Getting Death Off My Chest

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.