Inviting Grief to the Table

Loss is such an inherent part of life, it’s a wonder we’re not better able to absorb it.  Instead, it can stop us mid-air with no parachute to be found; gravity tumbling us to hard ground where we’re forced to reckon with the empty chair, the random voicemail, and the infinite remnants of an entire life.

It’s no wonder grieving how-tos are a booming business. Books upon books about coping, dealing, and healing. It makes total sense why we need these resources since we live in a culture that tends to package death as an event that happens and ends. For many, and maybe most of us, that is far from true. We struggle to grieve among the living. For some, the grief is unnavigable; it’s as incomprehensible that one still has to brush their teeth let alone show up for work. 

And it’s awkward. Oh, so awkward when people act like death is over. The funeral could be a month or a year ago, either way, no one is going to talk about it or mention the person who died. Well intentioned, it’s as if we’re afraid to remind the bereaved of their loss. Even though, inside, we know they’re breathing their loss every day. Perhaps this not talking thing only adds to the insufferableness of grief. That once the initial condolences and memorials have passed, the bereaved often have to soldier on. Alone. 

Maybe talking about those who have died is the very path to help soften and ease suffering. That grief itself isn’t a thing to fix, heal, or expect to ever end; and never meant to be borne in isolation. Seems to me that grief could have a seat at the table. Invited in and welcomed. After all, when we don’t talk about those who have died with the people who loved them, it’s as we erased them.

Of course, no one can say what happens to us when we die, but I’ve always deeply felt that something of the person who passes remains in our day to day realm. This belief took root in my seventh grade science class when I was taught that matter is neither created nor destroyed. It cycles through the universe. “The cosmos is within us,” said Carl Sagan, “We are made of star-stuff.” So how could a person be gone?

It’s not difficult for me to get my head around this concept and, maybe more important, my heart. For when I think of a beloved who has died, it is not their anatomy or mortal being that thrums in their absence. It’s their ineffable spirit. Their energy, the magnificent difference they made in the world, and, for lack of a better word, their soul. All the things that made me love them when they were here, I still love. More importantly, I still feel. 

And it’s not just the so-called good things about our loved ones that remain, it’s the annoying stuff too. For years I’ve told my husband that when I’m gone what he will miss the most are the quirks that make me me. From overthinking every situation to crying while watching the news. From bypassing the open carton of milk for the new one to putting toothpaste directly in my mouth rather than on the brush. (I know, how could I?) And yet, those, I posit, will be the things he’ll miss. 

I think we’ve all noticed this in one way or another. How former complaints about a departed loved one somehow transmute into behaviors that we now appreciate, forgive, and even laud. It’s another way we experience the existence of our person. Their essence cannot be destroyed. It lives. Differently, yes. But here. Right here. Whenever we pay attention.

So, talk about the people who have passed with their loved ones, with respect and full understanding if that’s not wanted. But I believe, on the whole, it is wanted. That grieving in communion is a catalyst for intimacy and empathy. For some, it will be a way to hear, “You’re not alone. I hold this with you.” For others, it’ll be stories and memories of their loved ones that can bring some light to the dark. 

Kahil Gibran wrote, “When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”
 

IN MUSING by Carole Vasta Folley
has won awards from
The Vermont Press Association,
The New England Newspaper & Press Association,
and the National Society of Newspaper Columnists.