3 deaths … 4 years
About a month ago, I spent a week doing something I seem
to have spent a lot of time doing in the past four years: laying a loved one to
rest and dealing with the “aftermath” of death. In 2009, it was my father-in-law,
in 2010 it was my mother-in-law, and this year it was my grandmother-in-law.
I’ve felt “the call” to write after each passing, and this time was no
different. As I stared out the window at the passing scenery on the way home
from Mississippi, I felt the urge to write something meaningful, something
profound about this particular experience and maybe my experiences overall.
After all, I seem to be an “expert” in this matter, right? But sitting here six
weeks later, I find myself with nothing particularly revelatory to say. I just
find myself with a lot of “stuff” to say.
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Death is hard.
I don’t know that much else can be said about this. I’ve
lost loved ones in a variety of ways: I’ve watched loved ones slowly slip away,
I’ve lost loved ones very suddenly and unexpectedly, and I’ve known loved ones were
going to die “soon” but lost them much sooner than I anticipated. And while
some deaths were much harder to deal with than others, they were all hard in
their own ways. The last three deaths have been particularly hard to deal with,
partially because they’ve happened in such quick succession of each other, and
partially because they’ve so quickly decimated The Hubs’s family. It’s been
hard watching him lose one family member after another, and it’s been hard
figuring out how to “be there” for him. The Hubs is a very matter-of-fact guy
who doesn’t show a lot of emotion—especially over things he can’t control—but
his stoicism doesn’t mean that he’s not unaffected by all of this. I can see it
in the “little” things: his refusal to let me pull the pictures out of the
framed collage we created for his dad’s funeral and repurpose the frame despite
the fact that he doesn’t ever want to hang the collage, the way affection
mingled into the exasperated sighs he let out as we finally went through the
boxes of stuff his mom had kept over the years, him saying he was OK putting
away the family pictures that had lined the walls of his childhood home but wanting
a framed picture of him and his parents to put on his desk. He doesn’t dwell on
his parents being gone and knowing that they’ll miss out on key moments in his
life, but there are times I know he’s thinking about these things … and there’s
nothing I can do but let him be or take his hand. Death is hard.
Have your ish
together.
Say you’re critically injured in one of those
catastrophic only-seen-on-Grey’s-Anatomy car crashes tomorrow. Do you
have someone appointed to work with the doctors to decide on a course of
treatment? Speaking of treatment, does that person know how you want to be
treated and when you want to say “enough is enough” and let the doctors back
away? If your kids are still at an age where they need caring for, who’s going
to step into the parent role you’ll vacate? Certainly not your crazy
sister-in-law … but she could very well end up with them if you don’t have
guardians appointed. And I’m talking about appointed in writing, not appointed
in a conversation you had over beers at the last get together. Look around at
your “stuff.” You certainly can’t take it with you where you go, so what do you
want done with it, and how should your finances be distributed? Do you have that in writing?
If you have all
of this established, great! When was it last updated? Chances are, if the
people appointed to make these decisions are dead or your kids are adults and
no longer need guardians, your ish still isn’t together. Update it. Regularly.
You might think I need Prozac at this point, and maybe I
do, but I’m dead serious about this topic (no pun intended). I’ve dealt
with deaths where none of this was
established and deaths were almost all
of this was established, and the latter were far easier to deal with. I’m not saying that you need to decide on
everything down to the undies you want to be buried in. But you need to have something. The more you have done means
the less your loved ones have to deal with after you’ve gone.
I struggled a lot with that last thought—leaving your
loved ones with less stuff to deal with. I thought it might be selfish of me to
want matters made easier for the people left behind, especially when the people
who did the leaving didn’t have an easy time of it. But the more I reflected on
this, the more I decided that I don’t think asking people to have their ish
together is selfish. In fact, I think it’s selfish if you don’t have your things in order. Your loved ones are already
dealing with the emotions behind your death. Now you want them to try figuring
out what you would want done about everything from your medical care to your
estate? That’s selfish. Having all
your ish in order ensures not only that your loved ones keep their sanity and
get to mourn your passing properly, but it also ensures that you and your
wishes are respected and honored. It’s a win-win situation.
Don’t “let
yourself go.”
I had a hard time putting this one down because I worried
that it would appear like I’m criticizing my loved ones or am unsympathetic to
the physical or emotional pain they went through. I’m not. I have health issues
that are difficult to deal with, and I’ve battled depression and know how hard
it is to claw your way out of it, so I have a taste of what the loved ones I’ve
lost recently have been through. But only a taste. What I’ve been through pales
in comparison to their suffering: physically debilitating medical conditions,
losing a spouse, losing yet another child … I can’t say that I wouldn’t turn in
on myself if I had a serious medical condition, that I wouldn’t hole up in my
house and become the neighborhood Boo Radley if The Hubs died. So I’m not
passing judgment—nor should I. I guess I’m trying to encourage people,
including myself, to not allow themselves to be consumed by their health issues
or the loss of someone or something they hold dear. While it might seem like
you just can’t battle your health issues anymore or life has nothing left to
offer you but more pain, give outside help a chance. Get yourself to a doctor.
Your symptoms might not go away entirely, but they might be more manageable,
making life more bearable. Seek counseling. It might not be easy to talk to
someone about what you’re going through, but it beats bottling your feelings up
inside and allowing them to press down on your spirit. Allow your loved ones to
step in … or at least tolerate them stepping in. They most likely want to help,
and allowing them to help you carry your burden might be exactly what you need
to get your bearings and take on that weight with renewed energy and frame of
mind. I know that this is much easier
said than done, but I think it’s worth a shot.
Following on the heels of this …
If you see a loved
one hurting, step in.
Don’t step in right away. Each of us has our own way of
coping and needs to do so on our own time table, so you don’t want to infringe
on that. But don’t wait too long, and certainly don’t turn a blind eye.
This one’s tough because it’s hard to figure out when and
how to step in. The Hubs and I spent a lot of time talking and praying over
stepping in with his family. We stepped in as we felt led to, but there are
times that I look back and play the What If? Game—What if we were led by the wrong
voice? What if we should have stepped in sooner? What if we should have been
more forceful? I wonder if our loved ones would still be alive or if they’d have
at least been able to greet Death in a little more comfort and peace.
And then I think about how relationships would have been
affected. While stepping in might have taken care of physical needs, it might
have threatened emotional ones, taking away our loved one’s dignity and
independence, making them feel disrespected or dishonored, and causing them to
feel resentment toward us. I remember being gently chided by a friend after
expressing remorse over not stepping in with my MIL. She said that while it was
painful watching my MIL go through what she did, it was better that we didn’t
step in. In not doing so, we allowed my MIL to maintain her independence when she
felt like she didn’t have any left, when she felt like life and her body had
betrayed her and taken over the reins. We may have felt like we’d dishonored
her, but in reality, we’d honored her in the best way that we could.
I still struggle with what my friend said, and you may outright
disagree with it. Knowing how and when to step in is a fine line to walk, and
it’s not for the faint of heart.
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So that’s all I have to say:
·
Death is hard.
·
Have your ish together.
·
Don’t “let yourself go.”
·
If you see a loved one hurting, step in.
It’s not at all profound, and it’s not even written very
well. In fact, I think I’m guilty of word vomit. Take it as the ramblings of
someone coping with loss, take it as an effort to pass on nuggets of wisdom
from somebody who’s “been there and done that” … take it as whatever you want. It’s
been on this introspective Scout’s heart and mind for a while, and now it’s out
there. It might not be crafted well, but hopefully it gives at least one person
food for thought.
