Grief turns out to be a place none of us
know until we reach it. We anticipate (we
know) that someone close to us could die,
but we do not look beyond the few days or
weeks that immediately follow such an
imagined death. We misconstrue the nature
of even those few days or weeks. We might
expect if the death is sudden to feel shock.
We do not expect the shock to be
obliterative, dislocating to both body and
mind. We might expect that we will be
prostrate, inconsolable, crazy with loss. We
do not expect to be literally crazy, cool
customers who believe that their husband is
about to return and need his shoes.
“In the version of grief we imagine, the
model will be “healing.” A certain forward
movement will prevail. The worst days will
be the earliest days. We imagine that the
moment to most severely test us will be the
funeral, after which this hypothetical healing
will take place. When we anticipate the
funeral we wonder about failing to “get
through it,” rise to the occasion, exhibit the
“strength” that invariably gets mentioned as
the correct response to death. We anticipate
needing to steel ourselves the for the
moment: will I be able to greet people, will I
be able to leave the scene, will I be able even
to get dressed that day?
“We have no way of knowing that this will
not be the issue. We have no way of knowing
that the funeral itself will be anodyne, a kind
of narcotic regression in which we are
wrapped in the care of others and the gravity
and meaning of the occasion. Nor can we
know ahead of the fact (and here lies the
heart of the difference between grief as we
imagine it and grief as it is) the unending
absence that follows, the void, the very
opposite of meaning, the relentless
succession of moments during which we will
confront the experience of meaninglessness
itself.
– Joan Didion on Grief from “A Year of Magical Thinking” |