Grief is a Doorway

I got news a few days ago that a friend of almost 30 years ended his life last Saturday. For the past few years, I’ve orbited the outer valence of his life — he is the best friend of my best friend and someone dear to me. We exchanged words of love and celebration on our birthdays and satisfied our curiosities about each other’s lives through our shared best friend. In the emotional tumult and shock of the news, my heart goes out in all directions: to his partner, to his family, to his close and old friends, to those who shared the daily, mundane experiences we weave our lives with. I feel my own pain as well as an observer’s sadness for those who feel the loss most deeply.

I learned about the loss when I checked email on my phone in a Whole Foods parking lot, having just returned from a weekend meditation retreat — a friend had emailed to share his shock at the loss. Suddenly, we were living in a world without Jeff. Between the meditation retreat and the news of death, my world has been somewhat rocked this week.

From what I understand, Jeff’s death was a suicide. Suicide evokes strong feelings for most people — anger, confusion, shock, regret. Though I feel completed bewildered and shocked, I mostly feel incredible sadness. I am guessing, if this act was deliberate, that he must have been in such incredible pain that had no translation. I am guessing that he felt irreparably alone. I am guessing he felt incredible despair.

Last year I was deeply touched by a podcast interview with Jennifer Michael Hecht, author of Stay: A History of Suicide and the Philosophies Against It. In this interview, JMH introduced the concept of expressing gratitude for those around us who make the decision to stay. Staying here when it’s hard because we cannot possibly know the extent to which we impact other people and the extent to which our absence will be felt.

JMH, from the interview:

“I think that the conversation does have to be about how important people are to each other and how vivid that becomes after a suicide… We are all suddenly reaching out to each other to say, ‘Really?? Did this really happen?’ and ‘I miss this person and I didn’t even know I was so connected to them…’ Look how involved we all are, just under the surface, and let’s try to help each other.”

I revere birth and the adventures we share to enter the world — the uterine volcano and its baby eruption. I revere death and the breathy delivery from these gorgeous bodies back to the ethers. The sacred bookends of this mortal coil, between which lie the rich stories and loves and traumas and pleasures and sorrows we give and receive on this planet. When a fellow human chooses this second sacred transition, I think it’s safe to say that the affect is akin to social whiplash.

Though Jeff’s old friends from high school (I among them) have, for the most part, been intimate to the power of Facebook, we quickly triaged re-connections through email, social media, texting in the aftermath of the news. We bring the power of Early Witness — we shared long ago important transitions in Jeff’s life that set the foundation for the man he became. While Jeff’s death has not unraveled our lives (as I’m sure those closest to him are feeling), it’s clear that the connection we felt to Jeff has survived the decades and that we all grieve this loss.

I do not remember where I read or heard this, but it resonates strongly with me: When someone dies, you not only suffer the loss of that person, but who you were with him. You lose what this person brought out in you and what you created together. We are no longer the we we were with Jeff — time has folded, as it does when loss is experienced so abruptly, and I find myself on the other side of a bridge I didn’t realize I’d crossed.

I took a meditation class years ago that looked at the energy of specific emotions — grief, in particular. The teacher defined grief as a lowered energy level that allows you to let things go. From this class, grief was redefined — it became the container and vehicle for emotions that arise from loss and separation. When I lower my energy and dial in “at grief,” I’m not resisting suffering in all its forms (deep sadness, longing, resistance), but allowing them space to be until they are ready to move on. Grief is a doorway to pass through. It’s the only path from here to tomorrow to next week. I’m guessing this path is paved with the struggle to understand, the longing to be with our friend and provide comfort when the pain was inconsolable.