Don't (Do)Talk about It

 

Today’s writing prompt is brought to you by Death, Grief, and Unpacking the Damn Baggage.

I had lunch with a new-ish friend. She has been my dad’s neighbor since about 2016 and she and I have had passing encounters over the years. The more we talked, the more we realized we’re kindred spirits. She’s a card-carrying introvert as well, so we don’t get together often. She works from home and is completely fine with not seeing people for days on end. My soul sister! We have some of the same interests regarding spirituality and other-worldly things and can chatter on for days on the subjects. And of course, we talk about my dad, laugh, and face-palm. She walks with him every Saturday morning, and most Saturdays they go to town together, have lunch and she takes him grocery shopping. She took on a lot of the weight after he quit driving and before I could get down here full time. We all need a neighbor like that! And more than all of that, she’s comfortable letting me talk about John.

She knows it’s not taboo to mention his name. Saying his name does NOT make me sadder. It does NOT remind me that he died. I watched him take his last breath. Trust me, I know he died. Talking about him does NOT send me spiraling into fits of tears. I save that for my alone time when I sit quietly and process the grief. Talking about him keeps his memory alive. I can tell funny stories as well as talk about things he did that royally pissed me off. So many people who are friends and acquaintances are afraid to bring up John, I guess fearing my reaction, or afraid to face their own uncomfortableness of it. Trust me when I say, when you mention a loved one who has passed, you are NOT dropping a bombshell of bad news on us, like we don’t know they’re gone. We know.

While in the car on the way to the restaurant, she said, “I want to bring this up before we’re in public. I know you’re coming up on anniversaries this month and I want to know how you’re doing.” What an act of kindness it was for her to ASK!

“Well, Thanksgiving Day last year was when he told me he was done. Seven days later he was gone. This year, Thanksgiving Day and the one-year anniversary are within three days of each other, so I’m not expecting a good weekend.” The vision of him standing in the kitchen Thanksgiving morning saying, "I don't want to do this to you on Thanksgiving," and me saying, "But you're going to, aren't you?" will never leave my mind.

We spoke at length about our culture’s fear of dying and all things death related. I told her how John was not afraid to die, how he embraced it. He said, “I only get to die once, I’m going to get as much out of the experience as I can.” He wasn’t joking or being flippant. I saw the look of shock, then admiration on Lisa's face. I've taken for granted how well he faced his illness, and how that made it easier for ME, too. I think that might have been part of John's plan, to protect me and make it easier on ME. There is nothing that man wouldn't have done to protect me. After we read a book called “Signposts of Dying” he said, “Some of that sounds kind of cool. I hope I get to experience it.” He was on the lookout for dreams about dead relatives, even visions of them while he was awake. Every morning I’d do a check-in, “Any cool dreams last night?” He had a few. If I could state one significant thing from the seven-year cancer roller coaster, it would be that he taught me how I want to face death.

I heard a quote on Star Trek The Next Generation, of all places, that resonated. “A man’s true character is revealed when he faces death.” John was never afraid of death or of dying. He faced it head on like he did everything throughout his life. He wanted to “get the most out of the experience” like he did with everything in his life. He wasn’t afraid to talk about it with me, with his kids. We all sat around having such open and frank discussions about it that it was surreal. John’s character never wavered from who he had always been, strong, stoic, willing to face a challenge.

Then I came home today and opened the book on grief I’m reading. Of course, the chapter was about “telling your story” and surrounding yourself with friends or groups who allow you to talk about your story, to lessen your anxiety by unpacking all your baggage surrounding the death of your loved one. How timely. I’m not a support-group kind of person, so I haven’t pursued that route, but I am oh so grateful for the friends who allow me to talk openly about the dead guy in the room. The chapter also recommended writing about it. Aren’t y’all lucky? One day I’ll find the strength to write about my regrets, things I wish I’d done differently, things I’m still forgiving myself for, but right now, there’s not enough tequila in southern Oregon to prop me up to face it all. That bag will remain locked and under the bed, for now.