This will be a fairly short post today. We have been slowly moving into our new home, dealing with endless boxes and “stuff”, and I am exhausted. Also, last week, my husband Nick’s nephew Jimmy died. He was 41 years old, and he struggled with a lifelong battle of addiction. Yesterday we drove an hour to the town of Franklin, where Nick is from, to attend his wake and prayer services, followed by a gathering at his sister’s house. Of course, it was emotionally draining and exhausting and all of that, but my main job yesterday was to be there for my husband and his family, and be a good support system. I did that the very best that I could, and I will continue to be there for my husband during this rough time.
My job here, in this blog, is to talk about how it made ME feel. Or, at least, that is what I would like to talk about today. After a decade of living with the sudden death of Don Shepherd, attending other people’s funerals continues to be challenging, emotional, and a little bit “triggery.” At first, I couldnt go to anyones funeral at all. A close family friend of ours died about 5 months after Don, then another close family friend about a year later, and I couldnt bring myself to attend either funeral. Its almost as if my legs refused to get up and move me there. Its hard to explain, but I know you all get it, so I dont need to. After that, I began attending, and its been very hard. Just being at a funeral instantly puts me back to that horrific day of my husband’s funeral. The sights, the smells, the weather (especially if its a hot day, which it was blazing hot at Don’s funeral), the food, the awkward small talk, the more awkward laughter, the chatter from attendees about how everyone looks / who showed up and who didn’t, the chatter about how the dead person looks in his or her casket. (this has always creeped me out. They are dead. Im pretty sure they just look dead.) On and on and on. The whole thing is difficult. Even getting ready and getting dressed yesterday was an instant reminder of the way I felt when having to choose an outfit to go to my husbands funeral. What an absolutely horrible thing.
The thing I always notice most, though, at other peoples funerals, is the look on the immediate family’s faces. Sometimes its the widow or partner, other times its the siblings or parent or child. In this case, it was Jimmy’s mom, (Nick’s sister.) It was heartbreaking. That glazed over look in her eye – her passive accepting of the many hugs coming her way, and the well wishes, and the endless “Im sorry for your loss” parade that just keeps going and going and going until you can’t see straight. Knowing that she will be going home alone later that night, with the reality that her son is no longer alive on this earth. And she will go home the night after that and the next one, and having the knowledge from real life experience of what that is like – it’s just very heart-wrenching to witness first-hand at someone else’s funeral.
I know that funerals are rituals and everyone does them differently, just as everyone does grief differently. Its just a weird experience going to other peoples funerals, once you have attended the one for your 46 year old husband. Its like Im comparing all of the funerals I see to his, without even meaning to or intending to. But they all bring me right back to that place, where I was the focus of everyone’s eyes, without ever wanting to be, and where all the hugs kept coming at me like an attack, when all I wanted in that moment and forever, was to be able to hug my husband one more time.
