The act of grieving

While I was on the train heading back to the parking lot, during that brief moment we’re out in the open on the Prince Edward Viaduct on the Bloor-Danforth line I received a call on my cell. Unfortunately there was no time to take the call because the train quickly ducked back underground as soon as it crossed the valley. When I got to the parking lot and the shelter of my car I returned the call. It was a friend of mine who was going through a rather difficult period. She had just experienced the sudden death of a colleague/friend. As could be imagined, everyone at her workplace was in shock. She herself was trying to make sense of it all but just needed someone to talk to. I did what I could to listen and allow her to let her emotions see the light of day (well, I suppose given the time of the call it would be the glow of the streetlights…but I digress). I spent an hour talking to her in the parking lot before I started making my way back home. I think I was helpful. In being helpful though, it’s bringing back memories of times when I’ve had to grieve myself.

I do remember having to deal with the death of my grandfather (my mother’s father) in 1997. He died on Christmas day that year at the ripe age of 90. It happened half a world away, but it hit hard here. I did grieve, but more than anything what sticks out as a memory was seeing my mother grieve. It was a tough period. I wasn’t sure how to act, or what to say, or what to do.

A few years ago I experienced the loss of an uncle. I guess according to North American family classification he’d be my cousin once-removed (my mother’s father’s sister’s son). His death came very suddenly in the form of a heart attack. I knew him somewhat, but not all that well. I remember playing chess with him when my parents and I still lived in an apartment in North York. The shock of it all didn’t hit me as hard as I now want it to have hit me. I just didn’t know enough about him, I guess.

More recently, the death of my grandmother (cousin twice-removed: my mother’s father’s sister). As I think about her now, I tear up at the memories of her because really they’re still fresh. I wrote back then that I remember her gripping my hand tightly with tears in her eyes because the last time she saw me I was still a teenager. Her hands were wrinkly and a little bit cold, but her fingernails were trimmed. I can still remember the feeling of her fingernails digging in as she held my hand. Just the thought of it is making me cry as I write this. It’s not my intention. Seriously. Frankly, I’m a little surprised that it’s affecting me like this.

Anyway, thinking about all of these events makes me think about how universal life and death themes are. As much as grieving is a personal process, it’s also one that everyone will go through. It’s entirely important to grieve. It’s only through this that we can find closure. I’m praying that my friend can find closure herself.

Possibly related posts:

1. Memories of a life now passed
2. Tricky balancing act
3. Act of postponement