My first encounter with death
I made it to Patricia's visitation. Just got back a few minutes ago. I feel a little dizzy, slightly ill.When I arrived, there were a number of well-dressed people standing outside the funeral parlor. I figure that I was one of the first people that arrived that wasn't family or a close friend. I walked up the stairs and into the parlor. Thankfully there were very clear signs pointing me to where I needed to go. Third floor, turn right.
In the hallway, a few more people milled about. There was a small table with a letter from a family friend with whom the family had lost touch. It was from BC. The letter said that they were happy to reestablish contact, but not under those circumstances. I can only imagine. Also in that room was a large video picture frame showing her wedding. I later learned that she had been married for less than six months.
The main room for the visitation was full of strangers, but they didn't really pay any attention to me. I should amend that: I was the stranger, obviously. Some were chatting quietly among themselves. Some of their faces clearly showed their pain and anguish. I looked to the right, and there she was, in her casket. I could clearly see her face from where I was.
Suddenly, I felt very hot. I removed my jacket, then my sweater, and placed them on an empty chair. I very slowly made my way forward. I stopped to speak to a couple of older women, explaining who I was. One of these women was her mother-in-law. She thanked me for being there. And finally, I walked up to the casket.
I have never been to any kind of visitation or funeral. I've never seen
a body before 90 minutes ago. I thought I knew what to expect. I
figured that she would look the way the did when alive, just, asleep. I
must have figured that so much, that I swear that her chest moved. I
tried to see her there, dead, but it wasn't always possible. I know
that my mind or my eyes were playing tricks on me, but at times I
really thought she breathed. But she never really moved. She was
just...there. I don't think it was even her. It was just some
representation. It was a great representation, though.
Nice clothes, very peaceful and natural-looking. I wished that I could
have known her longer, said my own silent goodbye, grabbed my things
and left the room. Outside, under the video picture frame, were three
guestbooks. We were each encouraged to sign each one. I did, and left
the building.
I walked away feeling a little emptier inside. At some point I forehead with my hand. I thought about Patricia's body and suddenly she was replaced by Julie. Remember that I only met Patricia one time. Now imagine replacing the one in that casket with someone with whom you have spent more than 45000 hours instead of just two, and then replace the emotions you had for the person in the casket with that same person that you love, and multiply the confusion and loss and anguish you feel by 45000 hours with the one you love divided by the 2 hours with the one you met only once--22500. That might begin to describe how I might feel if it were Julie in that casket. The face in that image in my mind changed for about three seconds, but during that time tears came to my eyes and I nearly fell down.
It only took two months between diagnosis and death. She was still a newlywed. If she had been hit by a train, I could understand that. If she were the victim of a random or even not-so-random act of violence, I could understand that, too. I have heard many people saying that they don't understand how someone they know dies. I never judge them for it, but I always thought that I did, in some literal, mechanical way. The deceased never had any connection to me, after all. But Patricia did, even in a very small way. She died of a variant of the same disease I (may or may not still) have. We were in the same age demographic. She could have been me.
I have written before about how I might deal with the loss of a loved one. I don't think I could handle it any better now than I could then. But I will have to, since I intend to live a long time. Is it jjust another reason that life is pain? I can't imagine going through this. My parents are getting older; they are in their mid-70s. Anything could happen to any of us at any time.
I walked away feeling a little emptier inside. At some point I forehead with my hand. I thought about Patricia's body and suddenly she was replaced by Julie. Remember that I only met Patricia one time. Now imagine replacing the one in that casket with someone with whom you have spent more than 45000 hours instead of just two, and then replace the emotions you had for the person in the casket with that same person that you love, and multiply the confusion and loss and anguish you feel by 45000 hours with the one you love divided by the 2 hours with the one you met only once--22500. That might begin to describe how I might feel if it were Julie in that casket. The face in that image in my mind changed for about three seconds, but during that time tears came to my eyes and I nearly fell down.
It only took two months between diagnosis and death. She was still a newlywed. If she had been hit by a train, I could understand that. If she were the victim of a random or even not-so-random act of violence, I could understand that, too. I have heard many people saying that they don't understand how someone they know dies. I never judge them for it, but I always thought that I did, in some literal, mechanical way. The deceased never had any connection to me, after all. But Patricia did, even in a very small way. She died of a variant of the same disease I (may or may not still) have. We were in the same age demographic. She could have been me.
I have written before about how I might deal with the loss of a loved one. I don't think I could handle it any better now than I could then. But I will have to, since I intend to live a long time. Is it jjust another reason that life is pain? I can't imagine going through this. My parents are getting older; they are in their mid-70s. Anything could happen to any of us at any time.
Death can hurt so much more than we think it's going to. Even if we think we're rational and prepared.
I had to leave the first time I went to a friend's funeral. I just couldn't keep from crying, even though I wouldn't miss her and even though I thought death was the best thing under the circumstances. (I think it was the horror of death being the best thing under the circumstances.)
Hugs!
I hate funerals. Maybe it's because of the Italians in the family, but it's more an act of selfishness than people coming together over the death of a loved one. "What am I gonna do?" and so forth. It's rarely about remembering the departed. But I digress.
Hang in there.