The Volume is Down
How to live when someone you love dies
It had been over a year since my dad died. The memorials, hospice counseling, and journaling were over. I figured most of my grief was too.
I would remember he wasn’t alive, but it didn’t prick me, didn’t bring me to my knees as it had in the weeks following his unexpected passing.
Then came a visit to Target.
As Lauren looked for her office carpet, I looked for a way to be curious. There were so many things to see and try not to buy.
It was a mindless venture until I saw the HSN display covered in Huggable Hangers.
I was caught in beyond feelings, trying to understand what was happening to my body. There were silent tears but more, indescribable heat and cold mixed to arrest my chest. People passed, carts and kids, and I didn’t care. Then, finally, Lauren found me, and I shared the meaning.
Huggable Hangers were his last gift to me; they were a luxury we found amusing, an inside joke, a tender token. They reminded me of him — that he was funny and that he was kind. Grief reminded me that he was missed.
I wasn’t sad; I was shattered — there’s a difference.
Living After Death
There is no way around grief, no stage to pass, or ladder to climb.
I have found that shared experience is a small mercy. Below, I list some of the things I did and still do to survive my loss.
I truly hope it finds you in a lighter place for reading:
- Keep it All: I kept my dad’s clothes for months. I washed them, folded them, and kept them close. Clothes sit on the skin; there is so much contact with the body. They felt sacred, and so they stayed with me until I was ready to share his things, gift his materials, and donate to a cause. I still have his cell phone and wallet — it’s been years.
- Make Contact: I still send my dad messages on our 23 & Me account. I will tell him when we get new “relatives,” share new hereditary findings (like bunions), and just simple hello’s. It helps me so much more than I thought it would. On the flight home from scattering his ashes on Old Rag Mountain in Virginia, I wrote him a letter. I still go back and read it to him now and then, and it still makes me cry; it continues to change my cells in the same way his death did.
- Recognize the Cellular Change: These loved ones are of us — something is missing from you now. When you lose someone you love, a part of a life you knew vaporizes, travels from you and into thin air. There was them and then after them. It is a simple, guttural change. Food tastes differently, and the volume is down. Fluctuations are to be expected, so if you feel differently, know it’s more than emotions.
- Hospice: This organization is a heaven for those who suffer a loss on Earth. They have free counseling, free support groups, and even a library stocked with helpful books and quiet places. I speak highly of their services because they carried me through my loss’s darkest terrain, checking in on me and gifting me comfort and encouragement.
And finally, for anyone grieving and regretting, feeling guilt or responsibility related to the life before the death — I know it too, and I squeeze your hand.
In the words of Vision, from Disney and Marvel’s WandaVision, “what is grief, but love persevering?”
Repeat that daily, and consider it #5.
