The Many Faces of Loss – What Death has Taught Me About Living

Note: This post could be a trigger if you’ve recently experienced a loss.

The first time I remember feeling overwhelmed by loss was when I was five. I was standing in front of our black and white T.V. It was November 25th, 1963, a day that’s etched in my memory as I watched the funeral procession for JFK. I remember clearly his children, Caroline and John Jr., as they stood watching their father’s casket move so slowly past them. Not only did my young heart break for them but it was the first time I felt fear that I too could be left behind, that death could end my safe little world.

I’ve spent decades trying to figure out how to be brave in the face of death and loss. As a child, death, loss and grief, felt like something that might swallow me whole. I don’t know that I’m any less fearful of death and loss as a woman in midlife but as I reflect on the losses I’ve experienced throughout my life, I understand that no two are the same – each one has changed me in some way and taught me about the importance of living while we can. 

The second time I was confronted with loss was when I was about six. I clearly see me standing in my parent’s bedroom as mom was making her bed. I was old enough to be told about my brother, Roger, who died when he was two from a rare blood cancer, long before I came into the picture. She gently but in a matter-of- fact way, described Roger and his last days. Once again, tears welled up from deep within my belly. I cried – for him, for my mom, and for me. In that moment I knew that he and I were connected. A brother felt but not known.

I received a call from mom in late March 2000 letting me know Dad passed away. There was a part of me that knew it was coming – I spent the day before facilitating a workshop out of town. On the drive home as I was thinking about Dad, the sun broke through thick clouds, spreading light on a sliver of the vast prairie landscape. It felt like a sign, foreshadowing, and in that moment, I knew he was being called away, and it wouldn’t be long. He fought death and was reluctant to leave, to let go. He didn’t believe in God or spirit and often said he believed that once we die, we no longer exist. No wonder he was afraid.

It would be 12 years later that I would be sitting with my mom as she was dying. I had a complex relationship with her - despite years of conflict and struggle, sitting with her as she took her last breath was a privilege. It was hard, but I was grateful, for had I not been there, I’d have missed witnessing what I felt was her spirit rise from her body, leaving behind the vessel she’d inhabited for 90 years. It was a moment that confirmed my faith in something greater than me.

Not all deaths in my life have been filled with grace.

I’ve written before about my brother’s murder, a horrific experience I would not wish on my worst enemy. There’s so much I could say about it, so many levels and layers I could write about, but what comes to mind as I write now is how much I still miss him, even though it’s been 11 years since our last phone call. Some might think me crazy but as I walk up and down the hallway each day to get my steps in, I see his picture and, in my mind, say hello. Our conversation is one sided and yet I hear his voice and that little mischievous laugh as I tell him the latest news or things I’m thinking about. I regret that I didn’t connect with him more or tell him how much he meant to me when I had the chance.

What I can tell you after decades of loss is this:

I will experience death and loss, again, as I age. I’ve become a member of a club I would rather not have had to join. In moments of grief it’s felt as if I’ve descended into a darkness I might not return from. And yet the curse - and gift - of life is that it goes on – it’s invited me to return, reminding me that I am still here, capable of holding the intensity while feeling comforted by the warmth of the sun on my body.  

At midlife, I don’t think I’m any “better” at managing the intensity of grief and loss than I was in my youth. But it is now tempered by experience and wisdom, acceptance, and the recognition that love, connection, humanity - and spirituality - are intricately intertwined with death and loss. 

I grieve in my own way and in my own time. It’s one place in my life where I haven’t listened to any rule book. But make no mistake: pushing grief away doesn’t help or work in the long run. Grief is powerful. It lives deeply in a part of me that knows how important it is to be seen, acknowledged and felt, even when I’ve been scared. If denied it’s like my toddler who pulled on my pant leg, calling my name over and over, relentless until I looked down and met him where he was.  

Grief is not to be ignored. It is to be welcomed, because the truth is, that without knowing love and compassion, I would not know grief. I cannot feel one without having felt the other.

In my work with clients, I've found that the right question can open a door that nothing else can. So, I'll leave you with this one:

“Which loss has changed you the most, and what did it ask of you that you didn’t know you had or wouldn’t have expected?”

Take your time with this question – it’s a big one. And, as always, if you need support, please reach out to someone who can help you process your grief and loss safely.

Thanks for reading.

Joan