So here’s what’s happening. My thoughts are very focused on death, not so much in a macabre way, but on death nonetheless.
Ever since heading to the emergency room on Feb. 10 for what I now know is a medial meniscus tear in my left knee, I have been pretty sidelined. The very next day, Whitney Houston died and me and my crutches were just hanging out and taking it all in. Death from afar, but yet felt so poignantly.
Then on Feb. 23, my Aunt Rosie passed away quite suddenly, leaving my cousin who was born into a family of four as the last one left. To say we were all astonished is an understatement. I can’t really fathom his grief. My aunt always had a smile on her face and could flatten anybody in her path with a comment. Years ago she told me a story of how bill collectors continued to call for her mother after she’d passed away. Finally one day instead of arguing Aunt Rosie said, ‘You want her new address?’ and proceeded to give the pesky caller the address for North Arlington Cemetery. Love that. Love her.
I am so gratified that after sending each of my six aunts a Lenox Christmas ornament in the mail in December that Aunt Rosie called to thank me. We talked for a while and she wished me a good trip knowing I was heading to Palm Springs to celebrate my 50th birthday. Her funeral was Monday, Feb. 27.
That Friday, March 2, I received news of my friend Kevin’s sudden death from a heart attack. He was 46. His funeral service was March 9, just two days ago, so it is all still very surreal.
As I try to get perspective on all this, feel my way through instead of numbing myself, and allow whatever bubbles up to come and be with it, I am acutely aware that I don’t want to be the person who is consumed in a death zone. I almost didn’t write this post because I felt it might depress my readers. But you know, it was me who chose to call this blog “Unfettered” and so it seemed kind of hypocritical and pointless to conjure up some sunshine and blow it up my readers’ bums.
I don’t believe it is at all a coincidence that I’m sidelined — or at this point just slowed down — by the knee injury. It’s divine design that I must be with these thoughts, process them and not give in to the urge to distract myself around the clock. For me, writing is feeling. Healing the knee is a metaphor for so much more. I present to you my thoughts, a little scattered but oh so real.
I walk around my home muttering, talking to God, talking to Kevin, calmly asking questions, admonishing them one minute for this crazy turn of events, acknowledging in the next that he completed his mission with grace. It all makes sense. None of it makes sense. WTF.
People who are uncomfortable with grief want me to distract myself because they love me. Bounce back. Be Nancy again. How to tell them that won’t be happening? There’s no ‘again.’ There’s a different version of Nancy, a more whole one, I’d venture to say, who is emerging from this. She plucked some Pema Chodron off her shelf today and lapped up an essay called “Hopelessness and Death” that begins thus:
If we’re willing to give up hope that insecurity and pain can be exterminated, then we can have the courage to relax with the groundlessness of our situation. This is the first step on the path.
I was one of those folks who thought that talking about a deceased person would “remind” the sad person of him and therefore it should be avoided. At least in my case, that isn’t true. I prefer to talk about it because it really helps. I don’t find it creepy to ponder what to do with that phone message from Kevin from November that is still saved in my voice mail. It soothes me to hear his voice, especially because that day he was reaching out because his mother had died.
I suspect this is the tip of the iceberg. I don’t want to wear people out, but I don’t want to lie to them either. Thoughts come and go, heavy and light and everything in between. I go with it. I write it here.
That is my life in this moment.
Nancy,
Hello again.
Your theme here, Death, is a powerful, difficult and, betimes messy one. Your attempt to catch some relevant glimpse in, of and through it is encouraging.
Without reducing its gravity in your now, in your heart, mind, spirit, I nonetheless offer whatever gesture, knowing look and firm grip upon your hand as might serve to remind you that in your grief you are not alone and my own heart and thoughts are very much with you.
That you are expressing (and perhaps exorcising) your pain by confronting it here is not depressing but admirable and a great “unfettered” example of your “walking the walk” (your current physical limits suddenly seeming more freedom than impediment in your utilization of them).
Death is a thing, a presence, ever on our periphery. It’s So remarkably challenging to address and learn from. (More so at close range, so to say.) But we’re ‘here’ to ask these questions of ourselves. To do a little evolving when we lose those in our lives that may have come there to teach us something only they could do and whose sad but inevitable departure offers no less. My perhaps over long two cents in this is that at times we are both shocked and stricken by their sudden absence in the world and our world, until we’re floored by the realization that they still have much to say to and do for us and the world.
I thank you for going there, for bringing your loved ones and Whitney here. And ask that you let in a little more light into your healing each day as spring comes to remind us too that for everything and everyone, there is a season.
Be well soon.
with deep sympathy, faith and admiration,
Carlos
Lovely words, Carlos. Thank you.
So many good points here, especially about those who try to distract you from your grief. You know they mean well, but you have to face it and deal with it or grief can consume you. Plus, why would you want to forget someone whose passing causes so0 much pain?
I know you’re unfettered at 50, but we really have to start dealing with this stuff now as mortality rears its ugly head. Even from afar, you hear “so and so is sick” or “that guy we worked with passed.” But as much as I hate the aches and pains and routine of taking meds in the morning, it is part of the journey. I just wish I could say the trade-off was increased wisdom, but … not so much.
Had to laugh when I saw you use WTF. At 54, I find that comes in handy more and more each day!
Great, raw, honest post Nancy. None of us are immune to losing loved ones – the living are kinda like the biggest support group on the planet that never fulfills its purpose. Way to use your words to call a meeting.
Thanks, Phil. This kind of response is soooooo gratifying.
What an amazing image, Erin. And I know you know of what you speak.