Until you have held another creature as it breathes its last, you don’t really understand the intimacy of that moment. Counting each breath, listening to the beep of a heart rate monitor, watching as a once-vibrant loved one slowly takes on the grey pallor that is only seen in the dead and the dying.
I’ve held my best friend’s hand, and waited for the doctors to disconnect the machinery which kept his body, but not his mind or his spirit alive.
I’ve watched as elderly relatives counted down their time, each of them certain that they were going to a better place, and knowing that they were grateful that pain was coming to an end.
I’ve always been there when my animals were granted the peaceful release which, for some unfathomable reason, is still not available to many people who long for it.
Being present at death holds no terror for me. Death is part of life, and I am able to hold myself together so well that I find I’m often called upon to be present for others because I’m a “coper”
And so, on countless occasions I find myself holding women grieving for husbands, children grieving for parents, people grieving for animals. Somehow, I find words of comfort and I find within myself the ability to withdraw from my own feelings so that I leave space for theirs.
Grief is a sacred thing. Being present to witness someone’s grief is a sacred trust.
Grief is irrational. It does not follow an orderly pattern. Someone who is stoic about one thing could dissolve into tears about something else.
Grief is our mirror. It is our forced self-reflection. People do and say things when they are grieving which they would otherwise not. They articulate their pain and their loss in that moment when they are sucker-punched by loss.
Most people go through the usual process of grieving – shock, despair, anger, acceptance. Many of us slowly make our way back to a world which we may have thought lost to us, to a landscape rendered unfathomable by the loss of a figure who once loomed so large in it but which is heart achingly familiar. We resent the sameness almost more than the difference because we cannot conceive that the world hasn’t changed when our inner landscaped feels shattered and deformed.
In the beginning, each day is a challenge, every moment a reminder of who is missing. We catch ourselves reaching for the phone to share a joke, only to be reminded that they’re not there anymore. We gaze at old photos and have to yank ourselves away from memories which are now more torment than joy.
As the days pass, those moments become fewer. Grief becomes a quiet companion rather than a looming giant. Grief stops us at book shops when we spot something we would, previously, have bought for our lost soul. It nudges us to remind us of the last time we listened to this song, of when we discussed this movie or this actor. It leans close to remind us that it’s been a week or a month since we lost them.
As the months pass, grief fades and becomes a shadow, briefly blotting out the sun on birthdays, anniversaries, at weddings or graduations, when we catch a faint scent on the breeze or hear a familiar laugh.
The time will come when grief, too, fades, when memories bring comfort, when special days become a readon to join others in remembrance and laughing through tears. Grief has done its work. We are changed but not undone. We have lost but are not lost. We are changed but still recognisable.
For a while, guilt takes its place. Occasionally, anger pokes its head up. But eventually even those episodes fade and now, at last, you will be grateful for the love you shared.
Loud Mouthed Chick 