We each have our own ideas in our minds around death, loss, and grief. They are based on how we grew up, what we witnessed perhaps when someone died, and how we took in information and made sense of it.
My early pictures and ideas of grief were that death happens to other people. Not my family because we are really blessed and lucky.
My Dad lost his father when he was 12. It effected him traumatically, as it was always part of him, his conversations, and who he was as a person. I know he truly felt that he and his siblings would have had completely different lives if their father had lived. My Dad made choices for himself that were really difficult, but, I believe they were fueled by crisis and the fact that he felt he didn’t have a choice. His father was dead and his mother was institutionalized from a nervous breakdown.
He wanted to go to the Catholic High School in Philadelphia, so he worked the night shift at Mrs. Pauls fish sticks and went to school from there in the morning. His twin brother turned to drugs. Because of the choices his twin brother made, my dad felt an extra sense of responsibility to have to also take care of his brother. My dad was super driven. He wanted a family and a good life. He met my mom and the rest was history.
I believe my dad felt that by being a good person and going to church every Sunday (something his family didn’t do), somehow, it would protect his family from tragedy. I believed it too. We had theories to prove it. My Dad beat cancer not only once, but twice. And, he was a GREAT person. My dad never knew a stranger and was always giving or helping someone in need.
Then, tragedy happened, and he died in 2014. I refused to accept it. I was so angry for so long and just wouldn’t accept what happened. Based on the “story” I told myself, of course, death and tragedy in my family didn’t make any sense. Then, it kept happening. In 2017, my Aunt Kathleen died, in 2022, my Uncle Mike, and now, just this past Friday, my cousin Matt was killed in a hit and run. None of this makes any sense and they just feel pilled on, like some kind of family curse. My mom insists that “nothing has been good since your dad died” and I tend to agree with her. I blurted out, just a few months ago, without thought, that “I just don’t like life without Dad here” to my sister. I think it took us both back. What a sad thing to feel. But, that has been my truth. I felt in my bones, that life was so much better with him in it. This is true for me. It’s been 10 years now without him.
About a month ago, I started volunteer training at the Center for Loss and Bereavement working with children who have suffered great loss. Most of them have lost either a parent or sibling. There’s a big part of me that feels generational healing while I’m there. When I look at these kids, I can’t help but see my Dad and his siblings.
The particular age group I was with was 4-6 years old. One of the little boys, looked up as he painted a picture and said to me “You know, we are all going to die”. I said, “I know.” and then, he continued “But, that is what makes life so special”. From the mouth of babes. Finding meaning in loss. I’m grateful for this 6 year old.
Last month, I also began a course with David Kessler to become a grief educator . I want to help others in grief. This course, along with the volunteering, I’m finding healing for myself as well. Yesterday, David talked about the randomness of death. He said, “the death rate in families is 100%”… which made me laugh… but, somehow it flipped a switch for me. Yes, I always knew everyone would die. But, I was able to form a new connection with death and tragedy when he talked about it “not being personal”. That sentence also made me angry, so, I can see I have some feelings to feel there around that sentiment.
Ideally, there is an “order” to death. Old people die first. My Nanny, my dad’s mother, passed in 2013 at the age of 92. After her passing, my brain went to my Grandmom, my mom’s mother. I thought, she must be next. That Christmas, I focused my time and attention to my Grandmom. This could be her last Christmas. But, as life would go, it was actually my Dad’s last Christmas. He was 62. Why? I will never know or understand. But, this is what happened and I need to accept it. Even typing this now, 10 years later, I feel a pang and heaviness in my heart. My eyes are filling up with tears.
I’m sharing because perhaps someone else out there is grieving in the same way. I know my family is right now with my cousin Matt’s death just a week ago. No, it doesn’t make any sense. Yes, you may see old people and be angry at their sheer existence. My dear aunt, you will see mother’s with their son’s and feel to the depths of your soul how grossly unfair it is. I ran from my grief for the past 10 years. I ate, drank, and smoked it.
The only way to heal it is to feel it. Be kind and gentle to yourself as you feel and travel through this pain. You are so loved.
mayabelle.love 