In a post-2020 world, we're all used to Zoom, Skype, all the virtual connections. It's just another way to have a conversation without wearing any pants or a bra. For this I am grateful.
It was pretty uneventful to be chatting about winter plans when my friend just mundanely adds the following to the conversation: "I think I'm going to rewrite my brother's obituary."
I've known Abby for probably half my life. We grew up in neighboring small towns in Southeast Missouri. We have the same sense of absurdity in the face of loudness - meaning we effortlessly find humor in less than ideal (or appropriate) situations.
It's that humor that got us both through 2020, where we both had the misfortune of losing someone we loved beyond words. Death isn't funny, to be clear. But looking back at those few months after my Dad passed away, and it's very clear I was out of my mind. Grief is like that - you push your feet forward. Put clothes on. Interact with people. Even laugh at normal situations. The sentiment isn't insincere, but it is robotic. Because part of grief is living through the pain of your heart being ripped apart every hour of the day.
Grief is worse than death. It shows up when you least expect it - like at Target when you're just picking out underwear. Or at a restaurant with friends. Like a sucker punch, it hits you. Literally. And you have no explanation to anyone around you other than "yes, I'm crying. No, I don't need anything. No, I'm not fine...except I am...except I'm not...there's nothing you can do...except maybe don't look at me...but this will pass...it's just a moment. An ugly moment."
Abby dealt with her grief the way people deal with long lines. She grew impatient, desperate to find a way out of a club no one wants to be part of. She wanted to find herself again - her old self. To move forward without her mind flashing back to that horrible day. So it wasn't out of the normal for her to lash out. But hell, we're all just trying to get through it.
Her brother passing wasn't completely out of the blue. He struggled with addiction his entire life. In a way, Abby said her parents expected that day - THAT phone call. Not that it made it easier. And in death, we all focus on something. We have to, right? Something to do to keep our minds off of that moment.
But like everything else, eventually the feelings we try to choke back return. Moments we would like to relive so we can redo them return. Mine was a particularly horrendous moment with my mom. We were packing up my dad's things in the nursing home. There was a mixture of closure knowing I'd never have to set foot in that place again. Then there was the other thing - knowing I'd never see him again. Knowing I wasn't there the moment he passed. Praying to God, for the first time in a long time, that my grandma was there to greet him in the moment. Back at the nursing home, I was growing impatient with the amount of crap my mom wanted to keep and take home. Long story short...It was what I'll refer to as an ugly daughter moment. And I can't take it back. I can only hope people around me were forgiving as to the situation.
I have lots of regrets - big ones. Abby's regret was much more logical. She hated the obituary she wrote for her brother. It was written after 20 hours of no sleep in her childhood bedroom - I knew the hell she was talking about. It was an emotional piece for someone who strived to be logical and calm. That haunts her.
"I don't think we can rewrite obituaries more than a year later," I offered quietly.
"I'm going to ask - I don't want that one recorded forever."
I didn't have the heart to tell her it's archived in the local paper. What was the point of telling her anyway? "What would you say?"
She smirked on video and just said, "something more about him and less about how heartbroken we all were."
We're all just trying to get through it.
At the beginning of 2021, I gave myself a resolution (probably more correctly a goal) of healing. Because grief had/has taken hold. I can't say this year has been better than '20 in regards to healing or moving forward. But for what it's worth...and with barely more than a few weeks left to the year...I'm writing again.
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