Some cultures teach that it is better to ignore loss. They
have short, emotionless burial services and they do not speak of the dead after
they are gone. They return to work immediately and don’t spend any time or
energy mourning the loss of their loved one. But here’s the thing. Grief lies
in wait. It is very patient, but it doesn’t give up. It will come to you when
you let down your guard for a moment, and it will force you to go through the
healing process, because you have to. It doesn’t always appear as grief,
however. Sometimes it manifests itself as depression, or illness, pain, fatigue
or anxiety. That’s why I’m glad we live in a culture where we push ourselves
through a few days of a ritual mourning. A wake, a funeral, a celebration of
life service. It is perfectly fine to sob openly about the loss of someone you
loved. It’s ok to do nothing but walk around in your bathrobe for a few days.
And for the next several years, it is absolutely normal to burst into tears
when memories surface. We do speak of the dead. That’s how we keep their
spirits with us.
There is no way to escape death. It will come into your life
eventually. I made it to my 40th year before losing someone close to
me, when my father passed away. Everything became surreal for a time, like when
you first have a child. You enter a new realm. A club where people share your
experience and understand what you are going through. And now life has more
depth to it. I appreciate things more. I let things go a little more easily.
Death taught me something.
Six years ago, when I lost my dad, I wondered how many years
it would take me to stop exploding into tears every time I see his photo or
hear his name. I have learned to incorporate his death into my life. To
preserve his memory, and to keep his spirit alive, we repeat his favourite
sayings (especially the naughty ones) and mention him often. But if I watch him
on video, or thumb through a photo album, the floodgates open again. That will
likely never change.
We never know how our experiences are going to affect
others. I just write my stories every week, as one would a journal entry, but
sometimes I hear from readers with their reactions to what I have written. I
received an email last week from a reader, that affected me quite deeply, and I
will share it here:
Dear Diana: I thought to write you on how much your article meant to a
friend of mine and his mother. These friends were Daron and Donna Graves, the
mother and son who tragically passed away last winter, when their car went off
the Quyon Ferry in Fitzroy
Harbour
This week’s
Accidental Farmwife is dedicated to Daron, and to my Dad, who have left the
world but live on in the hearts of many.
Email: dianafisher1@gmail.com
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