My friend
Linnea asked me to share about grief. Intrigued by the way my family walked
through my Grandmother’s death, she asked if I would share a little about that.
Processing that all evening led to this. Hopefully she can glean what she's looking for from this.
I think if we’re
honest, maybe we always function in a state of grief. Because for many of
us who understand how precious each day is…..we know that death is always present
with life.
What does it
mean to do grief well? in a nutshell, I think it means clinging together while allowing each
other to go bat shit crazy a bit with no judgement. (well sometimes judgement but then remembering we
aren’t supposed to judge and get our attitude back in check.)
For my
family….my Grandmother was the matriarch, the rock and beloved. She was respected
and I think we all felt that she was something special. Not perfect, but
perfectly her. The process of grief began years before her earthly life ended. As
her health deteriorated, I know our very large family interacted with this
truth differently. In my opinion, there’s no wrong in that. If we’ve been
created individually and uniquely us…then it would make sense that we would
journey through grief individually and uniquely. Each hospital visit left her body weaker. And each time it became more difficult to see. I loved her so much.
In her final
weeks…quite honestly there were differences between family members. Emotions
were on 10. Pain and heartache were ever present. Arguments, hurt feelings,
frustration. But always, always leaving it at her bedroom door. Always, always
entering that room with reverence and devotion for the cherished woman lying in
that bed.
Family was everything
to her. From the time I was little, she hated it when we didn’t get along. It
hurt her heart that there was division and separation. It didn’t matter to her
if we were all different, had different opinions, lived differently. She wanted us to remember that family was everything and in the end life is too short to hold onto anger. She wanted and expected us to get along. To stand by family.
And so. We did.
For our heritage, honoring a life in death means a novena. It’s a Catholic tradition of 9 days after a death,
gathering for prayers, food, family, remembering. I know there’s deep tradition
involved and it’s celebrated, honored differently so I am certainly no expert. But that's what it's meant to us.
And so we sat, stood
and kneeled in that living room. With her rosaries. And prayed. And cried. And ate.
And argued. And reminisced. And ate. And cried. And laughed. And prayed. And cried.
And remembered.
Because perhaps death,
and thus life should be bigger than ourselves. And in those moments it didn’t
matter who had said what when. Whose secret was biggest. Whose skeletons were
piled higher. Who was right or who was wrong. I don't know how to explain it. I just know that in that room I felt incredibly proud to be her granddaughter. And incredibly awed by her sacrifice.
Those 9 days. I'm sure there's many important things a devout Catholic could tell you about those 9 days. But what I can share? Is that those 9 days create a bond through grief, a bond of history and tradition. A bond of united love for her, which connects us forever.
Doing grief well....I think it just accepting that in order to love authentically, at some point you will grieve. And then you will love again.
