Death Is A Fragile Thing

posted 10th January 2012    Written by: Ashley    CATEGORY: All Posts, Ashley, Family, Life Lesson, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5, What I've Learned

The first phone call I received on January 1st was from work.

They were letting me know that one of our clients, our kids, had lost her baby. She was 8 months pregnant and we had spent hours planning her baby shower and helping her prepare for her bundle of joy. No one can explain what happened, except that she didn’t feel the baby move for a couple of days, was taken the emergency room, and they couldn’t find a heartbeat.

It was a devastating way to start the New Year, full of pain, grief, sadness, anger, and confusion.

I was in Canada visiting my boyfriend when I received the phone call, so there wasn’t much I could do from 2,600 miles away. When I let the reality set in and began to grasp what had happened, I had to be honest with myself. I was glad that I was so far away. I was glad that I was removed from the situation and able to get updates through text messages and email rather than the nurses at the hospital.

It was easier and less painful.

Death is a fragile thing for me.

I feel like I understand it, I know how I prefer to react (being sad and letting myself cry), but I have trouble helping others with it. If you want to sit, I’ll sit with you, but I’m not good with words when death is surrounding us. It’s always becomes too personal for me. I stop thinking about you and I start thinking about me.

My dad died May 23, 2008. He was an alcoholic and drank himself to death. He drank so much during those last few years that his liver shut down. He spent the last few days of his life in ICU, a hospital room, and then a nursing home. He was 56 years old.

It was the hardest day of my life and the months that followed seem like a blur now. I was living in NYC at the time, smack in the middle of graduate school. A week after the funeral, I flew back to Manhattan and began my 12 hours of summer classes. I didn’t have many close friends in the city, so I kept to myself most of the time. Three months later, my boyfriend at the time and I broke up. Then I began therapy.

I was too open, too raw, to do it on my own anymore. I needed someone to talk to who would just listen. Over the next year, I met with my therapist once a week. I told her funny stories from my childhood. I shared pictures of me and my dad hunting for Easter eggs and dressing up as ballerinas. I told her how angry I was at him for choosing alcohol over me and our family. I began understanding what addiction is and how it changes people. I told her about that dark day at the funeral home when I kissed his cheek and told him how much I love him, for the last time. I cried.

Grief looks different for everyone. When my dad died, I made a pact with myself. I knew the grieving process would be long and I knew there would be moments that felt like rock bottom. But I also knew that I wanted to be honest with myself and with my feelings. I wanted to accept myself where I was each day, each minute. I wanted to be kind to myself and non-judgmental. This time of my life sucked enough as it was, I didn’t need to make it worse.

So I kept going to therapy. I blogged. I let myself cry to sleep at night. I became closer with my roommate and I began dating again. And each day was a little easier.

But that’s not what someone wants to hear when they’re in the thick of it, when they’re just experienced a massive loss. At least, that’s not what I wanted to hear. I didn’t want to hear anything. The worst thing that someone said to me at my dad’s funeral was, “It is what it is”. What does that even mean? I still hate that phrase to this day. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that there’s no quick fix. There’s not some magical condolence you can give someone that is going to take their pain away.

There are still days I miss my dad terribly and I cry. I think about him every day and I always wish he was here, but there are days when it’s almost unbearable and my heart feels like it’s breaking, just like it did almost four year ago.

That’s why it’s so hard for me to be so close to someone who is grieving. I know that pain. And when I see it on their face, it brings me right back to that night in May 2008. It’s not that I don’t want to be supportive and show that I care. It’s just that I’m not sure I’m strong enough. I can be with you and share the sadness and silence, but if you want more? I can’t offer that.

All I have is my understanding and my faith that it does get better.

[photo credit: My mom; That's me and my dad!]

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Comments (9)

9 Responses to “Death Is A Fragile Thing”

  • Vicky Says:
    January 10th, 2012 at 11:22 am

    My grandfather had a stroke the 26th of December, 2003.

    My loving, grandfather who adored my sister and I (his first grandkids), who we had all to ourselves, became this person who can't really talk, needs constant care, and isn't the person I grew up knowing. Since 2003, hes had multiple strokes, and he knows enough to know he doesn't want to go to the hospital if and when another one happens. Both my grandparents live overseas, and my mother talks to her mother every night as a way of providing support.

    I've distanced myself from them, from the situation because it's easier – in my mind, i'm being a coward but I know it's easier – knowing that when my grandfather passes on, it'll be sad – for my mom and her siblings, for my grandmother, and for my baby cousin sisters who'll never have known him as the person who brought home chocolates from the office. But it'll be a relief, because he won't be suffering.

    There's no right or wrong way to deal with grief.

  • Linda Says:
    January 10th, 2012 at 12:03 pm

    So honest of you. So brave of you to share that when people experience death, it's hard for you not to be triggered about your father's death. Thank you for writing this post.

  • Becky Says:
    January 10th, 2012 at 12:38 pm

    I'm so sorry for your loss Ashley – and I think it's amazing that you can even recognize that grief becomes personal for you when there's a loss. Thanks for sharing this.

  • laurenne_s Says:
    January 10th, 2012 at 5:37 pm

    Ugh! You are so right! It's really hard to comfort someone who has experienced a death. My friend hates the phrase, "This too shall pass," because she heard it after her cousin died. And I have one I hate as well that my mom said. Isn't that funny? I guess it's easy to hate things, even words, when experiencing something traumatic.

    I think when I posted about my dad's suicide, you commented that yours was similar, and I totally hear you! Dads! They just didn't understand what it was to be a good dad. OR… now that I've really studied my dad extensively, I really think people who die on purpose (or 'let themselves go') honestly feel like they're doing us a favor because they think we're better without them.

    I'm here if you ever want to Skype and not say anything at all!

  • Ashley Says:
    January 10th, 2012 at 10:49 pm

    Thanks for this post, Ashley.

  • Hattie B Says:
    January 11th, 2012 at 3:49 am

    Ashley, this is such a bold, wholehearted and courageous post and I still have tears rolling down my cheeks as I type this.

    Kudos to you for sharing like this – full of admiration for you.

    Lots of love

    Hattie xxx

  • KristenCF Says:
    January 11th, 2012 at 6:45 am

    Thank you for the courage to post this. I have had very few experiences with death in my family and right before I was married in 2010, my ex husband's father had a critically serious heart attack that left him very ill and weak- he passed away in September 2010. From the time of the heart attack and through the various stages of illness after, I struggled daily with how to cope with what was going on and be there for my husband. It was the most difficult thing I've ever been through up to that point. My husband looked to me for words of wisdom and support that I didn't have- for me it's far easier to show my support by helping make plans, make dinners, or run errands than it is to sit and listen, provide touching words, etc. I think that my lack of words to my husband is one of the events that led to the demise of our marriage. He used to say things like "people who love someone know what needs to be said." I always have carried a bit of guilt that I didn't say the right things, but I thank you for this post, because I know there isn't a right thing ever to say when someone passes away, and just being supportive in some way is what people need.

  • Mandy Says:
    January 11th, 2012 at 5:49 pm

    This post was so therapuetic to read. Our family just experienced a devestating and unexpected loss last week and I am still grieving, and probably will be for a while. I've never felt a loss so deep, so this is all new to me. Reading this post helped my heart.

  • Erin Lindsey Says:
    January 11th, 2012 at 6:02 pm

    Sometimes I just think just caring enough to be there, to hold a hand and to not say anything at all is the best gift you can give a family that is grieving.

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