I woke up mad

I woke up mad-- thinking about some of the elder men in my life-- How hurtful it is to hear nothing from them in the wake of Hunter's death. Not a card, not a call or a text. Nothing. They have no idea how to show up. It just hurts. I tell myself all kinds of stories-- like I don't matter or am not loved, but the truth is that many people, especially older men, don't know how to show up. They defer to their spouses thinking the woman has it covered for both of them, and what could they say or do anyway?

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Of course, if I'm honest with myself, I have been that person who has not shown up. I didn't reach out to my step-sister when her son died.... used the excuse that I wasn't close enough, or was it that I felt inadequate? When my friend's son committed suicide I didn't reach out. I didn't send a card or call them. I didn't know what to say and figured I wasn't an important part of their support system. I also epically failed to show up when my bonus aunt broke her hip when she fell in our driveway. Granted, this happened a month before my wedding, a week after mom was diagnosed with ALS, and in the midst of an immense amount of stress from running the pie shop-- yet I didn't even call to check-in or visit or anything. Sometimes I don't recognize the person I am being.

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Right now I feel so raw, exposed, at a loss without Hunter. And I'm angry at those that haven't shown up. I'm angry at Sabino (treatment center), and the doctor that prescribed Hunter cough syrup with codeine, at the drugs that took his life, at the friends who couldn't save him. I'm mad at the world for taking him from me after only 21 years. I'm mad at people on Facebook that lurk rather than engage. Grief is not a fucking spectator sport. Yet in our culture, we have been conditioned to stand in the bleachers and watch with horror as others suffer. We have not learned how to stand with our grievers, our parents whose children are terminally ill, our loved ones who are losing their spouses to dementia.

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I have failed to show up so many times it makes my heartache. I cannot go back and be present for my aunt whose son committed suicide weeks before his 50th birthday. I cannot bring food to my friend who went through chemo years ago. I cannot go back 40 years and fly across the country to be with Nancy, my soul sister, as she died from a brain tumor at the age of 22. I have turned away from the grief and suffering of people I love more times than I want to admit-- yet I'm saying it here because I have to forgive myself. All of the reasons I gave (time, uncertainty, fear of doing/saying the wrong thing, lack of confidence) amounted to paralysis, and lack of action. And I beat myself up for years feeling like I failed as a friend or family member. I'm still trying to forgive myself for not being there for Nancy...

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When you are grieving it's as if you no longer have any skin and your nerves are exposed. Everything is more intense. In this state, it's easy to think people don't care or that you've been forgotten. What if that's not true at all? What if your loved ones simply don't know what to do or how to do it? One of the most powerful aspects of the Jewish traditions around death and mourning is that the community knows how to show up. There are periods of mourning-- the days before burial; Shiva- the seven days after burial; Shoishim- the completion of the first thirty days; Yahrzeit- the annual remembrance.

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And yet, after a short period of time, when family members fly home and friends that have been by your side return to their lives, the mourners are left to grapple with the hole in their heart, the hole in their home, the hole in the center of their lives. There are days this hole seems muted or covered over, less evident at first glance- like a blanket has been tossed over it. And so, when you step on the blanket and fall in that hole you are surprised by how fast and hard you tumble through space, like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. If you are one of the lucky ones, someone in your life will notice you're gone and call out your name. They will throw you a rope or hand down a ladder. They will acknowledge that there's a hole and you've fallen it in, not because there is something wrong with you-- quite the opposite. They'll say, yes, of course, you fell in the hole-- that's part of the process. I'm right here. I'll give you a hand when you're ready. I'm not going anywhere. Stay as long as you want. There will be tea and a fire waiting for you. I will hold you when you're ready.

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And so, today, I want to encourage you to reach out a hand to someone in your life that has experienced a loss (isn't that everyone?)-- even the mother who lost her child twenty years ago, the husband who's wife died before you knew him, the friend who lost her father last year and doesn't know how to grieve because her relationship with him was strained and difficult. Here are some things you might say:

--- "I'm thinking about you today-- How is your heart? Would you like to talk about your (father, mother, husband, child...)? What will you do during the holidays to honor and remember them?"

--- "I'm right here, holding your hand, wrapping my arms around you, remembering your beloved."

--- "I want to honor the memory of (_______)-- what days in the year would it be helpful to hear from me?" (birthday, date of death, anniversary, holidays). And then, make sure you call or write them on these days.

--- Send them a poem or song or painting that lets them know you are thinking of them and the loss they have experienced.

--- Follow your nudges-- is there a special photo or statue or candle that calls out to you? Send it to them. Don't hesitate. Don't let fear have its way. These thoughtful gifts are so meaningful. They build bridges of connection and solace.

--- If you send a card, share a memory with them-- of the beloved that has died or of your experience of their relationship. These memories are shards of light to someone who is grieving and help us to feel seen and loved.

--- "I would love to visit your beloved's grave (or special) with you -- would you like to do that?" Would Tuesday at noon or Friday after 3pm work? (it's much easier to respond to a question like this than one that is too open ended-- and it communicates that you really want to make it happen and have given it some thought)