A Few Words on Love and Loss
At our Huntley family reunion this year, I spent more time than I intended just looking at my loved ones having fun. I must be getting old! I can vividly recall watching my nephews (in-law) joking together, the teens, singing at the top of their lungs, and my son making the baby laugh.
Yet, in every family gathering there is a note of sadness, and we don't always acknowledge it. I meant to mention it out loud, but I did not. Missing from this gathering were my nephew, Keath, my Great-niece, Karissa, and my Dad, Les. Dad is our most recent loss, just nine months ago. He loved family gatherings and every aspect of big family life.
toe-tapping, hand clapping music lover. He laughed out loud. When he met my great-niece just before her first birthday, he gushed proudly, "She's absolutely perfect." He thanked people for the smallest kindness. He was only grumpy when ill or injured. And after 61 years of marriage, my mom misses him desperately.
Now for the part no one wants me to say. My Dad was no saint. In fact, in earlier years, he hurt one member of our family so badly, I don't see that wound healing. He was strict and exacting. He was unforgiving. He was "always right" and gave no quarter. It is probably true to say that he was blessed to have those 2 decades after he retired to win us over.
We eulogize the best parts of the person when they die but we also still have to come to terms with the other parts. In polite society, we don't say unpleasant things about the dead. Many deaths are like this; it's our humanity showing.
Our family has experienced at least 3 suicides, but as a group, we can't/don't talk about it. No one wants to be the one to raise the topic. The generation below me has done better handling the truth. They love and commemorate the dead on various occasions. They are more outspoken then we are.
I do talk to my own kids about suicide, especially when they are teens. It's such a vulnerable time. I want them to know what it was like for us to walk behind that coffin and see a young person whose life was cut short. I want them to know what they cannot know at this age: death is permanent. I tell them, "if you can't tell me, tell someone, and keep telling until someone helps you." I press cards into their hands with toll free "teen help" hotlines and I hope with all my heart it's enough.
I am digging deep to see why I did not bring up our dead loved ones at the family reunion. I did put up a small memorial but never pointed it out. What is that about? I think of little Karissa, who never made it out of the neo-natal ward, and kick myself. Why didn't I talk about her? And why do I feel so awkward when my mom says she misses Dad? She's supposed to, right? Yet I have no training in how to respond to these comments. I remember when my dear sister-in-law was in the ICU and I was lying on the floor of the waiting room, shaking uncontrollably. I was literally shaken to the core, for perhaps the first time in my life.
I wonder if part of the depression that often comes with grief is from not wanting to deal with the "unresolved" parts of the relationship. In other cultures and parts of the world, mourners rip their clothing or wail uncontrollably. I can't help but think as grievers, we need more of that. Yes, grief takes time; above all, time. I believe it also takes truth-telling, as hard as it is.
What would it be like if we told the truth? She was bossy, uncoordinated and often awkward. She screwed up a lot. She made 5 million mistakes, most with love, some out of sheer stubbornness. She was impulsive and that hurt a lot more people than she intended, but at least she could cook!
