Don’t Say a Thing…
One of my dear friends passed away a couple days ago. Memories start flooding back and I get the same apprehension about funerals.
I hate them and I really don’t want to go.
Even avoided my best friends funeral when I was 16. First one I attended was a dear friend who lost his 8 year old boy. Couldn’t stand the thought of loosing my own son and something snapped…and I was unable to let him go through the experience without support.
…but when mom died, I learned something.
Don’t say a word.
Go to the funeral, but don’t say a damn word. Nothing you say will make it better and you cannot, DARE NOT compare your feelings or understanding with the sufferings of others! DON’T DO IT!!
If you want to have the strongest effect of support, walk up to the grieving parties, show your tears openly, shake a hand, squeeze a shoulder and if you have to: nod.
Just keep your mouth shut and I can almost guarantee you’ll be the one who leaves the greatest impact for good in the life of another.
The talking will come later…just cry with them in silence for now.
Please trust me on this one.
Read MoreHow I Dealt With Pain (My Mom Died–Part 4)
I’ve received a lot of feedback in emails since my last few posts. BTW, if you wouldn’t mind posting your thoughts here, so they can be shared with others, I think we would all appreciate it. It makes it easier for me to talk to everyone at once, rather than replying to emails, though I understand if the feelings are private or tender.
The repeated question is how I’m doing now, and how did I deal with the pain after my mom died. One friend said she hasn’t cried yet as much as she feels she should after her mom died from cancer. That specifically got me thinking about the week I ran off with my Uncle Bob.
Uncle Bob is my mom’s personality (all the good stuff) in a huge military worn body, with a sprinkle of crazy and a hefty dose of fantastic laughter. I love that man dearly. Spend 3-4 days a week with him, and when my mom died, the two of us didn’t shed a tear. We did all we could to be the anchors for the family, to help others work it out, to be strength to Kathilynn and the kids, but never asking anything of anyone else.
Under the stress, nearly a year later, I started having heart and chest problems. I got dizzy…and my temper was like napalm. However, anything about my mother as a subject caused me to instantly bottle up. Bob was the same way. Well my friends noticed, and they got worried. So the guys from church all chipped in and bought two trips out to Wendover Nevada, for a Lobster dinner and a night out of town.
The night we left, Kathi pulled Uncle Bob aside and made him promise to watch over me. To give me room, but not let me end up in jail. Everything else she knew I was capable of doing was ok by her–just let me do it. He agreed. We didn’t say a word all the way to the casino, and then found the restaurant. The meal was incredible, and as we filled our bellies, we started to talk about mom. The good times, the bad times, things that annoyed us about her, things she was frustrated with us about. This went on through the night.
During the meal, I vented and just let the tears flow. No one here knew me and I’ve likely never see anyone here again anyway, so I balled. I swore. I cursed the Universe for taking my mom and even cursed my mom for falling asleep at the wheel. The little Mexican waitresses came and asked what was wrong and Uncle Bob told them in Spanish a condensed version. I don’t know what he said, but several of the women came out and tenderly hugged me and gave their condolences, the manager looking on. When he heard about our conversation in the booth, he came to our table and offered to let us stay all night, and kept the kitchen open for us an additional 3 hours after they cleaned up after everyone else.
Trust me, there are those who understand the importance of grieving. That night I smoked for the first time in almost 16 years. I also drank until I couldn’t see straight and cried about my mom even more, all the way home on the bus while Uncle Bob took me under wing and delivered me safe to Kathilynn once more.
There was a life turning event for me, and it was the true beginning of my healing process, and the healing for Uncle Bob. We never regretted that night, and I came home to a loving family who allowed me to vent in the only way I knew how, away from those I would have offended, and it worked.
Read MoreThe Truth About Death (My Mom Died–Part 3)
At my mom’s funeral in Riverton, Utah it was storming. Ice cold rain and wind. There were tents and chairs, but I stood in the rain. My wife and kids asked me to come under the canape, but I ignored everyone. I was in shock. The cold water soaking into my suit and rolling over my skin helped my mind to numb.
I remember a lot of people talking, saying things that just didn’t matter. Their opinions, their thoughts on trivial things. Crap, even my grandparents talked about what great missionaries they were, but hardly a word about my own mother, who was sitting there in the casket beside them. The only thing that mattered to me or held my attention was the bringing in of the casket, and my beloved father singing to his sweetheart for one last time.
When it was all over, the crowd rose and started finding members of my family to give their condolences. Kind, heart felt words that didn’t make much sense, but that’s all they knew to give. They would pat me on the shoulder or hug me, with advice like “you’re gonna get through this”, or “It’ll take time, but it’ll get easier”, or “Time will help heal.” The only family that held their tongue was Chad’s, the same family who had lost their little boy. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to.
They knew words would be more for them than for me, so they gave us hugs and moved on with a smile and tear of understanding. I just stood there, silent, my little children wrapped around my soaking legs, hugging me.
The last person there waited until everyone had passed and said their peace, never making a sound or a motion towards me until I was alone. A good friend of mine, Paul, who I hadn’t even noticed was at the funeral in the first place. He walked up slowly and waited for me to look at him. His words were golden to my ears, and they have helped me through the toughest parts of my life after my mom died.
Here’s what he said:
“Jaime, I wanted to wait until we were alone, so we could talk. I know you’re a blunt person, so I want to say something I think you’ll appreciate.
“The closest person to me in this world was my little brother. For the past 8 months, I have cared for him and bathed him and lifted his frail little body into bed each night as cancer ate him away to nothing. My sweet, kind baby brother, who gave no offense to the day I placed his body in the ground.
“People came to the funeral. They gave their condolences and they expressed their sorrows, saying the same things I heard your friends and family tell you today. But I want to give you a sliver of truth here, because you’re my friend and I love you.
“Everything they said to you is complete and total bullshit.
“Your mother was an incredible person. She gave birth to you, she loved you, she cared for you Jaime. The fact is, she owns a part of your heart. It belongs to her,and she’s not here anymore. No one else can fill that hole. It’s not possible. You’ll have that hole for the rest of your life…and it’s not going to be ok. and it’s NOT going to get easier! It hurts. You were robbed of a loved one and it’s perfectly ok to be pissed off, to be angry and to scream and shout.
“It’s going to hurt like hell for some time. Who knows how long. You’ll have good days and you’ll have days that feel like complete shit. But you’ll cope. You’ll find a way to take one day at a time. to breath in and out and put one foot in front of the other. And after a time you’ll manage and move on, not because it doesn’t hurt anymore–but because you understand that the feelings of pain are just a reminder of that hole which can’t be filled.
“It will never get better, Jaime. But you will learn to manage.”
He gave me a strong hug and left me standing there alone, with a truth I have cherished to this day.
Some might not like that type of talk, but Paul knew me and he knew I would fight if I just had a shred of truth to stand my ground. It has never gotten better. I miss my mom every day, and there are times when life gets so hard that I take that ghastly perfume she wore, spray a bit on my pillow and hope I’ll dream of her, walking with me, holding me and having one of the many talks I remember growing up.
But I have learned to manage.
Read MoreMy Mom Died–Part Two
I learned that people go literally crazy when someone they know dies. I have always avoided funerals. My close friend died when we were teenagers–he flipped his dad’s boat and truck near our favorite lake, rolling the truck and throwing him from the cab. I refused to go to his funeral. My parents didn’t make me go, and his parents were so concerned they sent his older sister (who I had been sweet on for 6 years) to come talk to me.
The first funeral I went to was after I was a father. A dear friend, Chad had lost his eight year old boy. Smothered himself in his sleep in a bunkbed. My heart almost beat out of my chest seeing that miniature coffin sitting there on the table. I just grabbed Chad and we wept. Just couldn’t imagine the pain of losing one of my boys, and was damned if I’d let Chad suffer alone.
But both those families shifted. Something snapped. Some have weathered the challenges, tried to make the most of their circumstances and grow, while other family members completely gave up and went off the deep end. My family was no exception, and those who have dealt with death in the family, and have substantially sized families, know where I’m about to go.
Courtesy, common sense and natural family protocol go right out the window.
Example: Mom is married to my father. Young sweethearts my parents were–adored each other. Now, when my mom died, my mind said ‘I need to look out for dad’. Yet the consensus with all but one or two of my siblings (there are 10 of us) was “what do I get now that mom’s dead?”
I’m talking about sisters going through my mothers belongings unbeknown to my father, scavenging what they could, then petitioning my father for my mothers priceless engagement ring! Verbal fights about who has a “right” to this and that, who “deserves” this and that… EXCUSE ME!?? While I watched a mourning father who lost the love of his life, weeping.
Rights?! Deserves?!! DID DAD JUST DIE TOO? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SELFISH VOMIT BAGS THINKING!???
Am I crazy here…or wouldn’t everything my mother possessed belong to my father, especially when they had acquired it together over their marriage? Did the will and feelings of my father no longer matter? Well, I hate to say this, but the fights and selfishness grew.
Some came to their senses after a substantial yelling from myself (the oldest and by far the meanest, black and white thinker of the bunch) and from my wonderful sister Cory (who was IN the accident…and lost one of her baby twins in the same accident). But the family broke apart with that event. It’s still broken. When everyone got an open, uncensored look into the hearts of their siblings. To see the true values. Motivations.
I wanted to vomit. I kept myself, Kathi and the kids as far from the chaos as I could, and just tried, with uncle Bob and Dad, to be the support and peacemakers. Well, I carried a bat.
In the end, dad showed up at my house late one evening. It had been a few months since the accident and the funueral. He pulled me aside and asked me what I wanted of moms. I told him nothing. It was his and I would never presume to take something that didn’t belong to me.
“You never asked for anything, Jaime.” he said with a tear filled smile. “Not once.”
“It’s ok dad.”
He shook his head. “No, it isn’t. I want you to have something. Anything. Name one thing and it’s yours.”
I just cried, because I always wished I could have one simple thing, but had refused to ask. It was silly anyway.
My dad watched me closely, and smiled, putting a gentle hand on my shoulder. “What can I give you?”
“I sure would love a bottle of that ghastly perfume mom wore. One she was using. One she touched, so I can put some on my pillow at night when I miss her too much.”
My father pulled mom’s half-used bottle of perfume from his pocket andf handed it to me.
“I thought you might.”
He kissed me on the forehead like a little child and left.
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