crash), his aunt, my uncle and my mom. Each funeral was this warm gathering of people that seemed to come out of the woodwork. Home-cooked meals and casseroles were brought by neighbors, and people came and went for days, lingering over coffee in the morning or staying late into the night sharing memories. Every time someone would come, the tears would flood again, and then back to sharing memories until the next person came and it started all over. I learned so much about what people need during these times. I used to think that people probably need quiet and solitude to mourn, but now I feel that the surrounding of family, food and sympathy cards are what you need at least at first. When the funeral process is over, there is plenty of time for solitude, and it can often be the most painful time as the reality settles in. While I didn't know your grandfather, I know the feelings of finality that you are feeling. And as usual, you did an amazing job of describing human emotion, your emotion. Thank you for sharing him and yourself with us. It is so healing to write about it and to share it. I am thinking of you and your family.
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