Death. . . how do we cope. . .

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
21

I don’t know how to deal with death. I hate thinking about it. I worry and fret about the day my mother or mother-in-law dies. Until now, I’ve been “lucky.” When eat of my grandparents and my father died, someone else handled the arrangements. I don’t think I can bear being the person who has to make the phone calls and pick out a coffin and view the body one last time. Especially when it’s my mommy.

My favorite Aunt died Saturday morning and I am having a hard time accepting it. I feel so guilty that I didn’t visit her enough when she was alive. She was a talented artist and she always encouraged my love of drawing and wanted me to go to art school and do something with it. But I haven’t done a damn thing. I’m afraid I let her down.

Her death wasn’t unexpected; she was first diagnosed with lung cancer about 7 or 8 years ago, not long after my dad discovered he had Hepatitis C. They adored each other so much… Anyway, the cancer was especially devastating because she only had one lung, having lost the other to tuberculosis in the 1950’s. But they operated and removed as much of the cancerous lung as possible and still leave her something to breathe with. And for almost 5 years she was cancer-free. Last year would have been year number 5 and she would be officially “cured” but it came back. She just turned 76 last July. She lasted longer than we thought she would, but that’s cold comfort.

I haven’t really cried until now. I’ve avoided telling any friends IRL just because they didn’t know her, why trouble them? Although one did e-mail me today when she saw the obituary in the paper. So then I felt bad because I hadn’t told anyone. I avoided posting it here because I didn’t want to look like I was trying to take anything away from Silent-Bob’s own suffering, and many posters have said that with the recent rash of hoax postings they’re hestitant to believe anyone’s stories.

I just feel so stupid and guilty and ashamed, as well as sad and heartbroken. No, I don’t know how to handle it. I never know how to handle it. I’ve tried to avoid crying, though with one of my dearest friends I did share some stories of her, and stories of dad that she shared with me. I’m thinking that even if I don’t have the money or energy to take a full-time graphic arts course and work, I should at least take a couple drawing and painting courses at the community college, to honor her and just for my own satisfaction. I don’t know what else to do.

Thank you for letting me share.

22

Death is before me today:
Like the recovery of a sick man,
Like going forth into a garden after sickness.

Death is before me today:
Like the odor of myrrh,
Like sitting under a sail in a good wind.

Death is before me today:
Like the course of a stream,
Like the return of a man from the war-galley to his house.

Death is before me today:
Like the home that a man longs to see,
After years spent as captive.

Author unknown, quoted by Neil Gaiman

I know Aunt Lois is in a better place, her suffering is finally over, but that doesn’t fill the void she left behind.

23

It’s nice to know I’m not the only one…

Almost six years ago, I lost my only son, and, on top of that, my ex (the baby’s father) was wrongly convicted of his murder. (I’m not going to go into the details here, but if anyone wants to privately e-mail, I will answer.) I had the misfortune (which is too mild a word) of losing the two people who mattered most in my life within two years.

As I was in school at the time of my ex’s trial and subsequent conviction, the school hooked me up with a counselor at the local university, and that really helped a lot. I deal with my son’s death and my ex’s conviction basically by living my life.

It still hurts a lot, especially since so many of my friends have kids. Family gatherings are especially difficult, because everyone knows what happened, and everyone asks how I’m managing. The ignorant ones ask when my (2nd) husband and I will have kids. Because of my history, the answer is most likely “never.” We are considering adoption in a couple years.

The long and short of it is, yes it sucks, but you move on, and you learn from it, and you remember them.

Robin

24

(I apologize that the following is so long. It’s one of my first posts and it happens to be a subject close to my heart.)

The only deaths that I had to cope with were my parents. My mother passed away when I was 9 years old and my father passed away when I was 19. Obviously, my reaction and how I cope with each of their deaths were and are different.

I remember worrying that my mother would suddenly reappear in my life someday, as if she just simply achieved an elaborate hoax, and that I wouldn’t recognize her. I also remember falling into an hysterical fit crying and laughing a year after her death when I mentioned, without a second thought, that my mother would not be able to supervise the upcoming class trip. I was in fifth grade. I try not to think that I have survived more than two-thirds of my life without a mother for I still had my father (he was a great single father), I have been very lucky to “borrow” a mother from my best friend, I find my mother’s qualities in several of my older friends and became unbelievably close to my older sister. Most importantly, I have a wonderful mother-in-law. It sometimes scares me that her death (God willing not before she is 120 years old) will be more devastating to me than my own mother’s death.

My father went into a coma during my finals second semester of college. I had decided to go away that weekend with friends to chill rather than spend it with my sister, her family and my father who was visiting. He went into coma on Saturday. I never called him to see how his trip was or to wish him a good-night. When my brother called me Saturday night, I knew it had to do with my father. I didn’t even wait to say “Hello” before I was crying. For the next 3 weeks I did not cry. When he finally died in the hospital, I did not cry. I saved it all for when the airline told me the funeral home’s hearst arrived too late and they would not take my father’s casket on the flight to his own funeral. It was very cleansing. I got my father on that damn flight and realized just how strong I could be. When things get rough, I remember that feeling and think of my father and how, even in death, he empowers me.

I knew my father. The memory of who he was is clear. My memory of my mother has faded over time. I know though that I still love them both. I know that their lives have set an example for me to follow. I even know that the standards I have because of them are probably higher than their own standards were for loved ones qualities are always better in death.

And I continue to cope. I celebrate the anniversary of their deaths every year in the traditional Jewish way- I light a candle that burns for 24 hours, I relate stories about him or her to my family and friends, I give charity in their names and my brother honors them by saying special prayers for them in synagogue. My brother, sister and I have named our children after our parents in the hope that our parents’ good qualities will be passed down with their names to the generation they never even knew.

And, no. My siblings and I do not talk about them as much as we should. One Chanukah, I gave my nieces my mother’s jewelry in a new jewelry box as a gift. I think that was one of maybe 3 times either one of my parents were mentioned in front of their grandchildren After reading this thread and reading what I wrote, I’m gonna to change that.

Thank you.

25

Death is such a mystery to me. It is simple enough in a way: everyone who is born will die. And no one in the world will not lose a loved one unless they choose to love no one, or they die when they are too young to understand love. But I believe it is the most difficult thing any of us ever do. I believe we are all incredibly strong, even beyond our own knowing.

Thank you for the poetry, for your stories, for sharing the ache deep inside of you. I think this makes us all even stronger.

26

I’m another who has suffered alot of loss but I have come to realize that the memories I have are so wonderful they really help.

When my brother died my parents both were devastated. My dad was out of town and he felt guilt for that. I remember that they talked about him, not his death, but his life in a positive way. Which I thought was a great way to deal with it.

When I lost my first child, I was angry. Some of my friends were pregnant at the same time and it didn’t seem fair when I had done everything right that something so painful happened. It was really tough going to all those baby showers.

After I lost my parents, I didn’t really know what to do. I was so devastated when I realized I was an “orphan”. Both mom and dad suffered long and painful deaths. I was very close to both of them and had grown up a daddy’s girl. Its only been a few years and altho the pain has subsided a bit, the emptiness is still very much there for me. I miss them and I still cry for them. But I keep them close through the memories I have. I visit their graves, not as often as I did at first, but stiill often. It brings me peace, especially when I’m troubled. I talk about them because they both had such a positive impact on my life and I think its important to hold that close as well. They wanted me to be happy and I have found happiness and I love my life. I’m a true believer in that they are watching over me.

Just before Christmas last year I lost my cousin and one of my best friends a day apart. Loraine, my friend was one of the most wonderful people anyone could ask for in a friend, she loved me unconditionally and when he is feeling down, her son calls me and we have a good giggle about Ms. Lorainey and her antics.

These are some of the people in my life I have lost and I have learned things from each of them. The old saying “life is too short” really is true, and I try to live life to the fullest and enjoy it and the people in my life as much as possible and if the ones that have left us can still bring a smile to our face through those memories, they I think they still live on.

27

I’ve never talked about this. Probably because I dont know alot about it.
My mother gave birth to a stillborn on her first pregnancy. The boy, Michael, never had a chance at life.

My mother, went on to have 2 more boys, 2 girls and then me, the youngest boy. She was 40 when I was born, after a difficult pregnancy.

I’ve only ever talked about it once with my mother, when I was a child.

I got a chance at life, and he did not.
I sometimes wonder “what if”. What if he had been born? How would my life have been affected?

Tomorrow is my 21st birthday. I’m going to raise a silent toast to him.

thank you for listening.

28

My parents were the protective type. THey weren’t afraid of death, but didn’t know how to portray it to their children. I found out about my aunt’s death at a birthday party. My neighbor gave her condolences to me. I remember I ran all the way home in tears and confronted my mother about it. She told me that Aunt Virginia died that morning.

We drove 9 hours to South Carolina for her funeral. I didn’t even know we were going. They picked me up from school in a rented mini-van and already had my suitcase packed.

My mother’s side of the family is truly southern. We deal with deaths by cooking. I’ve never seen so much food than what was produced by my great-aunt. We talked over steamed blue crabs about my aunt for hours while we devoured bushel after bushel.

They didn’t bring me to the funeral. Instead my older sister and I stayed home with some of the younger cousins. I wasn’t completely aware of what was going on the whole time.

The problem I had with this, is that I was the image of Aunt Virginia. I was the only neice that looked and acted just like her. She never had children of her own, but I was the one that came closest. Her husband, Uncle Bill, doted on me after her death. Offered trips to Wales with him, always brought me gifts.

I feel that leaving me out of the details of her death somehow cheated me. I never got to miss her or mourn her. She seems more like a distant memory than a close aunt. You see her, then you don’t. It was like a make-beleive story. I wish that we could have shared her memories and stories about her.

I find that is my methos now with death. i try to talk about all the funny stories that happened. Even the stories that happened near their death. I opens up the channels of communication and keeps that person alive in your heart.

29

Coping with death is a such a difficult subject for me and, based on most of the responses, extremely difficult for people in general.

My father died when I was 13 - in and of itself painful, but exacerbated by the fact that my parents had divorced 5 years earlier and we lived in different states. During the years between the divorce and his death, I had only seen him on a few occasions each year.

To say that my father was idealized in my mind is an understatement. My mother, for reasons I don’t understand even now, took every opportunity while he was alive to malign him to her children. Unknowingly, her attitude encouraged me to take his side emotionally against her.

He died the day after Christmas, so we were not in school when it happened. We spent the remainder of the Christmas holiday traveling to the funeral (ick), dealing with all of the family stuff attached to the funeral (double ick), and of course traveling back home so as not to miss any school.

(Triple ick.) I didn’t tell anyone at school when we returned from break. My siblings and I never discussed the fact that we had lost our father. My mother never encouraged us to discuss our grief or loss or anger or any of the other attendant feelings. The entire experience was shoved brutally under the rug and more or less treated as if it never happened.

I don’t need to enumerate the ways in which this screwed me up emotionally nor the number of years it profoundly affected me. I was well into my 30’s before I was able to accept what had happened, tune into my grief, deal with it and move on.

One of the most troubling hurdles during this long and tortuous process was accepting and releasing my feelings of having been cheated. Well, dammit, I was cheated. My father wasn’t there during my adolescent agonies, never knew my adult self, never met my husband. (Hell, he died while leisure suits were still in fashion!)

I had to painstakingly learn as an adult to temper the irrational hero-worship I had of my father and admit that he was a normal, flawed-like-everyone-else kind of guy and not a golden god whose life had been fatally and tragically cut short at the age of 36. As my siblings and I grew older, we all arrived at some sort of terms with my father’s death, and are to varying degrees able to appreciate his legacy (which is basically us), and to appreciate without searing pain the genetic gifts we received from him.

It was indeed a tragedy, but not one with the immense porportions I had assigned to it.

Nearly 26 years later my memories of him are with me still and provide the only comfort I’ll ever derive from him. While his death no longer has the power to wound, it still conjures up regrets and loss.

30

Reading all of these posts makes me realize just how important my family is to me and it makes me want to give my kids and my fiancee a big hug and kiss and tell them that I love them.

I’ve lost a few friends and relatives over the years but I didn’t really grieve for them. I tend to hold my emotions inside and not show anyone how upset I am. Not the best thing to do but it’s worked so far. I just keep them in my thoughts and remember the good times.

31

I don’t yet know how my family deals with death but I will soon find out. My great-grandmother is close to death, as is my grandfather on the other side. Great-grammy is dying of simple old age. Grampy is dying of lung cancer. I watched the 4-part series that Bill Moyers did on death and dying recently and hopefully that will give me some tools to handle the coming ordeal. My family tries to be very open and honest, never shying away from difficult discussions. We’ll be ok.

32

I think that faith can help immensely in these times. Whether it’s a religious belief, or just faith in the life of the person lost, opening up at painful moments to accept the comfort of these things can get us through difficult times. There are also, I’ve discovered, some unorthodox ways of dealing with pain and loss.
When one of my best friends lost a baby, I had no way of expressing my feelings of sympathy, pain and care. I put in my Holly Cole Trio cd, ‘Don’t Smoke in Bed.’ I played her this song.
When my Gramma died, I put in this cd and listened to this song. When my friend committed suicide this Spring, I put in this cd.
Any time someone is hurting and I need to find the way to tell them that I care so much and am there for them…well, I’m being redundant. I wish I had written it, but I’m just glad somebody did.
-cry (if you want to)-

cry if you want to
I won’t tell you not to
I won’t try to cheer you up
I’ll just be here if you want me

it’s no use in keeping a stiff upper lip
you can weep you can sleep you can loosen your grip
you can frown you can drown and go down with the ship
you can cry if you want to

don’t ever apologise, venting your pain
it’s something to me you don’t need to explain
I don’t need to know why, I don’t think it’s insane
you can cry if you want to

the windows are closed, the neighbors aren’t home
if it’s better with me than to do it alone
I’ll draw all the curtains and unplug the phone
you can cry if you want to

you can stare at the ceiling and tear at your hair
swallow your feelings and stagger and swear
you can show things and throw things and I wouldn’t care
you can cry if you want to

I won’t make fun of you, I won’t tell anyone
I won’t analyse what you do or you should have done
I won’t advise you to go and have fun
you can cry if you want to

well it’s empty and ugly and terribly sad
I can’t feel what you feel but I know it feels bad
I know that it’s real and it makes you so mad
you could cry

cry if you want to
I won’t tell you not to
I won’t try to cheer you up
I’ll just be here if you want me to be near you (Scott)

33

Death is strange.

I can still remember waking up that morning, and answering the door. It was a sheriff’s deputy, we were supposed to call someone. The look on his face, surprised and apologetic is still with me, and I only saw him for maybe, maybe five minutes. I know that the number he gave us to call was my wife’s parents’, and I know she called them, but all I can remember is her sitting on the stool in that little kitchen, the early morning sunlight on the wall behind as she starts crying into the phone, asking if it was an accident. She asked three times, using the same words.

I know I called my supervisor and arranged emergency leave, I know I packed everything we were taking with us, I know I drove 300 miles. I remember that we had dinner that afternoon with my parents, at the new athletic club, I can see how open the reception area was, and the balcony where we ate. I know I drove another 400 miles to her parents’ house.

I know we ended up staying in a hotel, I know her family made crude jokes about that, too. I know I talked with my supervisor and my OIC. I know that at the wake, one of my father-in-law’s brothers came up to us and chatted about the time he went to Omaha and fired off a shotgun to scare the “niggers”. I know that I dug my fingers into my wrist so hard that I was bleeding, I know that if had relaxed my grip, I would have beat the little shit until his family pulled me off of him. I remember my father-in-law pulling his son’s hands apart, and putting a baseball between them. I remember all the high school jewelry they put in the casket with him. I remember trying to figure out why they had dressed the body in a Colorado Avalanche jersey. I remember being the only relative wearing a tie at the funeral. I know my wife and one of her step-sisters spoke at the wake.

I know we went to talk to some friends of my wife’s for a couple of days, and then went back to talk with my parents. I remember going to sit by the lake to think, I remember the cop who told me that the park closed at 10pm.

I know I went back to work and made sick jokes about having a dead man’s picture on my desk. I don’t remember anything until my grandfather’s death a month later.

The strangest part of all, I had only met my brother-in-law twice. Yet, even four years later, I am still haunted by his suicide. Any time death comes up, I have to talk about it, I cannot seem to let it rest. I have to tell anyone who will listen how great the weeks before were, how everything looked so good: my job was awesome, my friends and family were all getting married, my marriage was new and wonderful. I hate myself anytime I tell the story, but I cannot seem to keep from telling it. Perhaps someday, I will, like my wife, let the past be the past.

34

I found out on Monday that my best friend from high school died “in her sleep” on Friday nite after being treated at the Em. Room for pneumonia (a reaction to a drug, I hear thru the grapevine).

I called her mom on Monday & left a msg. for them to please call me. Later that day I found out that they had buried her that day! …No death announcement, no funeral announcement, Nothing!

I still haven’t heard from her family and almost don’t want to as I am angry and confused that they didn’t allow her friends to pay their respects or acknowledge her death. I just feel so weird about the whole thing.

How common is it for families/religions to handle death this way? (Her family is Baptist and they are “nice,” fairly cultured people.) If/when they call, I don’t even know what to say to them… I don’t hardly even care to speak to them now. I have never heard of such a thing except for the destitute or Jane Does–(even those are published in the newspaper!).

At the very least, shouldn’t they have had an autopsy performed since she was only in her late 30s? Just wondering if any of you have any ideas about this.

35

Twelve years ago, my half-sister committed suicide. I was devastated. She was 8 years older than me and lived with her grandmother when I was growing up. We started growing close as I got older, and were very close at the time of her death. At first I was angry at her for “quitting”. Then as time went by I realized how very unhappy and depressed she had been. She was a lesbian, with all that that entails, but her biggest problem was that she was an alcoholic. Her lover had broken up with her because of her addiction. I felt guilty for so long after, that I couldn’t do anything to help, or even see there was a problem. My husband was a great help to me during this time, listening to stories about her, and just holding me while I cried. During this time my mother grieved unconsolably for the loss of her first born. There had been years of rejection of Diane for her lesbianism, which had recently been overcome with love and acceptance. About a year later, my Mom was getting her depression under control, when she was diagnosed with blocked arteries in her legs. She had a stroke after successful (hah!) surgery. She died 4 days later. Again, my wonderful husband got me through it. I miss her all the time. My Dad was strong through it all, but broke down twice. I had never seen him cry before this. He is doing very well now. We still talk about Mom sometimes. He has a girlfriend and plays golf every day! He’s 76.

Three years ago my husband was diagnosed with congestive heart failure, and given about 6 months to live. We cried and cried. We also talked about everything. It has brought us closer. He is still alive! He’s a stubborn old fart. Really he’s only 55. We shock people sometimes by joking about his treminal disease, but it is our way of dealing with the grief.

Show the people you care about that you love them, right now! You never know…

Thanks for letting me share my rambling thoughts.

36

Again, thank you, everyone. This is one thing all of us have in common, we will all die. And most of us will lose a loved one unless they all outlive us.

Dolores Claiborne, how your mother must have suffered, not only having lost a child, but to lose a child to suicide.

I will hold you and your husband in my thoughts and send best wishes that he continue to defy the odds.

Redwing, how true, death is strange. I, also, at times cannot seem to stop thinking about it and trying to figure something out (what?).

shhh zzzz, that sounds a little odd, the reactions of your friend’s family to her death. I have not heard of a Babtist denomination whose members handled death in that way.

37

My best friend died of cancer in November 1995. Then my mom died of cancer in January 1998, and my dad died suddenly the next month. My response was to drink ALOT. That was not the best choice. I’m doing much better now.

I suggest you deal with the death of loved ones by living your life to the fullest and loving those around you every day you are alive. Do not count on doing something tomorrow, because you may not be given that chance.

38

They don’t perform autopsies when the exact cause of death is known. It takes too much time and too many resources. Sometimes, though, they will give the family the option. I know my parents declined in the case of my brother, while I would have agreed (the doctor wanted to study my brother’s heart, which was wonky).

That is a strange way to react, but some people prefer to keep their grief extremely private. They may decide (given some gentle nudging) to have a memorial service later, when they feel more capable of society.

39

I also did this.

I have to update it soon; I’m adding some of his drawings.

40

Yeah, I’ve been through it.

'82. My Dad.
'86. My Uncle
'98. My maternal Grandmother
'99.
May: My paternal Grandfather
July: My paternal Grandmother
'00.
January: My Brother
May: My Father in law

Time heals, along with the knowledge that we’ll meet again, and that death is part of life, something I’ve tried very hard to inculcate in my children, each time a pet has died.

It also helps to know that in all these cases except for my Dad, death was a blessing.