We’ve lost two members of the extended family this week. A grand old dame of 97, and a young man of 30. Two very different lives, with different repercussions.
When you’re 97, there is an expectation that the time on this mortal coil is nearing the end, and for the most part the family is prepared for the loss. But for a young man or woman of 30 to die, well there is more shock, more questioning of how and why, of questions unanswered. And of a life that is barely begun.
I’ve lost folks to deaths in many forms, and each death leaves questions not asked, and grief expressed. I don’t believe that the current way we grieve in western society is helpful or constructive. We are asked to hurry along our grief, as if it can be compartmentalized. That if we chose to grieve beyond the one year that is considered “normal”, we are something less, unable to cope, and often looked upon with pity.
But I would rather grieve in my own fashion, to mourn the loss of someone beloved, and in my own way, then to try to force myself to conform. I lovingly support those who also choose to grieve in their own fashion, because as we are all different, we all grieve differently.
For we will carry with us the memories of those who have died with us forever. I choose to talk openly of the people who have died, to cherish and celebrate their time on this wonderful planet of ours, and shed tears for having had the privilege of knowing and loving them.