You’d think that each time you go to a funeral, that it would be a little easier than the last time you went. You know what to expect, you know the faces you’ll see and the words that will be said. You’ve seen the poster boards or slide shows full of pictures of 60 years ago, 20 years ago, last year. You might even be in a few. Then you start to notice that the majority of the people in the slide show are gone. That you’re looking at memories, the people behind the smiles and laughter no longer here. You go to find the person in the picture and show them, and you remember that they’re gone too.
Everyone dies, it’s an unavoidable fact that not a single person is able to escape. I’ve always known that, I’ve never been shielded from that reality. Some of my earliest memories are at funerals. But the last two years, the last two years have felt like death is haunting me. It’s no longer just a fact of life, it’s not a distant circumstance. It’s everywhere I turn, as soon as one person dies the next gets sick. It’s like a twisted merry go round that everyone wants to get off of, but you can’t, you’re stuck. You look around and see the faces of everyone you know. You see the faces of everyone you love. You can’t help the voice that’s in the back of your head asking who’s next?
I know that this experience is not isolated to me alone, but each experience in itself is isolating. I can’t help but feel that something is wrong for letting it get to me so much. Almost 2 years ago I lost my aunt, then my dad immediately got sick and passed 5 months after that. My best friend’s mom then died, my aunt’s father died, and about a month ago my uncle died. A few weeks after that, we found out that my other uncle had pancreatic cancer. Before this all started my grandma, who was my best friend, passed away in 2020. It has felt like each time I start to move on from grieving one person, I am forced into grieving another. One situation to the next, constantly being aware of the outcomes and possibilities.
The most recent funeral, my dad’s second eldest brother, did not come as a shock. He had dementia and it had taken a turn for the worse. When I got the news that he had died, I stopped in my tracks. My mind just short circuited, went into shock, and my first thought was that I can’t do this again. As selfish as that thought is, I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t fathom going to another funeral, seeing the same sad and haunted eyes. I wasn’t the only one battling my emotions, everyone in my family is as well. Everyone is exhausted and overwhelmed with the process of grieving.
The funeral was the usual quiet energy, tinged with desperation. I didn’t want to experience this, I didn’t want people asking me how I was doing, how I had been holding up. I wasn’t, I was barely keeping my emotions under control so as to not fall apart at the seams. Memories of my dad, who reminded me so much of my uncle, swirling around in my head. Eulogies given, memories of times passed cut through with the choked sob of trying to get the story out. The prayers repeated, and the bagpiper played his mournful tune. I have a love-hate relationship with bag pipes, while I find them extremely moving in a way that feels like I am stepping back in time and reconnecting with something I’ve lost, anytime I hear one I can’t help but cry.
So what do I make of all of this loss? How do I not crumble under the weight of losing so many, of losing so much love and laughter? I haven’t found an answer yet. To be quite honest, I distract myself most of the time. If I think too much about it, I get lost within it. I get angry and annoyed when my immediate family seems to be over the losses. I get resentful of life when I realize that I am going to have to experience this again and again. I get bogged down in memories of how things used to be, holidays and gatherings never being the same.
Despite all of this loss I’ve found moments of peace, and of strength. I allowed the momentum of my grief to propel me to such lows, but I’ve allowed it to show me that I can survive this. I have done this before, I can do it again. It’s allowed me to appreciate life more, to realize that I don’t want to keep waiting for the proverbial ‘some day’ to keep happening. I may not be travelling the world or going on crazy adventures, but ‘my some day’ comes in the form of becoming the best version of me. It looks like taking the time to sit down with those I love and spend time with them. To not hold back, to share the love I have for people with them. What has hit me the most in the moments where I am not drowning is the notion of being thankful that I had so many people that I loved and lost in the first place.
In the same breath I am cursing the universe for taking so many, and thanking God for giving me so many people to care about. It’s a dichotomy I can’t seem to get over, and I am starting to think that it is just the way of life. You can only appreciate the highs if you were able to feel the lows, you win some you lose some, all those cliche sayings that oversimplify yet hit the nail right on the head.
I know that my uncle’s funeral won’t be my last. I know that grief will fade until it’s forced back into the foreground of my mind. But I know that I will survive it, and that I will be loved and will give love along the way.
