Two weeks ago, my friend’s daughter went to sleep and never woke up. She was 31.
Today was her funeral; an intimate service for immediate family only, but a web link was set up for those who wished to watch. The camera was at the back of the hall: in the upper left corner of the frame lay the coffin; at the top in the centre, the speaker delivered the eulogy; and halfway down the left edge, two people in from the right, sat my friend. His back was turned to the camera; I couldn’t see his face but I could feel his grief through the screen from the way he hunched forward, shoulders rounded. At the end of the service everyone filed out of the room apart from him, his sons and his grandchildren, who were now without a mother. I closed the browser as they approached the coffin and held each other.
Tonight I had dinner with my daughter and my younger son. I see them every other Wednesday, as well as the weekends in between; on the Wednesdays we go to a restaurant down the road from where they live. We go there so regularly that the staff know us by name.
As with any other fortnight we laugh and chat and talk. I’ll admit to (on some previous occasions) moments of wishing for a little bit of peace and quiet, especially when they are both talking at once.
But not this evening.
This evening I make a point of drinking it all in: the way my daughter’s eyebrows narrow as she tries to recall something; the way my son‘s eyes crinkle when he laughs. I close my eyes momentarily and absorb the sound of their voices. It doesn’t matter that they’re both talking at the same time, or that I don’t quite understand everything they talk about: what matters is that they’re here, with me, and this could all be taken away from me in a split second and I’m utterly powerless to stop it.
Moments like these put things into perspective. Why should I become stressed about work, when it is so insignificant? Why should I worry about money and bills when I have friends and family and a roof over my head that makes me richer than I could ever need to be? Why do I always think about what I’m doing later, or tomorrow, or next week, when I should just be enjoying the present, the second I’m in right now?
There’s plenty more that I could say. From my position behind the screen, I couldn’t hear what was being said between my friend and his family and the coffin that they laid their hands on in that empty room, nor do I want to know. I just hope I never have to utter those kinds of words myself.
Thank you. I needed a "snap out of it" moment. We were working for the past year on a musical my husband wrote. We finally got a stage date and the cast wasn't ready. Lots of in fighting and blame, some relationships really damaged. We have been grieving the lost, depleted of resources and having to redo many things to try to launch again. But really, what does it matter? If tragedy struck one of us, as it will, does this even matter? We would not even think about it again, let alone spend days and weeks analyzing it. We will stop this madness of sadness. Because of you. Now I know what my next blog is about. The Madness of Sadness. Thanks Ben, your writing always moves me.
big love ❤️