On Grief
I am surrounded by grief. Some friends lost their son, another is waiting on news of a possible miscarriage, another just found out she has cervical cancer, and my grandma is still in the ICU on a vent. I can’t even begin to imagine how I would feel if I suddenly found myself in the shoes of the first three – and well, it’s true I’m really, really sad about my grandma, but the grief seems to be hitting others in my family more intensely. So, it seems odd and wrong that I am so filled with grief myself.
I have recently found myself adrift in grief. The kind where you are walking along, living your life, going about your day and suddenly waves of sadness wash over you and tears well up in your eyes. It’s been a long time since I was living with grief like this, so close to the surface on a daily basis.
So where did this come from? I know. Nov. 19th will be the fifth anniversary of my father’s death. It has been a slow and sad count down since 9/11. It’s like 9/11 was this big marker in time – a frozen photograph. As we observed that 5th anniversary, the grief started to slip out and return as I'm remembering the last weeks of his life. The bigger than life qualities of 9/11 became tied to all of the events in my life at the time… and the biggest event was this death march.
I feel kinda guilty and self-indulgent to be so affected by this when others are suffering such overwhelming and real and current grief. It just seems weak and tacky or something. But the loss of my father hit me really hard. There have been milestones in the recovery from the grief and this feels like a major set back.
In some ways, I’ve come a long way. Just before my father died, he hung a pair of pants on the back of my bathroom door. In the confusion and chaos of his last days, the pair of pants just hung there. Then as we were planning the funeral, it felt too sad – too final – too hard to remove the pants from the bathroom door. I kept saying to myself, “When the pain eases up I’ll take them down. I’ll put them away when I strong enough.” We lived in that house for more two years after that and I never could take the pants off the hook. They just hung there. My ex thought I was a little odd and he often teased me about the pants – which invariably triggered tears and he would laugh and say he didn’t mean it. I don’t know what the woman who cleaned my house thought of these pants, but after awhile I noticed that she started to dust them like all of the other furniture.
When we sold the house, I still couldn’t take them down. Everything in house was packed and the boxes were on the truck heading to the storage facility. The house was completely empty and cleaned in the way that only an empty house can be cleaned… but the pants still hung as we left the house. It was as if the act of taking them down was a final admission and acceptance he would never come back and get them. So I left them… waiting for his return.
I was - am the executrix of his estate. It was nearly impossible for me to settle his estate – such that it was. He didn’t have much so there wasn’t a lot involved. But I couldn’t do it. Each task required to move the process forward was like experiencing his death again… getting the death certificate, probating the will, settling the accounts. it was pure agony closing each account, each one was another affirmation that he was really gone. Actually, there is one account remaining. I really need to check on it and get the money. My brothers really need the money. But if I close the account the last “living” and tangible connection will be gone. It’s hard to believe how un-ready I am for that – even still.
It’s funny how the years had brought peace and the grief had faded to barely noticeable – at least when I wasn’t directly confronted with a reminder. But this milestone has it all rushing back as if it happened just a five months ago instead of five years.
I have recently found myself adrift in grief. The kind where you are walking along, living your life, going about your day and suddenly waves of sadness wash over you and tears well up in your eyes. It’s been a long time since I was living with grief like this, so close to the surface on a daily basis.
So where did this come from? I know. Nov. 19th will be the fifth anniversary of my father’s death. It has been a slow and sad count down since 9/11. It’s like 9/11 was this big marker in time – a frozen photograph. As we observed that 5th anniversary, the grief started to slip out and return as I'm remembering the last weeks of his life. The bigger than life qualities of 9/11 became tied to all of the events in my life at the time… and the biggest event was this death march.
I feel kinda guilty and self-indulgent to be so affected by this when others are suffering such overwhelming and real and current grief. It just seems weak and tacky or something. But the loss of my father hit me really hard. There have been milestones in the recovery from the grief and this feels like a major set back.
In some ways, I’ve come a long way. Just before my father died, he hung a pair of pants on the back of my bathroom door. In the confusion and chaos of his last days, the pair of pants just hung there. Then as we were planning the funeral, it felt too sad – too final – too hard to remove the pants from the bathroom door. I kept saying to myself, “When the pain eases up I’ll take them down. I’ll put them away when I strong enough.” We lived in that house for more two years after that and I never could take the pants off the hook. They just hung there. My ex thought I was a little odd and he often teased me about the pants – which invariably triggered tears and he would laugh and say he didn’t mean it. I don’t know what the woman who cleaned my house thought of these pants, but after awhile I noticed that she started to dust them like all of the other furniture.
When we sold the house, I still couldn’t take them down. Everything in house was packed and the boxes were on the truck heading to the storage facility. The house was completely empty and cleaned in the way that only an empty house can be cleaned… but the pants still hung as we left the house. It was as if the act of taking them down was a final admission and acceptance he would never come back and get them. So I left them… waiting for his return.
I was - am the executrix of his estate. It was nearly impossible for me to settle his estate – such that it was. He didn’t have much so there wasn’t a lot involved. But I couldn’t do it. Each task required to move the process forward was like experiencing his death again… getting the death certificate, probating the will, settling the accounts. it was pure agony closing each account, each one was another affirmation that he was really gone. Actually, there is one account remaining. I really need to check on it and get the money. My brothers really need the money. But if I close the account the last “living” and tangible connection will be gone. It’s hard to believe how un-ready I am for that – even still.
It’s funny how the years had brought peace and the grief had faded to barely noticeable – at least when I wasn’t directly confronted with a reminder. But this milestone has it all rushing back as if it happened just a five months ago instead of five years.
posted by Liz at 11:59 PM
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