My great grandfather passed away two weeks ago.
I’m twenty-five years old and this was the first death that
has ever really happened in my life. Sure, I remember the passing of some great
aunts and uncles, and as a child, a few acquaintances/friends passed, but they
were always people I hadn’t really known, people I wasn’t really close to. So I
pretty much have zero experience with death, even when it comes to comforting
people who are dealing with loss in their own lives, which in no way actually
touches me.
Over the summer, my best friend lost one of his great
grandparents. I did the best I could to comfort him, but he was living in
another state, and I have to own up to this, I totally blew it at being there
for him. He knows it, too.
I don’t know what it is, but death makes me want to shy
away, to ignore it, to deny it even has happened. I never thought I’d be that
person, but I am. I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t know how to comfort him, so I
kind of pulled out of that situation as much as possible.
I’m ashamed of that. But I’m only human, and this is something
I’m failing at right now.
I didn’t go home for Carvey’s (my great grandfather) funeral.
I had planned to. I even set aside a bereavement day with work so that I could
travel. But when I thought about making the drive, spending 4 hours alone in
the car, seeing my weeping relatives, especially my great grandmother, I felt nauseous
and cloisterphobic. I thought it was the drive I was afraid of.
I didn’t go. Instead, I decided to have a ceremony of my
own, where I would toss flower petals into the ocean at night and say goodbye
to him on my own that way. But the evening came, and my head was dizzy and my
body felt as if it was going to collapse. So instead, I went home.
Every night, I’d talk to Mom on the phone, like usual. But
all she wanted to talk about was Carvey, the funeral, his family, how Mom Mom
was doing. And all I wanted to do was talk about anything else. So, I didn’t
call every day anymore, and when I did call, I tried to steer the conversation
away from Carvey. Mom commented on how she hadn’t heard much from me lately. I
told her I was busy.
I never knew my mother’s father. He was a drunk and I met
him once. I believe it was on one of the very few sober days of his entire
life. And I do remember my father’s parents. I grew up around them until I was
12. After that I didn’t see them again until two weeks ago. In fact, I was
reunited with those grandparents on the same day that I lost Carvey. So in a
very real sense, Carvey was the only grandfather I’ve ever really known.
And the funny part is: he and I have no blood relation. He and
Mom Mom married when I was two. Apparently I was at the wedding, but I don’t
remember. Yet, he’s my grandfather. He’s family, even more so to me than some
of the blood family. I can’t even tell you how touched I was when I saw my
mother call him her grandfather one day. She had never said that before. He didn’t
come into her life until she was into her late 20’s, yet, he was still really
the only grandfather she ever knew too.
So, I guess I’ve been fine. These past couple of weeks have
been relatively normal. And that’s the odd thing. Life just seems to go on,
even when a very important cog is now missing. But I’ve been tired, oh so
tired. I get off of work and my chest is heavy, and my feet drag, and my head
hurts every night. One night, my chest felt especially…different.
Have you ever felt your soul move? Or do something? I don’t
think that we think about our souls very much or that they are our actual
selves. I remember once feeling my soul pray. My mother was choking on a piece
of candy, and without thinking or knowing what I was even doing, I ran over and
gave her the Heimlich maneuver. I had never had any training, but it worked.
Yet, in those brief seconds when my mind wasn’t even functioning enough to
realize what the rest of me was doing, there was only one thing I was aware of.
My soul was praying. I felt it. It reached out to God, and prayed.
And last week, I felt my soul cry. I didn’t know souls could
cry, but I was walking down the hall at work, and I felt this bitter weeping
inside of me. I hadn’t even been able to cry on my own, but my soul could. I
had never experienced that before.
And I’ve just been going on. I did eventually cry once, just
briefly, after talking on the phone to Mom Mom, but that was it. I hadn’t
mourned. I don’t know how. I literally don’t know how.
And then, there was tonight. I went to see a movie with some
friends, and it was a tear jerker, but that wasn’t what got to me. The
grandfather in the story was perfect and warm and loving, and his relationship
with his granddaughter got me right in the “feels.” I cried in the theatre. I
cried at the kitchen table after I got home.
I usually try to give my blog posts nice tidy endings, but I
don’t have one this time. I’ve reached the part of my life now where I’m going
to start losing people, and the scares the hell out of me. I don’t want to face
it, and I don’t even know how.
I suck at this.
