The Transition from ‘is’ to ‘was’.

I remember how it felt to say ‘was’ instead of ‘is’ for the first time. It hurt. It hurt a lot. As that little word came out of my mouth, I could feel my face distorting with disgust as I said it. I remember looking down at the ground when I realised what I’d said. I said ‘he was’ instead of ‘he is’. This was some weeks after his passing, because up to that point I always said ‘is’.

Present day, to past tense. It’s crap. Put simply. Crap.

It’s hard to comprehend the loss of a loved one, and it’s all of these simple little things that make it all that much harder. It shakes the reality of what you’re trying to avoid, and before you know it, everyone around you is saying ‘he was’. It angered me to begin with, because I didn’t feel it was their right to say the word ‘was’. I felt that I, or one of his family members should have been able to say it first. It sounds terrible, but I became incredibly protective over how people worded things.
If people were talking to me, and mentioned the words dead, died or funeral, the only thing I’d want to do was punch them in the face. Did they not realise how much it hurt me to hear them say things like “when he died”, “at his funeral” or “I can’t believe he’s dead”???

Each one of those words was Hell. Even hearing his name hurt. I often said ‘he’ instead of using his name. Why? Because it hurt too much. I did not use the word ‘died’. I said ‘passed away’. When the word ‘died’ was said to me, it felt like a full stop. I couldn’t stand it. Even to this day, I dislike saying the word died, and much prefer to use the term passed away.

This is how I’d describe these words visually, as best as I can. Hopefully this will help to explain how a simple change of words, in my head, can make an incredible difference.

Died: Imagine someone holding a beautiful red balloon, and then picture them popping it with a knife while we both watch it explode. That is what it felt like when I heard this word.

Passed away: Imagine someone holding a beautiful red balloon, and then imagine them letting it go gently. As you see the ribbon pass through their hand, you can see the balloon getting smaller and smaller, as it floats off into the distance. You appreciate the beauty of the balloon for just a moment longer, and it’s not as harsh as seeing it explode right in front of you. This is what it felt like when I heard this.
Do you notice the difference?

Something to remember when you’re dealing with someone who is grieving;
If they are not using their loved ones name, then you shouldn’t either. If they are not discussing their death with you, then you shouldn’t bring it up. If they’re not talking about their funeral, then you shouldn’t ask about it. They should always be the first to initiate all of the hard topics. Chances are, if they’re not mentioning things that you think they should, it’s because they’re not ready to.

Just try to remember… while you may be ready for the ‘was’, they could still be struggling with the ‘is’.

The Other F Word. (part two)

I sat down with his family in the front row of the chapel. I turned my head past my shoulder as I heard people enter,  seeing who sat where, and giving the awkward smile to those who managed to give me some sort of small wave before they took their seat.

I stopped looking around once that I saw that my family was seated some rows behind. I knew that they’d be there ofcourse, but it was still comforting when I saw them.

Once everyone was seated, the service began. The Eulogy was written by his father, and he did an amazing job. I was able to share with him, the story of how we met, and I was able to include some of our fondest memories.

The service itself was short and sweet as my boyfriend would complain about services being long winded and unnecessarily dull – so we made sure that it was short, sharp and shiny! We threw a few jokes in too, just to make sure it would be to his liking.

His sense of humour was something that was carried throughout the service- and then into the evening when we held the memorial service for extended family, and friends.

The Memorial Service was beautiful- If I can even use that to describe it. It was a very relaxed setting, and we were surrounded by the people that were nearest and dearest to him.

The majority of people that were there were old school friends of ours. I remember stepping back, while I was sipping my drink, and just looking around, and seeing who was there. Making people’s faces out from the shadows as they socialised with one another.

My initial reaction was: “it’s like a really morbid school reunion…”

The things people said to me were much the same throughout the night-

“I’m so sorry”
“I can’t believe it”
“You’re so strong…”

I was sorry too… I couldn’t believe it either… Strong? Sure… You didn’t see me this morning when I was looking at his body in a coffin, and screaming…

It was the last thing that was said to me that always annoyed me the most.

And one thing, to this day, which still does- “you’re so strong”. For me, at the time, it was like a polite way of saying “wow, you haven’t killed yourself yet? Well done!”

The night was good (it ran smoothly), regardless of things that were said, which annoyed me- (it was bound to happen). When the service finished, and we were standing outside ready to leave, it was like a huge weight had been lifted… We had said all that we wanted to say- Everyone had a chance to say goodbye, and reminisce about some amazing memories…

The Other F Word. (part one)

“A ceremony or group of ceremonies held in connection with the burial or cremation of a dead person”

 

Funeral.

 

It’s a shame that the first three letters of this word have absolutely nothing to do with the actual meaning.

 

The funeral Director told us that we could go inside whenever we decided that we were ready. We stood outside torturing ourselves with idle chat for a few minutes trying to post pone what was ahead. After a few moments, we made our way into the chapel. We all knew what was going to be in there…

I let his parents and his brother make their way up first, while I gathered my thoughts for a few seconds. I looked down at the little blue box that I was holding in my trembling hands- my last gift to him. A baby blue box, tied neatly with a blue and white ribbon. Inside  were some things that I so badly wanted him to have. I made sure that every little thing in that box was something he’d hold dear to his heart. I filled it with things that I knew would make him laugh and smile. I also placed a letter in there that I had been writing over the past few days- I wanted it to be perfect… I would have ripped out my own heart and put it in that box if I could have…

I walked up the step, carrying that little blue box, and stood next to his brother. It took me a long time to look at what was right in front of me. I remember looking above the coffin and just seeing what was below, in my peripheral vision. I knew what it was. But still, I chose to ignore it for as long as I could.

 

His father knew what I was doing, and he came and stood next to me. With his arm around me, he said “you have to pull yourself together”. I looked up at him, and then my eyes followed his…  then I saw what he was looking at. His eldest son. My boyfriend. Lifeless. Dead.

 

Without even thinking about it, my body automatically went into meltdown. I could feel my heart throbbing. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I could feel myself running short of breath. I looked up at his father one more time and tried my best to mutter out one simple word. I couldn’t do it. I tried to form a word. Just one word. Nothing. All that came out was a blood curdling howl. In my entire life- I had never… ever cried and screamed as much as I did at this moment. There were no words to describe how uncontrollable it was.

 

I was so shocked with my reaction that I immediately walked out. I quickly stumbled outside, where I sat on the ground, placing the little blue box beside me. I put my hands over my mouth to stop myself from screaming, and it took every ounce of my will to make me stop. I had to remind myself to breathe. I thought about how hard it must be for his parents and his brother, and I knew that I had to pull myself together and get back in there. After a few minutes, I dusted myself off and made my way back inside… I stood next to his father once again, where I muttered out a “sorry”. I felt so bad for reacting that way, but I couldn’t control it… I think he understood.

 

I composed myself after a while, and took a few deep breaths. I held that little blue box in my hands one last time before I placed it in the coffin beside him. I loosened the ribbon a little once I’d placed it by his side, so it would be easier for him to open. Sounds stupid, I know… I knew he wasn’t going to physically be able to open it.

 

We stood there in silence for a few minutes until we could hear the cars pull up outside. We heard people’s muffled voices as they walked across the gravel, making their way towards the chapel. We took that as our cue to leave for the moment, so we stepped away from the coffin, one at a time, and told him that we’d be back soon…