grieving – Mostly From Memory

I have been working on this draft for almost a year. The fact is, I don’t want to write about grief. I would rather write something that will make you laugh. Laughter, as the scripture says, does good like a medicine. But I feel compelled to write about grief. And reluctance to write about it won’t make it go away anymore than ignoring makes actual grief go away. It is natural to want to avoid anything to do with grief. This is a truth: We cannot avoid the events in life that will bring us grief. Dealing with grief is part of living.

Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Matthew 5:4

Do you remember when you were a little kid and lost your parents at the grocery store because you were not paying attention? Losing your parents as an adult feels the same way except you are little embarrassed about calling out for them. That crying out is grief. I understand that everyone grieves differently. What has helped me has been writing my feelings. Maybe that can help you grieve too.

Stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

When an event happens that triggers grief it is natural to feel these emotions, but that doesn’t change the fact that we can often feel embarrassed because we are experiencing them. After all, aren’t we adults who have everything together? Being shocked is an uncomfortable feeling. Especially for us who enjoy stability, quiet, and don’t like change. Denial can make us begin to question things we know are true. Being angry can also be humiliating because we feel like we have lost our self composure. It is where we say things like This is not fair! This is wrong! and we are further frustrated because we know what we are saying is true, but there is nothing we can do about it. Bargaining when you are unstable will usually get you a bad deal. You’ll end to doing something rash or in haste. Depression is a life sucking monster that strangles us to inaction. I’m not a licensed counselor, but I believe that one of the reasons that people end up going to counseling for grief is because they never complete the process but get hung up in one of the stages. Whenever that happens, no matter the stage, bitterness can develop.

Follow peace with all men, and holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord: Looking diligently lest any man fail of the grace of God; lest any root of bitterness springing up trouble you, and thereby many be defiled; Lest there be any fornicator, or profane person, as Esau, who for one morsel of meat sold his birthright. Hebrews 12:14-16

Bitterness is not merely an emotion, it is a parasitic root that gets in your spirit. The things that grow out of this root can’t be dealt with on the surface. Dealing with the surface is like cutting a stubborn hedge down to the ground only to realize that you simply pruned it and now it is destined to grow back even more unruly. Bitterness is a deeply inward issue that not only troubles you, but defiles many around you.

In the case of my Dad I believe I began the grief process as soon as he received the cancer diagnosis. I was shocked and tried to deny it: Cancer was something we heard about other people getting. I was scared to death of cancer as a child. I didn’t know exactly what it was and that made it even scarier. Shock and fear are not the same. I was not afraid when I heard the news, I was paralyzed with shock. I think I walked around numb for a few days.

I don’t remember being angry, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t. And probably a big part of that is I believe in the power of prayer. I should say that although this article is about how writing about your feelings can help you through grief, it is my ardent conviction that prayer works far better. Prayer is where I did all my bargaining.

I do remember the depression stage. I didn’t want to do anything. I knew there was nothing I could do, yet I felt guilty for not doing anything and not being able to do anything. Whenever I experience depression, I eat. I think I gained 20 or 30 pounds following my Dad’s death.

I reached the acceptance stage one night before he died and while he was still coherent. That’s when I sat down and wrote this article in acceptance of his imminent death. Portrait of a Southern Gentleman, or Things I Learned From My Dad. It is a great comfort to know that he was able to read it. And he was able to brag on me a little bit, which is a source of laughter for me. I can tell you now that when I wrote that article I poured all of my emotions into those words. I cried the whole time. There was something special that happened when I was able to share those words with everyone. To know that someone else was able to experience my grief somehow made the burden lighter.

I will never forget the feeling of release when my Dad finally passed. It was as if I had been walking around carrying a couple of cross ties and somehow they just floated away.

From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher that I. Psalm 61:2

“You need someone to walk with you through the valley of the shadow of death. And when your heart is overwhelmed you will need someone to lead you to the rock, because you can’t find the way yourself.”

I did the same thing when my Mom died but she didn’t get a chance to read it, and knowing this I think allowed me to achieve a greater degree of acceptance.

Since then, I have made writing a part of my grief process. Which seems like an odd thing to say. I never thought about death as a child, but it is a steady growing part of my life now that I look more and more like Alfred and less and less like Bruce Wayne. Writing has helped me grieve the loss kids that were in my youth group-Oh Brandon!, family-Funeral Processions , Dan Theo Wells 1935-2021 , and dear friends- J.L. Parker. Not to mention countless things I have written in my journal.

So how do you write about grief? I think it is important to establish that putting your feelings and thoughts into written words while you are grieving is one of the most honest and genuine expressions of yourself. There should be no pressure to write to impress someone. This is you and your feelings. Putting those thoughts onto paper is a conscious going out of yourself. You have captured and placed in the visible an idea that has been floating around in the invisible. You have conquered that thought, and it can never escape. No one is grading you on content, grammar, or proper punctuation. And you do not have to share it with anyone. No one may ever see it. But it may help to allow a friend to help bear your burden. I know it does for me.

I still miss my parents every day. And I probably always will. I feel strong emotions every once in a while, but never denial, anger, or bargaining, only acceptance, peace, and most often sadness. If it gets bad I’ll go back and read what I wrote when it was still fresh and that helps.

I wish I could’ve talked to my Dad this week, because I am in a new process of grieving. But I already feel better having written this.

Coworkers are people that you may not have anything in common with the except that you both work at the same place. So you end up building a special relationship with someone that you ordinarily would not have made friends with. Getting to know people who are not like me has always been one of my favorite aspects of working with the public and attending public school.

Losing a coworker is a strange feeling. I remember Dad losing a coworker to cancer when I was just a lad. I think his name was Ed White. Dad had visited him a few times while he was in the hospital. I remember how he would tell Mom how the visits went. I don’t have anyone to verify this-they are all dead-but I am fairly certain that Ed White paid the hospital bill when my sister was born. Mom and Dad went to the funeral without us kids. We didn’t know all of the details but we could tell by Dad’s countenance that it was not a time to be rowdy at the house.

“Paul passed away this morning.”

I got this text a couple of weeks ago from my boss at my former State job. I only saw him once or twice a month for the years that I worked there. But I talked to him on the phone quite often. He was one of our field officers and spent most of his time covering a large part of east Alabama. It was always a welcome diversion whenever one of these officers dropped into to see the people like me who hardly left the office. Those officers all had the best stories.

He carried a cane. He would walk by and smack that cane on my desktop and say things like:

“You’re fired.”

“You’re working too hard, take a break.”

He was good at saying nice things in an abrasive tone of voice. He was also a very giving person. My first week or so at work he made me a wooden stand with my name. I still have it in my new office. It means a little more to me now. One day he brought me a bunch of metal straws. At first I thought, what in the world am I going to do with these? But they have been in constant use since I brought them home to the kids. Recently I have gained a deeper appreciation for these straws since I have slipped into the habit of drinking milkshakes nearly everyday.

Paul had served in more than one branch of the military and was a veteran of Iraqi Freedom. This may be where he picked up the cane. After he retired from the military he landed the gig with the State and that’s where I met him. He retired in the last year or so because his health. He had been fighting cancer. God I hate cancer. Paul was indeed a character. He made me want to be a better gift giver.

The first coworker that I ever lost was named Chavelo. Although I think that was his nickname. His real name was Isabel. I had never heard a man named Isabel, but I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now. He was from El Salvador and he introduced me to papusas. He would share them for breakfast. We were working for a man up in our church who owned a commercial lawn care business. We all went to church together. I was the truck driver and chief weed-eater operater, Cecil-another Alabamian-and Chavelo drove the big mowers. Neither one of them spoke proper English. And now that I think of it, I don’t think they even tried to talk to each other, they just each talked to me.

Chavelo told me that he had worked on a dairy farm in El Salvador.

“Tha macheen dat meelk da cow. It bad por da cow chitty. We meelk by hand.” He made a squeezing motion. I’m not sure what I was supposed to do with this information, but it has brought me a lot of joy over the years.

As we drove from job to job, Cecil would point out houses that he had sanded the floors in. The two would interrupt each other to talk to me. It was so entertaining.

“You see that bank right there Brother Zane?” Cecil asked one day.

“Yes.” I said, not fully paying attention as I navigated the truck and trailer through the streets that had been designed for horses and carriages.

“Somebody robbed that bank with a banana!”

“What?” I asked incredulously, now fully paying attention.

“It was a chocolate covered banana.” Cecil replied. I’m not sure of the veracity of this story, but I know for certain that Cecil believed it. I really hope it is true because I want to believe it too.

That’s what it was like working with these two. They were both old enough to be my grandad. I did a lot of laughing back then. That’s what the best coworkers do, they make you laugh.

Chavelo was sick one week for a few days, and when he returned I noticed that his eyes were yellow. After a month I began to noticed that his upper belly was protruding. He was not an overweight man by any means and this protrusion turned out to be bloating from liver cancer. I noticed the same symptom in Paul a while back. Chavelo went down hill pretty quick. I went to see him a few times while he was on his deathbed to pray for him.

“It’s no good Brother Zane.” He burst into tears one day. I cried too.

When he died they asked me to speak at the funeral. That was the first time I had ever spoken at a funeral and also the first time that I had ever spoken with a translator. I said something along these lines.

Chavelo and I had a language barrier, but not a communication block. We couldn’t always understand each other’s words, but we understood each other’s thoughts. Love transcends language. Chavelo was always sharing and we were always laughing. That connection was worth more than words could explain.

I sometimes think of Chavelo when I get discouraged while trying to learn Spanish. Chavelo helped me understand that speaking English is not the only sign of intelligence.

Eventually I got a job with Parks & Recreation and left the mowing industry. I was sitting at my desk one day and I got a phone call on my personal phone. I didn’t recognize the number so I didn’t answer. It is one of the biggest regrets I have. Pastor Dillon was out of the country so that’s probably why they called me. When I finally checked the message I was gutted.

“Cecil has had an mowing accident and he didn’t make it. Please call us.” It was from one of Cecil’s family members.

When they described the hill that he had been mowing when his mower flipped over on him I knew exactly where they were talking about. It was steep and tall. I never liked mowing on it myself.

Two things changed in me after Cecil died. I still answer the phone even if I don’t recognize the number. This does mean that I talk to a lot of people in Kolkuta, India, but I don’t mind. I also don’t play around with zero-turn mowers and I don’t feel bad telling people, “Hey man, you need a roll-bar on that thing.”

When I got the text about Paul it brought back a lot of memories for me. God and Death are no respecters of persons. I don’t know if this has helped anyone, but it has helped me.

Tag: grieving

How To Write About Grief