The kingdom where nobody dies
I am grieving, and I assume I’ll be doing that for a long time, probably to some extent for the rest of my life.
I often get the urge to write and write and write about losing Gerard, but I don’t think it’s wise to harp too much on that note here. For one thing, as I’ve said before, I’ve been very private for so long that it feels odd to reveal myself. For another, a small dose of reading about another person’s pain is one thing, but it verges on the boring and the depressing if it becomes a single note repeated over and over. Also, writing about other things is a good distraction for me – for a while.
So I do plan to write about my mourning and Gerard himself from time to time but not as much – or nearly as much – as I think about the loss and feel it.
I know that many others have walked down the road of grief, but each grief is different. Gerard was certainly an unusual person with unusual gifts, as any of you who have read his work are aware. But in person he was also different than in his writing, although in all his many manifestations he was formidable, creative, intense, capable of great humor and playfulness, and very changeable.
That’s all I’ll say for now. But here’s a poem that hits some exposed nerves in me:
Write what you need to and share what you want. I will continue checking in here for the foreseeable future. Your blog is probably the one I have read for the longest time. I enjoy hearing your perspective on the variety of topics you cover. I will pray for you and hope that your grief is more than balanced by the memories of you time spent with your loved one.
I understand Neo. You mentioned A Grief Observed in another post, a book that spoke to me in a grieving time of my life (successive miscarriages). The year my mother died, early on I read Joan Didion’s book, TheYear of Magical Thinking. It was so meaningful to me. A great communicator/writer such as yourself brings so much to such life events. I encourage you to share as much as feels right.
I am so sorry, Neo.
Sometimes writing about someone who has passed away can be, as I’m sure you know Neo; an emotional release. Quite therapeutic, helping you to get over your grief.
Not that you want to ever forget someone, or to say: “I want to stop grieving that person”; but, it can speed up the time to get over the “hardness” and remember the person with happy memories.
I remember writing the obituary for my older brother when he passed away (after years of illness); boy, did it ever feel good to write down all those good memories that I wanted to share with others. I had to have someone else read it during his funeral since I knew I would not be able to make it through reading it out loud myself. His best friend tried to say something as well at the funeral and stumbled over his words as he choked up. Afterwards he came up to me and told me he wondered why I had someone else read it thinking “was Charles afraid of speaking before a crowd?” Nope, after he choked up he realized that I would end up choking on my words as he did so that’s why I asked someone else to read it for me.
Now, with my mother in hospice care in my home, I have tried to start an obituary (mainly because I don’t want to be left with nothing to say when she does go); but, I haven’t been able to. Is it too soon? Is it because I don’t know where to begin? Who knows!? Most likely because I am still too close to the care giving to think about it.
The bottom line Neo, is do the writing of Gerard for yourself. Then share as you see fit.
One last bit of unsolicited advice (then I’ll shut up) that I have found to be very helpful. And this isn’t just for Neo, it is for everyone.
Just because someone does NOT say anything when you have experienced a loss doesn’t mean they don’t care. My life’s experience is that too many people don’t know what to say, or they are afraid of saying the wrong thing; and as a result they end up saying nothing!
To those who think they have to say just the right thing or have to say something profound – don’t sweat it. Leave the profound words to their reading or to their spiritual advisor, let them seek “meaning” on their own. (unless they ask you, of course)
Just a simple “my condolences” or “I’m sorry for your loss” are more than enough. You’ve acknowledge to the grieving person their loss and they now know you care.
For example, here I’ve rambled on about myself and my experiences and Mrs. Whatsit gets it by expressing a simple “I am so sorry, Neo.” (I need to follow my own advice)
I recommend the small book
Healing After Loss: Daily Meditations For Working Through Grief
by Martha Whitmore Hickman
Someone gave it to me at my father’s funeral. I was grateful to have received it.
May God bless you.
Most who frequent have experienced loss and are willing to read of your grief.
Sadness never leaves, but may appear less often as time passes.
Night time and Sundays are the worst.
“Death, like birth, is a secret of Nature.“
~ Marcus Aurelius
When my closest childhood friend suddenly passed away at just 48, ( so young now seen from 74) I struggled with a puzzle; I firmly believe such a good man must be in heaven and can there be grieving in heaven, truly the happiest place not of Earth? But as he had left behind a very deeply loved wife and child, plus other cared for relatives and close friends… how could he possibly be happy? And in my deep sorrow, it suddenly came to me that I was assuming that time as we know it, passes at the same rate in heaven. An assumption that once seen I could not sustain. No need for sorrow in heaven… when for them it will be just a moment before we all show up.
For most of us it takes at least a year to start to get some balance in our lives after the loss of a person who we hold close and dear. The last thing folks suffering a loss need is cheerleaders telling them how great things are and how great they will be because each of us needs to have time to feel the grief and pain. Neo, your journey with your loss will take as long as it takes and at time the days will be sad gloomy days which is all right, we don’t always need lots of sunshine, blue bird days, just the knowledge that in time the pain usually becomes easier and the love will still be there even though the loved one has moved on. That part really sucks and I am sorry for each person who has to go through this stuff. I appreciate your sharing this part of your life with us because that is who you are, a favorite internet friend who loved another good internet friend and I am so glad you were with him at the end.
Publish about it if it helps you, Neo, or publish other things when that seems right. Lots of us who visit here are thinking of you, whichever you choose to do.
Indeed, in childhood, for most of us who don’t lose parents or siblings early, life stretches ahead in a stream that looks like it will flow forever. For me, losing my mother when I was thirty-three was the first blow. I still love her, and I believe she still loves me, but I can’t talk to her. I couldn’t consult her about raising my children, one of whom she never saw in this life. I still grieve, but the edges aren’t sharp any more.
A few years back, Gerard wrote at AD of sitting and reading to his mother, then 104 years old. She was in a care facility, and her eyesight was waning. He said he was helping her finish the book, How Green Was My Valley. I had an excerpt from that book, and posted it in the comments:
“Memory. Strange that the mind will forget so much of what only this moment has passed, and yet hold clear and bright the memory of what happened years ago – of men and women long since dead. Yet who shall say what is real and what is not? Can I believe my friends all gone when their voices are still a glory in my ears? No.
“And I will stand to say no and no again, for they remain a living truth within my mind. There is no fence nor hedge round Time that is gone. You can go back and have what you like of it, if you can remember.”
The next comment was a reply from Gerard. He wrote, “Yes, that’s it exactly.” He likely linked it to his Mom, just as now we likely link it to him. And so we remember. Blessings, Neo.
I have no advice except to write and talk about Gerard and what he meant to you as much as you need to. I paid a therapist to listen to me when I was in grief. I also wrote a couple of books (unpublished) to pour out my feelings. I think it helped me.
You’re wounded, but the wounds don’t show. Few know how broken your heart is. It doesn’t show. But telling someone how you feel, how much you miss Gerard, and how lonely you feel can help with the healing process.
It may seem like self-indulgence, but the grief needs a path of relief to process it.
Stay busy but take the time necessary to grieve. I found out you can’t run away from it.
And remember – your faithful readers care about you and wish you the best.
walt, please post here from time to time, so we know you’re doing all right. Blessings to you.
“Look, God’s home is now among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be with them and God will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.”
It is a real kingdom…not quite what we imagine…but there you have it.
Writing does not mean publishing.
And publishing does not mean blog format.
My wife has journaled for years, and only shared small passages, which she spun into articles or stories.
If you need to write, write.
Thank you for sharing as you do, Neo.
My 35-year-old son just texted me this morning, upon learning belatedly about Gerard’s passing.
Gerard is and will be missed by many, and he will be remembered by those of us who felt we knew him in some way, through all that he shared with so many.
He was fortunate to have a friend like you, Neo.
Neo:
You know what is best for you, and what is best for you ultimately gives us, your readers, what we come here for regularly.
You do you — we all benefit from that. And thank you for it.
F
God be with you, my friend.
Neo. For whatever reason, your grieving has affected me deeply. I am so, so sorry for your deep pain and know it feels like it will go on forever. You are in my prayers daily and more and if there’s anything else I could do, I am available.
What you will write, I will read. This spot is one of my favorites. I’ll either commiserate or share happiness with you gladly. Public or private, writing can be a release even if you put match to output immediately after done.
I don’t blog, so when my brother died, I used my thoughts and feelings about it as background for one of my books. I know few will ever read it and far fewer still see it within but it still seemed to help.
As others have said, you do what you need to. If that means you don’t post for some time, rest assured, we’ll be around when you want to.
He was like a comet. He attracted all sorts.enamored and mystified by his poetical and passionate writing…and nature
And then he shot away. The golden echo…
Millay could tell it straight (and accessibly). I had a relationship end in the more usual manner and I kinda lost my mind. This Millay poem was the only one which reached me:
_________________________
Time does not bring relief (Sonnet II)
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year’s bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go,—so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, “There is no memory of him here!”
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
–Edna St. Vincent Millay
_________________________
Eventually the pain did ease and finally become a distant memory.
But at the time it sure didn’t feel like it would and I rather resented all the attempts to comfort me with that bromide.
huxley:
Yes, Millay wrote so many excellent sonnets, and very accessible.
baldilocks:
Thanks, friend.
It’s been a long time since the early, heady days of the blogosphere, hasn’t it?
@ Geoffrey > “when for them it will be just a moment before we all show up.”
An interesting observation, connected with today’s science video on the open thread, where we learned that photons do not experience time.
I think it’s a bit more complicated than that, but the moments in Heaven are almost certainly not the same as the moments on Earth.
Neo:
Over the 82 years of my lifetime, a number of close relatives and friends have passed away.I think of them from time to time, and miss them. Today, I read the following article, and thought of this blog entry, and your loss of Gerard. The writer was a guardian at the Metropolitan for a number of years. He writes of the value of beauty in times of grief.
https://www.vox.com/culture/23597606/patrick-bringley-interview-all-the-beauty-in-the-world-metropolitan-museum-of-art-met-grief?utm_source=pocket-newtab
Perhaps the article would be a help to you.
Pingback:Blogging, death and memory | No Minister
Two years ago, but it feels like 2 months, one of my college best friends died. He was the youngest of our tight-knit group of 6 college chums. We lived together through some formative times and we were on another plane from the world. We would read theology, and CS Lewis, and court girls and hike and eat meals together. We were a brotherhood. And so, the best of us up and died – the carotid artery. He was the first of this chain of friends to pass, and every one of us thought that he was the best friend in particular. That’s the way he made you feel. It’s been a long time but I guess I was his best man at his wedding. I introduced him to his wife-to-be on a backcountry ski trip.
I don’t know why I’m even writing this. It’s cathartic. The reunion of the five of us was very heartwarming. God bless.
Details not forthcoming, but I learned that I should have been looking beyond my family for those close to my brother. Not sure I could have made a difference–an Army friend said, “You can’t fix somebody over a beer,”–but missing the chance still bothers me.
Writing is not the same as sharing what you write. Writing can be cathartic, even if no one else reads it. It was hard to write my dad’s eulogy (which, obviously was shared,) but I was very glad I did it.
(I used the idea of a Speaker for the Dead from Orson Scott Card. I tried to tell the story of my dad’s life.)
Henry Carmichael, thanks for the link to the article about Patrick Bringley, the guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I just finished his book, All the Beauty in the World. I’ve never read anything quite like it. It’s a meditation on grief and beauty, how his years of simply holding still and experiencing art became a way of learning how to live with his grief after his brother’s death and, later, simply learning how to live. (I can’t seem to put it into words that aren’t hackneyed. I guess if that could be done in a sentence or two, there would be no need for the book.)
Anyway, the book allowed me to revisit and re-imagine my own experiences of loss. Neo, I agree with Henry Carmichael that you might find it helpful. I think you might recognize the author’s thoughtful, contemplative, exploratory approach. And art and beauty matter so much to you, and mattered just as much to Gerard.
With reference to death and grief, as well as the increasing popularity of Simulation Theory, Christian Sundberg claims to have remembered life in what we term the Spirit World before incarnating into this experience.
https://awalkinthephysical.com/