I have held my fair share of hands during death. The tell-tale signs are universal. The mottling of skin, the raspy breaths counted while holding your own breath - hoping it's not the last breath for the both of you. The last vestiges of heart beats beating while knowing the last moments of a heart beat are the only thing left slowly ticking away like time which is concurrently speeding up in your own tunneled world.
I've been privileged to hold my Grandfather's hand, then Rich's Grandmother, my Grandmother then my Son's second death. Sadly, I wasn't privy to his first and basically, only death.
Death does not become me. It isn't pretty. It is usually scary and quite unsettling. The last moments rewind and replay a fuzzy looped tape in our mind. Wishing you could forget the unedited version for a more a flowery play to make your psyche feel more at peace. Less harsh and less real.
Death hangs on me like my old, scrappy, pink, quite worn sweatpants. The ones I have yet to retire. The ones I've worn for three days straight. You just can't get rid of them no matter the crazy thoughts streaming through your head, " you need to really get retire them. They look like shit on you! and your ass so hangs to the ground. but really, I know them, I can't quit them! I've worn them through all my tragedies as well as joys like pregnancies. They are comforting. They help me feel safe and complete."
or maybe these pants are all a great big excuse.
I bring this most uncomfortable subject of death up AGAIN as I have had many people ask me my opinion of what not to do or do in such a situation.
A lot lately.
First, let me state for the record, I'm not an expert. I am not EVERY person and I sure as hell can't read minds, especially others who are grieving. Grief is a singular subject in which it waxes and wanes.
No two griefs are alike.
Basically, I relate what I wouldn't do for me. Because THIS is all know.
So, read and weep the list of the do's and don't's for the bereaved:
Self-help books are not a plus. They only make you feel more fucked upped. Less in control. A self-help book usually should be picked out by the person in question not people who think they know better. Odds are, the bereaved will be offended and won't read the shit for a year or two later. if ever.
DO NOT CLEAN up the environment in which the deceased lived in unless asked to do so. Only the benefactor of such shit can tell you when and where to discard items haphazardly left by the deceased. Now, don't confuse helping "hoarding" tendencies of trash or latent Christmas decorations of the depressed. These issues must be addressed as you feel helpless even if you've been particular in the past. Only if the depressed is open for help. Just simply ask, "is there anything I can do for you? Like help you in whatever you want me to do with your house if you feel like it?" I say this as I had a good no, GREAT friend help me out with moving shit around and discarding crap from the house (not my kid) because I simply couldn't help myself. She calmly and graciously helped me out with my clutter when I couldn't help myself. For this, I could and can't thank her enough.
If there is anything you should not say, DO NOT SAY, "it's God's will. It's for the best. Celebrate their life even if they aren't in yours now. You will know someday why this happened." These words are just that, words that only make you more angry, sad, depressed and then angry again though, you probably won't tell the most "good" meaning of people your thoughts. Because most grieving people won't share with you how they are really feeling because it is taboo and not kosher. and because they feel guilty
Don't remind the bereaved of conversations for at least a year (or ever!) because anxiety and depression do just that to your mind. The mind depresses and forgets everything from visits to conversations to protect itself. While I remember EVERYTHING during the two days while my child was in the PICU, along with visits, calls, conversations and texts up until the funeral. After the funeral, I couldn't tell you who came to my house and what I said. (Hell, I still don't remember what I say to this day.) I personally think this is a protective mechanism to encapsulate you while you want to stab yourself in the heart because this is what grief feels like. Being stabbed in the heart, repeatedly. Huge, roughly, torn, gapes bleeding for everyone to see even if you don't want them to. The feeling doesn't go away. It isn't relieved by drugs, antidepressants or thoughts of the joyous past. Feelings blur and come into sharp focus but never goes away. It's all you can do to go through the motions without feeling like you are going completely insane. Even if you are - going insane, that is.
Don't expect much of people period! Much less people grieving. Don't make them feel guilty for being late because guess what - they are going to be late! Seriously! What you don't know is this person was standing in the shower crying because of the lost moments and flashbacks while feeling guilty they are going to be late to whatever meaningless function! THEN! They show up late. are made to feel like shit from others for being late! Even though, all you want to do is lay in your bed, disassociate yourself with the free-world but instead, a sense of obligation fillls your mind and you show up. Late. And you are made to feel like shit, because your are fucking late. Yea, well my kid is late or more like latent and I feel like shit, so please, don't make me feel even more worthless than I already feel.
An addition from my husband - Don't ask this someone how they are doing. Because all this someone wants to say is, "today, I woke up and my son was dead. Yesterday, I woke up and my son was dead. Tomorrow I'll wake up and my son will be dead. All I want to say is I hate you but I can't because I hate everyone and their happy lives. Because once, my life was full of happiness and while it is still full of happiness, it's not."
Just know, they are feeling like shit. Because you are feeling like shit because your pet chewed up your favorite shoes, you spilled your coffee on your favorite shirt and your kid shit his pants. We all pretty much feel like shit so, why ask an obviously stupid question?
Remember the family is in a constant of flux. Remember them on the holidays. Remember during these times they are probably not able to return phone calls, texts, emails and simple, old fashion mail. Just know, even if they won't return your calls, texts and mail, they feel your love and support even if they don't acknowledge it. Remember them a year from now. Remember them when they can't remember any more.
Consequently, just YOU remember, the slovenly, self-centered, all-encompassing, fucked-upped, grieving souls think and know - without others annoying you, saying all the wrong things, giving you all the wrong remembrance items and bugging the ever loving shit out of you, without these solid, giving and caring people, you would never be able to get through or just plain cope with what is in front of you. Without these truly, wonderful people in you life, loving you in spite of it all, in spite of yourself, there is healing. Because in humanity, there is goodness, kindness and love. And only in love can you begin to cope with such heartbreaking loss with the support of a big 'ol blanket of forgiveness and compassion.
