When Death Comes

I lost my aunt last week. Despite her being 92 - the loss was unexpected. That’s the funny thing about death … even when you know someone is near the end of life, when it does end - it feels unexpected. 

Maybe that’s just me? Although … with this … I don’t think it is. 

I’m not sure if it's the finality of death … or how our brains process presence. Whatever the reason … even at 92 … my heart is broken. 

I won’t get into the debate about quality of life, if death is the end etc. Those are stories my brain tells my heart to ease her pain … the truth behind them is ultimately irrelevant to my heart. She’s broken and is allowed to be … someone who mattered is gone … no more ice cream dates, phone calls, errands to run … no more hugs or I love you’s … no more hearing her laughter or seeing her smile or feeling her light in all the spaces she’s in … that’s what my heart is grieving … the loss of her. 

Death is emotional - everyone knows that …what people may not know or have experienced is the other side of death, the business side … the part where you can pause the emotions to focus on the “stuff.”

This is the second time I’ve done that … the first time the grief was overwhelming … it was after another loss and the announcement of mass layoffs at work … the stress … the emotions … they were too much - too big … focussing on the estate made things easier, made it manageable. 

Don’t misunderstand … sorting through someone’s life is an emotional process … it’s just the weight of it is somehow different … I carry it differently.  I suspect I compartmentalize or chunk it so it feels smaller - I’m focussed on pieces at a time instead of the pain as a whole. The conversation between the brain and heart changes … It's a balance between sentimentality and pragmatism.  It isn’t practical to keep everything - to gift everything … Letting go has to be part of the process.  

Do I balance that well? Not always … sometimes you hold onto things for reasons you can’t explain. My aunt had a handkerchief with her initials embroidered on it - we have the same initials.  I never saw her use it, carry it … In truth, until I was cleaning out the bedroom dressers I had never seen it before - didn’t know it existed. It fell away from the pile of clothes I was sorting through … when I picked it up there was something about it … so I kept it. 

It’s funny what we are drawn too … My grandmother - it was her aprons. I’m six to seven inches taller than she was but I have one anyway.  It makes me smile. It’s the same with teacups … I have a teacup and saucer from her set, my aunts' sets, my mothers … when I use them, it's like having tea with them. I like that. I know that now … sometimes - in the moment … you don’t, you’re inexplicitly drawn to something that later makes it feel like they are with you. 

The battle between practical and sentimental can be exhausting. What do you let go off? It’s a subtle decision with every piece of clothing, jewellery, book, album, knickknack, piece of art etc. At the end of the day it’s exhausting.  There is the physical exhaustion from packing, moving, hauling items … a good night's sleep fixes that. There is also the emotional and mental exhaustion - that comes from spending hours sifting through a life. Not just any life … her life. It’s the running around to get the death certificates, mailing or delivering them to those that need them, getting the urn, working with the property manager on details re: moving, notice, booking elevators … arranging furniture pickups and donations etc. etc. Seemingly small, utterly necessary, not remotely difficult and yet, strung together in the context they are - exhausting … And not in the way a good night’s sleep fixes … only time does.  

It’s been my experience that there is a weight to death … it’s given to those left behind … it comes in the form of grief and it’s layered on top of life. Over time - the weight eases … I think … Maybe it’s always there and we just become used to it? The grief changes us … maybe not in a way that is visible to anyone else … but it changes us … 

Yet - there is something exquisite in knowing our time is finite … beautiful, heart wrenching … but exquisite.  Of all the souls that I could share this window of time with - I was gifted hers … that feels fated … I like that. I was meant to love her and her me.

I did love her. I’m glad I told her. Every time I said goodbye. I’m especially glad the very last thing I said to her was “I love you” … the very last thing I did was hug her. I used to worry that it made her uncomfortable to hear, to say … I’m glad I didn’t let that stop me from saying it.  

I’ve run through that last day so many times - partly because I had too and partly because having too made me rethink every choice … Ultimately when I left her, she was tired but she seemed happy … her hair was cut, eyeglasses replaced, errands run and we even stopped for ice cream. She was smiling - the type of smile that touches your eyes … 

That memory - the one of our last day … it is erasing the one of finding her. It’s stronger … it’s better … I’m rooting for it to win. That’s how I want to remember her … full of light … full of mischief … full of laughter … full of love.