It wasn't too long ago that I received a call that a beloved family member had died suddenly in his home. He was found by his daughter who had dropped in for a visit. I threw belongings into a backpack as quickly as possible, and drove 6 hours to reach the home of my recently deceased family member. There, I found a living room filled with my family treading water in the depths of grief, the sights and sounds of shock & anguish filled all my senses.
In the 7 days that followed, we hunkered into that home. I watched as my family members, young and old, transitioned from the immediate and acute pain that often accompanies the death of loved one, to the beginnings of integrating the reality that life would move on, albeit differently, without their family member: their father, grandfather, uncle, brother, friend, teacher.
Although those days were marked by episodes of gut-wrentching sobs, laughter also echoed through their home as stories were recounted to the revolving door of visitors. We enacted a common protocol that can follows a death, such as making arrangements at the funeral home and drafting an obituary. But we also developed our own ways of remembering, and of celebrating a life-well-lived. We talked well into the early mornings, we swam together at sunset, we wrote and read a loud messages, we made up for lost time that distance has a way of stealing, and we each wore different pieces of our loved one's clothing. Nothing was too unusual, even my cousin carrying around her father's dentures in his robe pocket. Somehow, it just all made sense.
We held one another close in & through our grief.
This was without a doubt, one of the most sacred and treasured times of my life. I am grateful my children had the opportunity to witness the complexity of emotions and dynamics in a family that death often reveals.
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Life's transitions can be hard; especially if they're sudden and you're left feeling ill-prepared for what's required of you, wondering how you'll find the strength to take the next breath, the next step.
Although you might be feeling very alone, you're not. Or at least you don't need to be. I am here to accompany you, to walk beside you as you slowly but surely make plans to say good-bye.
