About Grief

 “Grief is a sneaky bastard,” a dear friend told me after the death of my father when I broke into tears while visiting Cape Cod. What had set me off was a sympathy card I saw in a store. It had a cardinal on the front, my dad’s favorite bird, with a quote by James Joyce: “They lived and laughed and loved and left.” Inside it said: “And the world will never be the same.” A perfect description of my loss.

Since then, I’ve lost other friends and family. Most recently our beloved cat, Rusty. He was 18. And smart. I wrote a letter to our very caring vet remembering him this way:

He knew how to indicate his every wish – from when it was time to light a fire for warmth, to opening a window where he could bask in the sun, to helping him burrow under a soft comforter, to walking over Tim on the sofa to get him to move so he could have his spot, to when he wanted fresh water from the tap. He communicated with his eyes, the direction of his gaze, a poke on our arm and sometimes a more demanding meow. All precious memories.

Soon after his death I had a post-cataract operation appointment. I could barely see the eye chart, not even the biggest E. It was blurred with light flitting across the image. When I began to cry while the technician tried to examine my eyes, she became alarmed. I told her about losing Rusty. “Have I damaged my eyes with the floods of water?” I asked. Still recovering from RSV with raging coughing fits, perhaps that had affected my vision, I said.

Normally cool and all business, she became another person. Sweet, sensitive, sympathetic. Told me she too had lost pets and said if I hadn’t been sick, she would give me a hug. She assured me that I had not damaged anything and that crying, ironically, caused eyes to dry.

Having shared my loss with this veritable stranger, I felt just a little better. It also reminded me of when my mother died years ago. I had barely cried, busy making arrangements for family and her funeral. I went to the supermarket for food to have at the house. When I approached the service counter with a question, I blurted, “My mom died this morning.” Tears soon followed.

The woman behind the elevated counter immediately climbed down and gave me a hug. Telling this stranger, feeling her warmth, lessened my grief in that moment. Which is all we can ask for.

Grief is a great leveler. Whether family, friend or precious pet, we all go through it, feeling loss with the same intensity. Sharing grief with people we don’t know may actually lessen bring the most comfort.