I don’t know what to make of any of it, but it’s actually okay.
Yesterday I got casual text from my sister “Dad’s in the hospital. Thought you might want to know.” My friends were around me, and I read them the text and they offered comfort, more importantly the suggestion I should probably call my family and check in with them. I knew I should, or at least it seemed I should. I knew on some level I wanted to talk to Mom and see if my Dad is okay. I love my Dad very much, his health has been failing lately and I’ve recently had to accept I’m going to lose him. The phone call didn’t go to well.
Mom was busy, she was cleaning the house getting it ready for when he came home, and was grateful for the chance to clean without him around. Dad had been in the hospital for over a day, he had fallen while shopping the afternoon before. I recalled my Mom had sent me several texts last night, none of them mentioning my Dad, instead asking why I hadn’t cashed the check he sent me for Christmas and how it was interfering with her accounting.
“You know Mom, if this sort of thing happens in the future, I would love to know about it.” I told her. Mom was furious.
“Don’t you start that shit with me now!” She snapped back. “What good would it be if I told you? You’re down there in California, you can’t do anything about it. All you’re going to do is worry, and that won’t help anyone. Especially him, he would hate the idea of you worrying about him and he needs to rest right now.” She seemed especially mad that I had asked for her to communicate with me during a time when her husband was in the hospital. Had I no compassion? This wasn’t easy for her either. However, she did give the number to the hospital and told me I could talk to him if I wanted. Overall she was rather kind and sweet, but how dare I request communication? Mostly she wanted to go back to cleaning the house and was looking forward to my sister coming over to help her. If you hadn’t noticed, she deals with such things by cleaning. Organizing, sanitizing, and tidying can give one a sense of control over their environment.
I was reminded of a conversation I had had with my sister about a week ago, again about my aging Dad. Dad had told me some rather disturbing stories that made me realize he was starting to lose contact with reality and Mom was complaining about not being able to get him the help he needed due to covid restrictions. I was hoping my sister, a professional nurse, had some insights.
“He’s got dementia, what do you expect?” she said rather harshly to me. “I can’t do anything about it, Mom has to come to me for help, and she’s not doing that. It’s frustrating, but it is what it is. This is what happens to people as they age, they fall apart and die. You have to have known this was going to happen eventually to him.” There was a sting to her voice. I tried to explain that while I knew Dad was slowly forgetting things, him having periods of amnesia was new and scary for me. And no one had every told me he had been diagnosed with dementia, there had been a sort of “mind your own business tone” to the whole thing with heavy hints something was wrong with Dad. Over the phone I heard what had to be a huge eye-roll.
“I’m sorry that you haven’t processed that Dad is losing his mind yet” said a very annoyed voice, “But I can’t do that for you. I already have and have other things to deal with right now than you trying to come to terms with something I’ve already dealt with.” Her quick, pissed tone continued. “I have to go, I promised my daughter we’d play dolls for 30 minutes today.” I was happy to get of the phone with her.
At 14 I attended my first funeral. My Grandmother, I loved her and had a close relationship with her. My family and church was there, but most of all my confusion. Friends from church, kept coming up to me, hugging me.
“It’s hard sometimes isn’t it?” said the Kitty, the minister’s wife. I had no idea what she was talking about. True, things were very hard at times, but why was she talking to me about it? She never did before. I remember my brother’s new wife, my sister-in-law giving me such a huge, long hug, it felt almost sensual, and creepy. Why were people hugging me? I was confused. Further more, they seemed to ask for my comfort back. When my Dad gave me the news over the phone that my beloved Grandma had died, he was worried about me. I didn’t understand why, he had told me a fact, and I had accepted it.
Later, alone in my room by myself, I cried. I talked to my Grandma about her death. I thought about how much I would miss her, and how much I wanted to see her and talk with her, and that I’d never get to again. I thought about what she meant to me and the impact she had on my life and the world. I did what I needed to do, and found comfort inside of myself. I knew on some level, that grief was personal, and that no one would understand what I was going through and I couldn’t count on them to hold me during this time. It seemed strange some were trying. Grief, was something personal, private, and I didn’t want anyone there with me for fear their grief or processing would interfere with mine.
Later on when I moved away, determined to develop myself outside of my family, I had other occasions to grieve, my divorce and other traumatic events in my life. Many lessons around grief came my way and I learned how to let people into my grief, how to be there for others who were grieving, the stages, holding space, and having people I trusted wrap around me.
Talking to my mom and sister, I immediately was pulled back into my family culture around grief. To them, grief is private and burdensome. Everyone has to deal with grief their own way, and best to deal with your emotions on your own so that you’re not bogging down anyone else’s grief even further. I was amazed how painlessly it was to re-enter that state of mine. In some ways it felt good. No one was every going to say the stupid, meaningless platitudes that gave them comfort. “Everything happens for a reason. He’s in heaven now. It’s all for the best. When God closes a door he opens a window.” I don’t want to hear those things, or people offering me empathy when they don’t understand. And let’s face it, when it comes to grief, no one does. Grief can make everyday moments feel so sickening, and people happily in their delusions just feel like fake, ignorant, stupid people who attempt to console you through a tragedy they haven’t even been through, at least not the way you have.
I asked my sister if anyone had thought to tell my brother about my Dad. She didn’t seem keen on the idea, and it was clear Mom had no intentions of it. Already Mom was annoyed I hinted that I may have emotions around Dad being in the hospital and that was already to much for her, let’s not bring yet another person into this. But I knew, if I were him, I would want to know. So I texted my brother and told him how he can contact Dad and that he’s in the hospital. He was grateful, but I don’t know what the backlash will be in my family. They may not tell me next time something happens to my Dad, they already tell me so little and expect me to come to terms with it. I may be cut off from further information. They may now feel that involving me isn’t helpful anymore; that I add an emotional mess to what is already a very tough situation for all. I think about a book I read once, where Katniss Everdeen talked about needing her mother “To be strong for her” when she was taken away to the hunger games. That’s more what my family needs from me during these times. They need me to be strong, to help out, to lend a hand, and not to cover or hide my grief, but keep it about me, not them. They aren’t available to hold that space, and don’t want me to try for them. That’s not what helps.
I am working on accepting that I am losing my Dad, who is a loving, wonderful Dad, who has done so much for my life. It’s something I both want to talk to others about, and yet keep to myself. My Dad was the first person who explained grief to me, at the funeral, where my grandma died. He explained how people comfort each other, how people had unresolved issues with departed loved ones, that people had guilt, shame, confusion and loss when someone they loved died. He guided me through understanding this human behavior. He made sure I had the choice to have time alone with my Grandma at the funeral home, if I wanted, before they cremated her. He explained that grief looked different in different people, and no one can ever tell you the way you grieve is right or wrong, and that whatever I need to do to grieve is okay regardless of how it looks. With that, I take a breath. sometimes I listen to a friend cry about her her loss, sometimes I picture my mother obsessively cleaning when her father passed, me talking to my deceased grandma and even writing her Christmas cards and graduation announcements from time to time. Dad was right. No one has right to tell anyone how to grieve.
So, with that wisdom, I know my family is what it is, and I accept them. Even if the outside world won’t understand it. Hell it might not even be healthy, I can’t even tell. But who am I to judge another’s grief?
