Rae, You Were So Much to So Many
My Lord, Rae! I'm struggling with grief as I mourn and attempt to reconcile the ineffable loss so many of us are experiencing.
Typically when someone crosses the threshold from earth to heaven, friends, acquaintances, and miscellaneous others agree as in a chorus, she or he was "Larger Than Life." Undoubtedly, it's true! It still amazes me, though, how quickly after a death, that our language changes. Almost immediately we bring out euphemisms and bandy them about as if we've just discovered them. The person becomes a past tense verb. She was, no longer is, even if we're talking abut someone whose body lies dead in the hospital, waiting to be picked up by a mortuary. The present tense verb does quickly becomes used to do; smiles changes to smiled and like quicksilver, laughs shifts to laughed. In the blink of an eye, we push the built-for-just-this-occasion-self correct button, thus mimicking proper verb usage for others. Often,our behavior adjusts quickly and as well.
Euphemisms proliferate, like airborne cottonwood that heralds the allergies of Spring or falling, swirling leaves that announce Autumn: We don't die; we transition or pass on. Or, we have gone to be with the Lord; having given up the ghost; or simply succumbed. We have gone to a better place; slept away; or kicked the bucket. Why do we attempt to soften death's blow? Whether the result of a prolonged illness or in the twinkling-of-an-eye-fatal-car-accident, loss, not only of life, but gut-wrenching loss shocks us to the core.
In contrast, euphemisms comfort. They help us deal with the finality of death and the looking glass of our own mortality. They help us navigate the movements of grief, loss, and mourning, and the symphony of enduring, unadulterated pain that forms the dirge of our shock, denial, anger, bargaining, and (eventually a form of) acceptance. Euphemisms encompass in the-too-numerous-to count adjectives and angst that take up residence in a heart too shattered to hold them. The ones that haunt and torture us. That's why.
So why, Rae, this response to grief and loss? We've lived long enough to write books about it. We've comforted more family, friends, and acquaintances, and we've traded anecdotes and "Remember Whens" too numerous to recount. When my Daughter transitioned (see what I mean? "Death" seems too harsh), when Courtney died you spent hours consoling me in the muteness of my grief. You reminded me of stories I had long stored away. You always took her adolescent "Drama Mama" behavior with a seriousness that honored the situation as she perceived it. Her older sister still identifies you as her "Beautiful, Elegant Aunt Rae." As dear friends do and as you did--- not just with my Daughter but also to the offspring of so, so many---you laughed, soothed, cried, and rejoiced with us. Thank you!
Truly, dear Rae, you are "Larger Than Life. You embody numerous attributes for the multitude of friends you embraced, nurtured, and kept during a fruitful, selfless, life. I use the present tense "To Be" verb to describe you, and always will.You are. Apostle Paul wrote succinctly: "But I do not want you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning those who have fallen asleep, lest you sorrow as others who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who sleep in Jesus. (1 Thessalonians 4: 13-15). Eternal Rest. Eternal Peace. Eetrnal Life. Eternally Loved, you are, dear Rae!
Typically when someone crosses the threshold from earth to heaven, friends, acquaintances, and miscellaneous others agree as in a chorus, she or he was "Larger Than Life." Undoubtedly, it's true! It still amazes me, though, how quickly after a death, that our language changes. Almost immediately we bring out euphemisms and bandy them about as if we've just discovered them. The person becomes a past tense verb. She was, no longer is, even if we're talking abut someone whose body lies dead in the hospital, waiting to be picked up by a mortuary. The present tense verb does quickly becomes used to do; smiles changes to smiled and like quicksilver, laughs shifts to laughed. In the blink of an eye, we push the built-for-just-this-occasion-self correct button, thus mimicking proper verb usage for others. Often,our behavior adjusts quickly and as well.
Euphemisms proliferate, like airborne cottonwood that heralds the allergies of Spring or falling, swirling leaves that announce Autumn: We don't die; we transition or pass on. Or, we have gone to be with the Lord; having given up the ghost; or simply succumbed. We have gone to a better place; slept away; or kicked the bucket. Why do we attempt to soften death's blow? Whether the result of a prolonged illness or in the twinkling-of-an-eye-fatal-car-accident, loss, not only of life, but gut-wrenching loss shocks us to the core.
In contrast, euphemisms comfort. They help us deal with the finality of death and the looking glass of our own mortality. They help us navigate the movements of grief, loss, and mourning, and the symphony of enduring, unadulterated pain that forms the dirge of our shock, denial, anger, bargaining, and (eventually a form of) acceptance. Euphemisms encompass in the-too-numerous-to count adjectives and angst that take up residence in a heart too shattered to hold them. The ones that haunt and torture us. That's why.
So why, Rae, this response to grief and loss? We've lived long enough to write books about it. We've comforted more family, friends, and acquaintances, and we've traded anecdotes and "Remember Whens" too numerous to recount. When my Daughter transitioned (see what I mean? "Death" seems too harsh), when Courtney died you spent hours consoling me in the muteness of my grief. You reminded me of stories I had long stored away. You always took her adolescent "Drama Mama" behavior with a seriousness that honored the situation as she perceived it. Her older sister still identifies you as her "Beautiful, Elegant Aunt Rae." As dear friends do and as you did--- not just with my Daughter but also to the offspring of so, so many---you laughed, soothed, cried, and rejoiced with us. Thank you!
Truly, dear Rae, you are "Larger Than Life. You embody numerous attributes for the multitude of friends you embraced, nurtured, and kept during a fruitful, selfless, life. I use the present tense "To Be" verb to describe you, and always will.You are. Apostle Paul wrote succinctly: "But I do not want you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning those who have fallen asleep, lest you sorrow as others who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who sleep in Jesus. (1 Thessalonians 4: 13-15). Eternal Rest. Eternal Peace. Eetrnal Life. Eternally Loved, you are, dear Rae!
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