missive notes on death

I like to look for lessons in things, always searching for the deeper meaning behind the unexpectedness of life. Turns out, death unfurls a lot of lessons in its cleft. The revelations aren’t the obvious piths or placations. It’s not “live life to the fullest” (though, you really should) and it’s certainly not “everything happens for a reason” (please someone do tell me the reason behind my mother’s excruciating suffering and subsequent death, only 4 months after a pancreatic cancer diagnosis). The last 5 years of my life have been full of death. Our nephew, just 17 years old passed away after an accident on an Indiana gravel road in the summer of 2017. My mother in 2019. My father, 2020. Our dog, 2021. My Grandma, 2022. Death certainly has been circling, but it’s not just me. Where there is life, there is death. It’s everywhere, there are moments when I’ve felt special in my loss, not the good kind of special, rather the kind that felt as if I were cruelly being singled out. I’ve had people joke about staying far away from me and the darkness that seems to draw near. It was a joke, but not a good one. I can handle death if I choose to believe it’s random otherwise, yes it feels personal and it feels like a punishment.

Regret:

There are moments when I am so fucking mad that my eyes instantly sting with tears. As I type this, tears well up, linger, then roar down my face. I am envious of the moments that could have been. My Great-Grandma, Grandma and my Mom were all at my 2010 nuptials, now they’re memories, generations of the most important women in my life, gone. My kids won’t have their maternal Grandparents at their proms, graduations, weddings, all the big life events where Grandparents proudly beam. Questions that only they hold the answers to remain points of frustration, marked with a lingering unsolvable mysteries. Of all the things that bother me, it’s the questions without answers that cut the most. I should have paid more mind when they spoke, I should have asked the thing I was afraid to ask, I should have sat with my Grandma when she wanted to talk about her ancestry. Now I won’t know. I have a lot of recessed memories and barely recall my youth. I have faint remembrances that I’m burning to fill in. So I defer to asking strangers odd questions. I’ve recently started semi-stalking a preschool Mom at drop off because I swear that I went to the babysitter with her when I was a child, she thinks otherwise, and most likely thinks I am totally fucking insane. If my parents were around I could just ask them the name of my babysitter, but they’re not, so stalk I shall. I need truths, I need proof, I crave connections because one by one, I am losing my people.

Faith:

Faith has gotten me through these hard years and its roots have grown deeper. I truly feel God’s presence in a way that I haven’t in the past. I’ve been a believer, I’ve gone to church, I’ve taught Sunday school, I’ve been baptized, I’ve volunteered at Noah’s ark themed Vacation Bible Schools, I’ve communed, but I hadn’t wholly felt connected to God until the moment that I needed to feel it most. The moment when I asked the nurse if my Mom’s thoracic MRI imagining had come back yet and she said, “the doctor will be in to talk to you in the morning”. That’s the moment I knew I was losing my Mom, and that’s also the moment I felt prepared for what possibly lay ahead. I can’t describe it, but I sure felt it. Late at night and early in the mornings, on the way back and forth from the hospital I would sob as I listened to “Surrounded” by Michael W. Smith. I’ve never before in my life listened to christian music but this song enveloped me and I leaned into it. I surrendered, mostly because there was nothing left for me to do. My grandma, in her many tragedies would say things like “I don’t know how people get through loss without faith in God”. I now feel that sentiment deep in my bones. Even though my Mom’s death was the hardest thing I’ve endured, I was okay. Heartbroken and lonely, sure, but okay. I come from a lineage of strong, badassy type women and I am capable. I was not ready for her to stop living but I am capable of living without her and I prove that each day when I wake up.

Recently, when I received the call that my Grandma died, I dropped Gus off at my mother-in-laws along with an over ripe cantaloupe that still needed to be cut and asked her to take him to his end of the year preschool picnic that was starting in less than an hour. It felt so bizarre to worry about an unprepared fruit tray and a park playdate at the same time as the news of an unexpected death. But life continues even when people die.

Sitting:

One of life’s greatest gifts is being present for someone you love in their scariest, darkest moments. No one knows the right things to say or do, so you just sit. Sitting is so easy and so incredibly awkward. I’d sit with my Mom, Dad, and Grandma at doctors appointments and ferociously take notes. My incessant note taking was two fold; it gave me a sense of control in a powerless situation and it also them know that I cared deeply for their wellbeing and that I was going to make sure everyone in that hospital knew they were very important people. I had their back, meanwhile my in-laws and sweet husband, had mine. Being able to notice the beauty in all of that replaced my angry tears with tears of thankfulness. I vowed to be graceful and show mercy to those who tried to help. Maybe they said something that wasn’t poignant or tactful but they were trying and I get that awkward, helpless feeling. I wanted to show love and kindness to those who were trying all around me. I could have easily chosen anger, I could have been spiteful to the person who compared my Mom’s death to her second cousin’s dogs passing but that person was just trying to offer comfort, to make a connection and I chose to appreciate all of it. I’ve been the person who was flailing, stammering and not knowing what to say or do. I am still that person most of the time so I extended grace and that felt much easier on my soul than resentment.

Gratitude & Reprocity:

For all the moments I’m angry, there are just as many where I’m grateful. The most important lesson I’ve learned is that people love me and want to help. I suffer from a long-time hang-up where I feel as though, I’m unlovable. I am vaguely aware of it’s origins and try not to let it take full control but it’s definitely a recurrent issue. When I was back and forth to the Hines VA clinic with my Dad for several years after his Parkinson’s diagnosis, when I was staying in the hospital, then the hospice room with my Mom as she was dying, when I was driving my Grandma to doctor appointments; my husband’s family was always there for me. I could fully count on them to watch the kids, or take care of any request. What I also learned is that it wasn’t just a load off my mind to have my children cared for but it was a gift for them as well, people want to help their loved ones in times of need. I’m independent and gritty, not normally a graceful receiver of help but I softened and humbly asked for the help I needed. Their constant love and support was a mutual gift, that I hadn’t understood prior. Allowing people to step in, to help pick up the pieces, and to be authentic and vulnerable with was such a relief and blessing.

Time heals:

People don’t want to hear that and I totally feel that and respect it. I don’t offer that up to anyone when they experience loss, but it’s been a truth for me. When death happens, there are tasks that need to be performed that keeps family members busy. It allows for compartmentalization. It allows for processing. By saying that time tends to help, it doesn’t mean the pain is gone or that your loved one is forgotten, but rather its no longer the only thing on your mind. I am not being callus or dismissive of the impact of one’s loss but the space created each day distances the emotions surrounding death and slowly the colors of life start to fill back in.

Moral Fiber:

Pearl was in 2nd grade when my Mom died. They were close, very similar creatures. Gorgeous, vibrant, almost maddening to be around, the both of them. I cringe at the losses our 3 young children have faced. When my Grandma passed away a couple of weeks ago, I told Bode to have a seat on the couch, he instantly yelled “MOM?! Who died?! Its Grandma Great isn’t it?!” I’m sad that he knows so much heartache that he guesses death on the first try. There is also a part of me that knows there is strength, resiliency, and good old life lessons propagating within in our kid’s grief. There’s a preparedness that these hard situations have given all of us. We’ve become more adaptable due to our trauma. I’ve known people that skated by life on a fairly easy path, nothing against them, they can’t help it. But I do think struggle can be formative. I’ve kept things real, the kids have seen me on good days and bad and I own it all. Life is beautiful, life is messy, life is hard. We take back the power in this otherwise out of control life by deciding how much emphasis to put on the beauty, the mess, and the hardness as we live each day.