When I was a freshman in high school, I knew a girl named Dana.
Well…to be clear…I knew of her. That is to say, I knew who she was…had been in classes with her since the sixth grade…and had always had a general awareness of who she was and what she was about.
She was about Forenza v-necked sweaters and big coiffed hair and iridescent lipstick and all of the things that added up to one seriously popular girl during the mid-1980′s.
Don’t jeer, friends. I had to live through that era trying to attain all of this as the end-all-be-all.
Anyway. Dana was always surrounded by friends and smiling and laughing, as the seriously popular are apt to do.
Until her father died midway through our freshman year in high school. At which point she was absent for the customary couple of days for the necessary arrangements. Though I didn’t know her well, I thought about her while she was gone. Was she seeing a counselor? In bed under the covers? Too distraught to eat, let alone attend school?
And then she returned. I watched her curiously from across the room in our shared biology class for a telltale sign of what she had endured.
And you know what I witnessed?
Laughter.
Yup. Two days after her return, I witnessed her tossing her permanent waved hair and laughing at something or other that her seriously popular friends had said.
And I judged her. Right then and there.
Clearly, this was no way to behave in the aftermath of the death of a close family member. Where was the respect? The honor? Didn’t she know anything about how to grieve properly? How to play the role of The Girl Whose Parent Had Died? She obviously had not watched enough tear-jerking After School Specials on ABC.
Because I was totally and completely an expert on the subject, right?
Time passed and fate twisted as it tends to do…and less than two years later, I was thrust into the role of The Girl Whose Parent Had Died.
After a not quite year-long battle with cancer, my mother died on a Thursday.
And what did I do on Friday?
I played in a varsity volleyball game. I will never forget the look on my teammates’ and coaches faces as I entered the gym that evening. It was quite certainly not unlike the look that I must have flung at Dana in biology class.
However, as I slammed volleyballs onto the opponents’ side of the court and hit the floor, arms outstretched, in an effort so save points, I felt some release.
Not healing…not instant wholeness…but release.
Just as Dana must have felt two years earlier as she laughed.
And now, 25 years later, I sit in front of my keyboard and allow these memories to fill my mind.
I feel indescribable thankfulness for the indoor beach party that I attended just over a week ago. Because my friend went back into the hospital for the last time the very next day.
And in writing about the goings-on of the past few weeks, I have felt some release. And I have witnessed others doing what they need to do in order to get by.
Gathering with friends to remember.
Providing home-cooked meals for our friend’s family.
Shopping trips with her teenagers to ensure that they will be properly outfitted for the services to come.
And yes…even some laughing.
Another’s grief, and the way they choose to get through it, is not mine to judge.
It’s something that each of us needs to do in our own way.
And you know what else? After posting this, I’ve decided that I want to step away for awhile.
To think…to reflect…to write…but not for an audience.
Those of you who have been with me awhile know that I have done this before.
I’ll let you know if and when I return…
And I trust that there will be no judgment.
Tell me…How do you do grief?
Praying for you in your hiatus.
My grief is a pretty disorganized thing. I typically have a hard time keeping it focused and not letting it get all over everything. The loss shouldn’t result in my crying because the price of good butter keeps going up.
I lost my mom 4 months before I graduated high school. She battled ovarian cancer for 5 years before she died on a Monday. I loved the post you did about throwing the beach party for your friend b/c it reminded me of something my mom’s friends may have done for her. It also reminded me of how awful disease is. I’m so sorry for your loss. I hope you find what you need. I will miss you.
What a wonderful post. Seriously. I’m so sorry for the loss of your friend. My father in law passed away last week. The week prior to his passing we (immediate family) stayed by his beside in Hospice after the family was called in. There were a lot of tears, but yes, a lot of laughter.
During the last several hours of his life, I found myself in peals of laughter with my husband, brother in law and sister in law, over the extent of my husband’s snoring problem. I think we all handle grief in a way that makes sense. Laughing doesn’t mean there isn’t pain. It just means it’s part of the coping process.
Take all the time you need, and if you do return to blogging I will be here to read what you post.
You’ll be missed while you’re away – take care of yourself in your own way, and we’ll be here when you get back. xoxo
Awwww Susie! Anticipating the journey to the return of the MoJo. Love you girl!!
I’m so sorry for your loss.
Take all the time you need. xo
So sad for the loss of friendship, comfort, shared jokes, special hugs. Thinking and praying for you.
I remember that time so long ago, Susan. I remember my mother helping yours as she entered treatment. I remember my brother with David. I remember the sadness, grief and fear that was shared by our entire small community. I remember.
I am so sorry for your loss. This post was touching more than you’ll know. You probably don’t have a dry eye in the house. How do I grieve? I grieve however it suits me at any given moment. And as you know from losing your mother, and I know from losing my father 17 years ago, the grief is always present, just choses to manifest differently every time the loss hits us in the gut. You’ll be missed.
I am praying for your emotional healing after the passing of your friend. Your post is so insightful, and your musings will be missed. I vividly recall after the passing of my father, 11 years ago: I spoke to no one. I called no one to tell them of his passing – my then-boyfriend (now husband) made the calls b/c neither my mother nor I could even say the words. I did not eat, could not sleep, could not speak, except to my mom and brother. I was terrified that my heart would spill out through my throat for surely I was start crying and not be able to stop. Years later, when our mom passed, I clearly remember sharing a laugh with my brother while we rode entered the cemetery in the limo behind the hearse, recalling something funny our mom would have said if she were able to speak then. The laugh startled us so much and I’m sure the limo driver was convinced we were tipsy. Grief manifests itself in so many different ways – I was in denial for many years after each of my parent’s passings. I’m glad that you are taking a hiatus to heal. {{{hugs}}} to you. We will all be here if/when you return.
I am so sorry. I don’t have any words…I was so sad when I read this tonight. My heart goes out to her family and friends…I’ll be keeping all of you in my thoughts and prayers. It makes you realize how much we need to live each day to the fullest, because you just never know. I remember when I read your story about the beach party that you and your friends created thinking what special friends you all were…and what a wonderful memory that would be…never realizing.
Grief affects everyone so differently. I’d like to think that when my time comes, my family and friends will tell stories of a life well lived, and that they”ll celebrate the good times, rather than re-live the painful ones. I think laughter is a good thing.
I’ll be thinking of you. Make sure you take care of yourself.
i am so sorry for your loss. take all the time that you need. my grief, i imagine, is much like anyone else’s. it goes in waves. so sometimes it’s like i can’t stop crying, then very suddenly i am focused on something else, potentially having a good time and laughing.
I am so sorry to read of the loss of your friend. You are spot on–we all handle grief in our own ways–some extremely publicly, some cowering under the covers. We do what we need to do. You do what you need to do. We’ll be around if you need anything. Cheers to fine memories of your friend.
Sue, I am so sorry for the loss of your friend. It is good you know what you need to do right now–what is best for you. Take the time you need. We will all be awaiting your return.
So sorry for the loss of your friend, Sue. My grief is a process of stages as I try to wrap my head around what has happened. Bittersweet memories make me smile through tears, and the sense of loss becomes very present at times.
Take the time you need; we will be here when you return.
Hi Sue I’ve had a similar way of dealing with grief. I need to do it on my own time. Removing external distractions and commitments helps. Sorry for your loss, your friend was truly loved and that’s what matters most.
I have no words.
You are just a beautiful soul.
We all deal with pain in different ways. If it helps to curl your hair up and spritz it with so much hairspray that you kill at least 2555 species of rainforest frogs, then do it.
Know that I am here for you…email me if you need to vent, chat, tell me that my thighs looked great in those pants…awkward…
xoxoxo
I’m sorry for your loss. There’s no timeline for grief.
Sorry to hear of your friend. It’s so hard to be confronted with a life cut short with the death of family, friend, and even a reminder of our own mortality.
How do I grieve? Whatever I say may just cover the tip of the iceberg. The biggest loss for me, too, was when my mom died from cancer. Somehow we get through it, out of necessity, maybe just going through the motions until it hits you. Faith helped me through, and the hope of being reunited in Heaven someday, although it still seems so far away. I reminded myself it could have been worse- at least I had time to say goodbye, at least I had her into my 30′s, she was there for my wedding and my 1st baby, whereas some lost their parent when they were young…my heart goes out to you losing your mother when you were a teenager.
I still think about all that she’s missing out on, sad she didn’t get to see my kids grow up and they never knew her, and wish she were here. Still want to pick up the phone and ask her recipe advice or tell her about something cute the kids said.
I have shared “THE DASH” poem with many people. It is a beautiful poem, set to scenery and music at http://www.thedashmovie.com (or google search “the dash movie”). Helps to remember how they impacted our life, and also inspiring to make the most of our lives, as we don’t know when our time will be.
Time helps to heal, but the void will always be there. Your friend is lucky to have a friend like you, and you can be thankful that your lives intersected.
[...] I did wither a bit this fall. There was the loss of my sweet friend, followed by a series of sucker punches delivered by Life that left me almost literally gasping for [...]
Wonderful exnlopatian of facts available here.