Category: Commentary

Each of us experience grief in our lives, some more than others. Each of us respond to grief in different ways. Some keep emotions inside and walk around with a stiff upper lips. Others let their emotions flow freely. Few of us learn how to overcome those moments when we long for the people who are forever gone. 

I was eight years old when my father died in nineteen fifty seven. Back then few people thought that children had complex emotions. It was assumed that I would get over the loss quickly and without any problems. I was young and the adults believe that my feelings were probably not as deep as those of my mother and grandmother who both fell apart when they learned of my father’s death. The focus of those who came to our home was on my mother as it most certainly should have been. My brothers and I were sent outside to play with the children. Adult things were going on inside the house that they did not want us to see.

I hid my own grief deep inside my soul. I watched my mother dissolve from a pillar of strength into a puddle of unmitigated sorrow. She was hardly able to walk or concentrate on a conversation. She spent most of her time lying prostrate on her bed away from the well meaning crowd that had gathered in our living room. Through swollen red eyes she stared into the abyss as though she had somehow left the reality of the situation. 

My aunts became the caretakers of me and my younger brothers who were ages five and two. They spoke to us in cheery voices as though they believed that we were incapable of understanding what had happened. They kept all talk light and brief, catering mostly to our basic needs. It fell to our cousins and neighborhood kids to talk about how we were feeling. They wondered aloud that I seemed to be acting too normal given the circumstances. They did not seem to understand that I was trying to be brave for my mother and my brothers. I felt the weight of responsibility hovering over me. In some ways my childhood days seemed to be over. I would have to be more serious and reliable from that day forward. I pushed my grief as far down into my psyche as I was able. The tears only came at night when I was all alone in my bed. 

I did not want to be a bother to anyone, especially my mother. I wanted more than ever to make my father proud of me, to prove that his faith in me was deserved. I began a long journey of appearing to be fine, of being strong. Only a chosen few friends knew that I felt like a freak. I needed to talk about the emotions that were strangling me because I did not understand them. How could anyone have known what I was feeling when I had become the model daughter, student, friend? I longed to be free to claim the thoughts that so confused me but nobody seemed to realize how deeply I had been impacted by my father’s death. They changed the subject whenever I attempted to tell them how I was really feeling.

I suppose that I fell deeply in love with my husband Mike when we were dating and he shared with me his grief over losing his grandmother. As he spoke of how important she had been to him and broke down in sobs I knew that he was someone in whom I might confide my own unspoken sorrow. We openly talked about our feelings and felt a kind of relief that had been denied us by well meaning adults who had underestimated the profound ability to love that even children have. Finally someone was genuinely understanding how deeply I had been affected when my father died. 

As a society we have come a long way in acknowledging that traumas like death affect even the youngest among us. We no longer devalue the feelings of children in times of sorrow. In fact, we now know that their confusion over the loss of loved ones is so profound that they are unable to express the depth of their pain. Their grief may take the form of anger or disobedience or withdrawal. They become difficult annoyances and nobody knows what to do with them. They need counseling to overcome the confusion that rages like a storm inside of them. They need to know that their feelings are normal.

I suppose that there are some who would tell me to get over my father’s death and just quit talking about it as though it happened last week instead of decades ago. They do not realize that once I opened my heart to Mike I felt myself beginning to heal. I found the person I had been on the day before the tragedy of my father’s accident. As I talked about my love for father and the great void that I had felt in his absence I found my way out of the dark tunnel where I had felt so lost. It was a process that took years but I finally learned how to be unafraid. 

I suppose that I was attracted to a career focused on children because I understand how vulnerable they are. We have to listen to them and acknowledge their feelings without judgement. They need reassurance that the demons who visit them at night can be chased away by not ignoring them. We must listen to them and let them know that they will never be alone. Their minds are as capable of grief as those of adults. We would do well to listen to how they are feeling. 

We each handle death and sorrows individually but the hurt that we are feeling is universal. I choose to speak often of the tragedy of my father’s death because in many ways it determined the trajectory of my life. Decades later I am not stuck in a never ending loop of grief, but I have instead learned how to admit to the years of longing and confusion that I tried so desperately to hide. I did that so well that many of the people that I knew back then had no idea that my father had died. I was a popular girl, an excellent student, a person with a perennial smile plastered on my face. I had succeeded in masking the storm that was raging in my mind, but I knew that I needed help. When I found someone who would listen, I let loose with a conversation that continues to this day. I want everyone to know how good it is to find someone with whom to share our fears. It is never too late to heal. 

I’m okay and I want you to be okay. We need to speak of the troubles that inhabit our souls. Find that person who is willing to help you let it all out without recrimination. You will only begin the journey to emotional health when you are able to express how you are feeling without apology. The world would be so much better if each of us learned how to express the feelings that worry us. Embrace the grief and heal.

I feel as though I am beginning to repeat myself. These days I spend most of my time doing the same things over and over again. Each evening I join my husband and my father-in-law around the dinner table where we discuss a bit of this and a bit of that. My father-in-law is ninety four years old and vaccinates between being sharp witted and sounding as though his memory is not as sharp as it once was. As with most older people he has a tendency to repeat stories over and over again. Sometimes I wonder if he is simply exercising his mind, attempting to test himself to be certain that he is still able to think for himself. Other times I think that he only has so many stories and is no longer creating new ones, so he has to keep repeating his repertoire. 

I’d tend to think that only really old people do such things but for the reality that I seem to be doing the same thing more and more often. There is only so much to say even about a long life. The mundane days don’t always lead themselves to interesting topics. Routines are par for the course for everyone. Thus all too often I hear people politely remarking that they have heard many of my tales more than once. It worries me a bit that I have not realized that I am sounding stale. 

I no longer leave my home for work. My ventures outside of my house have grown more limited than at any other time. I am a creature of habit without exciting incidents for which I am grateful, but also a bit bored. There was a time when I awoke each morning having no idea what I might encounter as I ventured outside of the protection of my little family nest. Working in schools is a grand adventure filled with split second changes from moment to moment. Being around hundreds of humans of all ages ten or more hours a day is bound to lead to funny tales, heart rending moments, interesting discoveries. 

I must say that I don’t miss the anxieties associated with being responsible for so many people, but I do find myself longing for the interplay with my fellow humans. We are indeed social creatures with a strong need for a variety of relationships. I suppose that’s why I continue to find so much joy teaching and tutoring small groups of students to this very day. It gets me out of the house, challenges me to use my mind, and provides me with a lovely opportunity to experience the optimism of youth once again rather than constantly reliving times that are long gone. 

Taking continuing education classes is also a grand adventure for me. I marvel at the world of ideas that seems to be boundless. I enjoy opening my mind to the great ideas of the past, present and future. I often find myself longing to be a full time student once again just for the opportunity to learning.

Sadly, I’m not as sharp witted as I once was. It takes me longer to find words, to remember facts, to conduct research. I suppose that if there were such a thing as earning a certificate of completion by sitting in on classes rather than having to take exams and complete projects I would be the first to volunteer. As it is I know that I no longer have the energy to work for grades. My interest in knowledge is far more personal. I simply want to seek the truths of the universe at a leisurely pace that allows me to contemplate what I have encountered.

The philosophy class that I recently took has introduced me to so many new ideas, different ways of thinking about the world and what makes humans the unique creations that they are. I have a great deal of reading that I plan to do in the coming days and weeks. There is much to consider, much to discuss. Our natures are often difficult to explain but great minds have attempted to do so. 

One of the most interesting evenings of my lifetime took place at the end of the nineteen eighties. I had received a free plane ticket from my bank and decided to use it to visit one of my dear friends who had moved to Los Angeles. We had raised our children together, spending many an hour together at swim lessons and on summer days attempting to entertain our youngsters and support each other as mothers. I was already missing her even though she had only left a few weeks before. 

She gave me the grand tour of Los Angeles which was quite lovely and then announced that one of our high school classmates also lived in Los Angeles. Our friend had married a bright young man who graduated a few years before we did. He worked at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory by day and had delved into a hobby of contemplating philosophy by night. Along the way he wrote a short book about the intellectual giants who had most impressed him. To my great delight he wanted to give us a preview of his thinking with a small presentation one evening. 

We gathered together in his home seated in a half circle created from dining chairs. Soon with a professorial flourish he was regaling us with thoughts that challenged our own. He asked questions and answered ours. The discussion gloriously continued for hours as we marveled at the wonder of it all. Who would have expected such an intellectual pursuit to become the highlight of a vacation to Los Angeles? It certainly surprised and delight me. To this day I smile when I remember how delightful it was. 

We humans seem to have certain innate characteristics. We are curious. We are social. We have a need to understand how and why things work. The search for answers is a marvelous way to spend our time. Perhaps when I begin to sound stale it is a sign that I need to open a book, attend a lecture, talk with experts, debate ideas collegially. Learning is part of our DNA. It should never be thought of as a frightening experience even when it challenges what we have always believed. It is food for our souls and we should never forget to feed that aspect of our humanity. It is how we stay vibrant.  

Life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans. —John Lennon

I’ve spent most of my life making the best of things. I’m a confessed control freak who has a bag full of alternative plans. Experience has taught me that reaching the endpoint of my original goals has almost always been interrupted by tragedies and surprises that changed the entire focus of my efforts. I’ve learned to be ready for the unexpected moments even as I am rarely able to predict exactly what will happen from one moment to the next. I suppose that after a lifetime when a best laid plan after another went astray I almost expect the pathway of my life to be serpentine rather than straight and narrow. 

I suppose that each of us has experienced the shocking moment when everything changes, some in more brutal ways than others. We don’t expect an evening at a baseball game to end in the murder of a loved one, but I have an acquaintance who endured that horror. We fear a medical diagnosis that by definition will shorten our lives because we witness people hearing such fateful words. We are never really ready for loss or pain that seems to come from nowhere even if we have led cautious and predictable lives. As the song says life happens when we least expect it. 

I never imagined losing my father at the age of eight. I assumed he would be around for years to come. I thought that he and I would share all of my milestones and I hoped that I would make him proud of me. I suspect that he already knew that I was going to be okay and that I would not have to prove myself to him. His love was apparent to me. I’ve carried it tucked away in my memories since nineteen fifty seven. 

My mother’s descent into the depression and mania of her bipolar disorder was shocking to me. At a time when I was only beginning my life with my new husband I was not ready to become her advocate and sometimes caretaker. I was frightened and even admittedly a bit resentful of having to dedicate a portion of my energy to protecting and caring for her. I had to remind myself of the sacrifices she had made for me and my brothers as a very young widow whose own dreams had been swept away in an instant. 

Over the years I have witnessed great suffering and almost impossible challenges that friends and family members have endured. I have seen the hardships of many of my students. I have watched the unfolding of life that breaks hearts and forces painful decisions, but I have also smiled at the happiness that often counter balances the most difficult times. Somehow we humans are quite adept at making lemonade out of lemons. 

I have often been fascinated by the human ability to rise from the ashes like a magical phoenix. I watched my Aunt Claudia lose her incredible husband when she was only in her twenties. Sixteen years later the daughter that the two of them had created also shockingly died. My aunt’s pain was unimaginable to me and yet she found the courage to just keep moving forward. She remained a happy soul in spite of the trials that seemed to come her way with uncanny regularity. 

My husband laughs at my tendency to make promises with the addition of the phrase, “God willing.” I learned long ago that nothing is guaranteed. In spite of my realization that we don’t always get what we want, I do believe that we humans have our ways of dealing with all of the vagaries of life with surprising resilience. It may take time to adjust to our new realities, but in most situations we somehow manage, albeit a bit more dented than we once were. 

I speak of my father often as though he died only a short time ago. In a pensive moment my husband wondered aloud if he and I would ever have met had my father lived into a ripe old age rather than leaving his family as a young man. Of course we can never predict what might have happened. Those “what ifs’ are so hypothetical. Still, I feel certain that somehow my husband and I were meant to be together and that we would have found each other perhaps in a different way. 

I am the sum total of all of my days. Each moment has shaped me into the person that I am. Both my tragedies and my triumphs have affected how I face the world. So it is with each of us. We are very much alike in that each of us will face challenges that seem to arise when we are busy making other plans. Sometimes the unexpected is glorious and other times it feels as though it has defeated us. That is the conundrum that we all share. Our stories shape us but we have the power to make certain that they do not define us as we keep moving down the road. 

Life is fragile. My father died at the age of thirty three. The son of a friend died when he was only seventeen. My grandfather lived to be one hundred eight. I have lost dear friends and cousins who would have been my age had they lived. My mother is gone as well as all of my aunts and uncles. My husband seems to learn of the death of a classmate with great regularity now. Most of us knew someone who died from Covid. We read about people taken from this earth by mass shootings and wars. While we know that death is inevitable we are always stunned when we hear of it. We are all too often filled with regret that we did not take the time to share our feelings of love and gratitude with the people that we knew and loved before they were gone. 

Time is relative in a psychological way. There are intervals when the days are unbearably slow. We trudge through them exhausted and frazzled. Other moments seem to pass so quickly. The often frenzied routines and demands of living keep us focused on surviving. Before we know it we realize that we have missed that opportunity to share our feelings and our joys with the people who mean much to us and even with the people that we simply pass in our daily dealings. 

I try to write a tribute to friends and family members who have died. My blogs about them seem to touch the hearts of even those who never knew them. People tell me that I have a knack for describing and praising the souls of my departed loved ones. Somehow I wish that I might be able to tell their stories before they die. I think of how wonderful it would be for them to know how their very existence impacted me and the many people who knew them. I wonder why we humans so often only open our hearts when someone has died. It would be quite lovely if we were to take just a few minutes each day to tell the living how much they mean to us.

I recently saw a post on Facebook that related the story of a math teacher who gave her students a list with the names of every member of the class. She instructed them to write something positive about each person on the roster. At the end of the exercise she collected the papers and then spent days creating a letter for each student that listed the compliments from their fellow students. Then she gave those praise letters to each of her pupils. 

Years later one of the students had died and she attended the funeral for him. There she was reunited with many of her former students. She learned that each of them had treasured the affirmations from their fellow classmates and returned to read them whenever they began to doubt themselves. They thanked the teacher for giving them such a tremendous gift. 

One Christmas I randomly selected a few of my greeting card recipients to receive an earnest letter outlining what they meant to me. I suppose that we are so unaccustomed to receiving such a thing that many of them contacted me immediately to out of concern that I must surely be sick or depressed or in trouble of some kind. They could not imagine receiving the thoughts from my heart just because I wanted them to know how important they were to me. Somehow my gift of love seemed to embarrass or confuse them. 

I understood in that moment that if I were to ever do such a thing again I would need to preface my love letter by explaining it’s purpose. Since then I have been careful about revealing my feelings of gratitude without a clear clarification of my intentions. I suppose that we humans are so reserved and maybe even unsure of ourselves that we wonder what is behind compliments. We tend to feel a bit uncomfortable whenever someone heaps us with praise. We find it difficult to believe how many people we have touched simply by being ourselves. We live in a world of hucksters who use flattery to take from us. We keep our defenses at the ready in case someone is attempting to take advantage of us. 

It is often the smallest of encounters with our fellow humans that transform us. We may only know them for a brief moment in time and yet a seemingly small sacrifice from them will change us in positive ways forever. We should all be aware of the power that we have to realign the trajectory of a person’s day or even an entire lifetime. Every word that we utter and action that we take matters, so why not use that power to build people up rather than to ignore them or tear them down?

The world is filled with souls working away just to make it through another hour or another day. Nobody should be invisible to us. Even the surly clerk who makes our interactions difficult will no doubt smile if we find something nice to say to her/him. Each of us enjoy those moments when we realize that the work we have done in our lives actually meant something to someone. No paycheck gives us as much joy as a single sincere compliment. Such comments are especially important when they randomly arrive when we are in difficult times. 

I’m going to try harder to showcase some very important people who made me the person I am today. I have spoken of my mother and father and grandparents quite often but there are so many others who changed me for the better. I hope to let them know the gifts of their being that taught me how to love others as well as myself. It will be one of my goals this year to let them know how much I have appreciated them.