Immediate grief
This is a guest post from Jonathan Taylor, an independent funeral celebrant in Totnes and occasional funeral arranger and conductor for green fuse. He is a regular commenter on this blog.
I'm in turmoil.
My son's girlfriend's sister died this afternoon at 4.30. She was hit by a bus
about ten days ago, and we were all just starting to feel optimistic about her
survival, if still very uncertain about her quality of life, until today.
And now there is no life whose quality we have to consider.
I want to tell you how it is affecting me, in case it helps you to hear it as
much as it helps me to get it out into the light. Lovely, delightful, young,
sassy, pretty, infuriating, loveable as she was, she was not my relative, and I
didn't even know her all that well. I'm only on the peripherals of the family
web, which is shaken to its core. I don't seem to be grieving for any one
person I can identify, least of all myself, not yet anyway; but this is as
profound a grief as I have ever felt. The first wave is over, and I'm writing
this while waiting for the next one. Wave of what, though?
While watching myself crying, shaking and screaming into a cushion, I felt like
a wolf, hearing the call from my pack members howling from the mountains, 'all
is not well, leave what you're doing and attend, every one of you.' It's a
primal thing. Animal.
And right now, I'm feeling a deep envy for the animals. Instinct tells them
what to do, without question. They are unencumbered by intellect, with its
attendant beliefs and values and morals and judgements and literature. They
don't have to wonder about what's going on, they just know. And perhaps best of
all, they can howl out loud their unrestrained regret, without having to think
about the neighbours.
So if I've ever expressed an opinion on this blog, dear readers, I take it back
forthwith. I just don't know. This is awful, but even now I can see it's a
good thing that's happening to us all, given that she's already dead.
All for now, with love,
Jonathan
My son's girlfriend's sister died this afternoon at 4.30. She was hit by a bus
about ten days ago, and we were all just starting to feel optimistic about her
survival, if still very uncertain about her quality of life, until today.
And now there is no life whose quality we have to consider.
I want to tell you how it is affecting me, in case it helps you to hear it as
much as it helps me to get it out into the light. Lovely, delightful, young,
sassy, pretty, infuriating, loveable as she was, she was not my relative, and I
didn't even know her all that well. I'm only on the peripherals of the family
web, which is shaken to its core. I don't seem to be grieving for any one
person I can identify, least of all myself, not yet anyway; but this is as
profound a grief as I have ever felt. The first wave is over, and I'm writing
this while waiting for the next one. Wave of what, though?
While watching myself crying, shaking and screaming into a cushion, I felt like
a wolf, hearing the call from my pack members howling from the mountains, 'all
is not well, leave what you're doing and attend, every one of you.' It's a
primal thing. Animal.
And right now, I'm feeling a deep envy for the animals. Instinct tells them
what to do, without question. They are unencumbered by intellect, with its
attendant beliefs and values and morals and judgements and literature. They
don't have to wonder about what's going on, they just know. And perhaps best of
all, they can howl out loud their unrestrained regret, without having to think
about the neighbours.
So if I've ever expressed an opinion on this blog, dear readers, I take it back
forthwith. I just don't know. This is awful, but even now I can see it's a
good thing that's happening to us all, given that she's already dead.
All for now, with love,
Jonathan
Labels: Grief
posted by Charles Cowling at
08:09
4 Comments:
Like many others (I suspect), I didn't comment when I first read this post, as I didn't know what to say.
I'm not sure that I do now, and have a fear of being crass. But I just wanted to send warm feelings out to Jonathan. I felt his pain in his words and, as a fellow human being, I would like to do something to lessen it, but know that I can't.
In this business (sorry to use the word, but that's what it is) there is a danger that we become de-sensitized. The only way we can truly avoid this is by feeling grief ourselves. But it's a horrible way to do it.
Jonathan - you've often been in my thoughts since I read your words. I hope you find whatever comfort, wherever you can. Take very good care of yourself.
Dear X. Piry,
Thank you. You're so right, if we couldn't fall apart sometimes we'd be in the wrong business. It's doing me good, as well as my extended family who have asked me to arrange the funeral. I know what you might be thinking about that, I've thought it myself, very carefully. After the 'second wave' didn't arrive, I knew I was dealing with it okay, and I can't think of anything more healing for all of us than to keep everything in the family for the funeral. So far, the more I've been able to help everyone understand what they can do for her, the better it's been feeling for all of us.
You're not being crass, I appreciate your support - and it's taking good care of others that helps me do it for myself.
Jonathan
Dear Jonathan - thank you for your brave and beautiful post. I don't know if wolves howl from grief or ecstacy or something else - but I understand and can perhaps feel something of what ripped you as you wrote.
I wanted to explore how few of us have 'commented' on your post.
I've had many families say they have felt that people 'slightly' avoided them - or crossed the street to avoid - rather than struggle to say something to them following a death.
And I've 'tutted' sympathetically at our society's aversion to death and its associated strong feelings, while thinking that this is not something 'we-who-deal- with-death' would ever do.
But I really hesitated to respond to your searingly honest grief and profound confusion.......... crassness/insincerity seemed everywhere in my keyboard.
In the end I can only feel to say that I am so very sorry for your son, and for you, and for the horror of this for the dead girls' family and friends.
And I think I am still of the belief that it is better to say something - almost anything - than to avoid it for fear of making it worse.
You are absolutely right James. I too have felt at a loss what to say. You have our love Jonathan. What I have learnt doing this job is that, sadly, it gives you no advantage whatsoever when it comes to your own grief. Her family are lucky to have you close to hand.
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