Dear Abra - Advice on Death & Dying

Okay, while it is not at all something I intended, some folks have started to see this blog as a potential source of advice about death, dying, and all the weird little situations that go along with it. I have never professed to be any sort of expert in the field, nor have my own approaches to the topic been entirely healthy or successful (as many previous posts prove).

That said, it can be awfully difficult to ask some of these questions without getting one or a combination of the following reactions:

1) Some trite cliche that really offers no new insight.
2) Some trite religious words that really offers no new insight.
3) Awkwardness, staring at shoes, changing topic.
3) Some sort of concerned response that indicates the listener thinks you might be a little crazy for even asking such a question, and is wondering whether or not they should intervene.

So, to offer at least a basic sounding board where one can receive straightforward, unflinching opinions, I am inviting your questions. As long as everyone realizes that I am just some guy with opinions and not any sort of qualified expert, and that these opinions should be taken with a grain of salt, we'll be fine.

If, however, you are looking for someone to tell you, in absolutes, what is "right", then please look elsewhere - There are plenty of other people on the 'net only too happy to take on that responsibility. (There are even reputable, professional ones. Do your homework and get the help you need, if you need it).

A Good Question Answered

So, I got this comment on one of my posts that contained the following:

I have yet to experience loss of an immediate family member but i dread to see the day i cry my heart out when someone i love dies. is there a good way to prepare one mentally for death? i feel one way is not allow yourself to be attached to people & accept they are only temporary in your life but then doing this means not living our life to the fullest as we're holding ourselves back, isn't it? Any ideas on how to prepare for death? Anonymous

At first, I brushed off the question as obvious and basic, but I realized that, despite my initial reaction to the question, I was guilty of some of its logically fallacies. I have been holding back since my loss and not making connections, not as a direct preventative cure for grief, but for some reason. This overall question was definitely worth a second look. Here is how I responded:

Anonymous - The only way to be somewhat prepared for death is to paradoxically have experienced death, I suspect. It is a unique and transformative experience that leaves one with an understanding of their world that could not be attained academically, without the experience. The issue for you, it would seem, is your relationship with/understanding of death. It is inevitable for us all, so 'dreading it' is an utter waste. The winter sure is cold, but you don't spend the summer dwelling on it, do you? Limiting attachments will ease the immediate sting of loss, but with the concurrent result of you missing out on the reason we are alive in the first place - Kind of a steep price to pay. (I know whereof I speak, and must claim the right of 'Do as I say, not as I do' on this issue). So, to answer your question: To prepare yourself for death, make connections freely, love fiercely, and 'cry your eyes out when someone you love dies' - There are far worse fates than grief, my friend...

Abra Cadaver

So, kind of an obvious and basic answer, but something I really needed to reaffirm for myself. Now, to put this thinking into practice...

Funeral Directors = Car Salesmen

I would not have been surprised if the funeral director had tried to sell me rust-proofing and under-coating for the coffin. The implication that one doesn't truly love the departed unless they get the platinum package hangs in the air like cheap cologne.

I dined on little, triangle sandwiches for three days after my mother's funeral. After I scatter the ashes, what do I do with a $700 urn? Put flowers in it? Sell it on eBay, one 'slightly used' urn? At least they are planting a tree in her memory - That, as least, has some practical benefit.

My Dead Mother

My mother died of metastatic cancer at the end of 2008. It was quick and relatively painless, and though sudden, not entirely a shock - She had not been well, overall, for some time. I have been stoic and almost business-like in the wake, which may appear callous from the outside. They don't know that the veil has already been ripped away.

When I lost Cat, my 'worst thing possible' happened. Having lived through that and all of the life-altering changes associated, I don't think I can ever be as shocked or saddened or blind-sided by death again. Death comes to us all, and it sometimes is more of a surprise that it hasn't yet, than when it finally does.

My mother and Cat never met face-to-face (long story, long distances, etc.), but they spoke on the phone a great deal, and when packing some of my Mom's belongings, I discovered a stash of pictures and clippings from Cat's death, along with a letter she sent to all of her friends about Cat. Cat and my mother even continued to speak during a period when Cat and I had split, I would have been chagrined to learn at the time. My mother attended Cat's funeral, though I do not remember seeing her - Cat's funeral was and remains a fuzzy, surreal blur in my memory.

For my mother's funeral, I was tasked (largely by default) with all of the funeral preparations, notifications, etc., a fate I had been spared with Cat - Her parents handled everything. This time, it was down to me, and I was actually grateful for the distraction. It is much easier to keep busy after a loss; the alternative leaves far too much time to dwell on your grief.

The funeral planning experience was a bizarre one, to say the least, and will be explored in greater depth in future posts. For now, I just want to share the eulogy I gave:


"It is great to see such an intimate group show up to give my mother this send-off. Thanks for coming. After the service, I hope you’ll all stay and join us upstairs for a reception - There will be coffee, snacks, and those little sandwiches only found at affairs such as these.

During the service, I encourage you all to do whatever feels good. Loosen the tie, pop out for a smoke, let the kids run amok, or break into song as the mood strikes - My mother was not a conventional woman, so a conventional, stuffy service will just not do.

In a moment, I’m going to ask 'X' to come up here. We have asked her to shepherd us through my mother’s memorial, and she has graciously agreed. We felt there was no one better equipped to act as our Master of Ceremonies, to minister to our spiritual needs, and comfort us as a deeply trusted family member. That she has agreed to come in on her day off and share her gift with whilst also working through a sister’s grief is deeply appreciated.

First, I’d like to say a few words: When memorializing a lost loved one, it is all too tempting to distill that person’s life down to the single most dramatic event in their life - A moment of glory, their greatest triumph, their most tragic loss. In doing so, however, one is robbed of complete and accurate perspective, and is left only within an incomplete, caricatured understanding of their loved one’s life. Though my mother’s life was rather dramatically punctuated by an automobile accident in 1975, it was not defined by it - There was so much more.

There were thirty years of life before the accident, when a beautiful, brilliant young girl grew up in a creative, loving family before leaving the nest to attend University, earn Degrees in History and English, make lifelong friendships, fall in love, and have two pretty great kids. I hope to learn a lot more about these years throughout today’s memorial and reception.

There were over thirty years after the event, when a fiercely independent woman of faith soldiered through unimaginable challenges to continue to pursue her dreams, such as studying with Coretta Scott King in Atlanta, attending Seminary College in Saskatoon, or traveling to her ancestral homeland of Scotland. I hope we’ll all come away with a deeper appreciation and respect for a kind of strength that could only be forged in a blast furnace of hardship.

There were almost 64 years of a life that was a rich, unique tapestry comprised of brilliant coloured threads that form an image of a life well-lived. Each one of you here today are a thread in that tapestry, and helped to make it the vibrant expression of love, strength, and hope that it was. It is this work of art that I will remember.

If I allow myself a moment of guilt for opportunities missed to help or support her, I deny her the respect that is due an independent woman with the strength to strive for her desires, regardless of the barriers in her way. She would’ve liked more help from me, but her life sure didn’t grind to a halt without it.

If I allow myself a moment of pity for her life circumstances, I deny myself a proper understanding and appreciation of her strength in the face of them. She was a survivor of her circumstances, not a victim of them.

If I deify her in passing and revise my memory to omit all of her faults, I rob her of her humanity, and myself of the complexity and depth of the person she was. She was far from perfect and, now that she’s gone, it is some of her ‘imperfections’ I miss the most.

If I allow myself to continue schisms and divides that stemmed from the most emotionally confusing event ever to occur in any of our lives, I rob myself of family connections and friendships that I now know are much more important than any issues that may have come between them. When there is no clear path, how can I fault anyone their imperfect struggle to find an imperfect way forward? (As some of you may or may not know, I have been far from perfect in my life).

And, if I allow myself a moment of regret for not getting in touch with her more often, it is my own loss I lament, and the opportunity missed to share her company - While I may have beaten myself up about it, she never dwelled on it, too much, and was only happy to see me when she did.

My mother was many things. My mother was brilliant and observant, with a unique and incisive understanding of human nature. My mother was impulsive and impractical, and always chose irrational hope over practical reality. My mother was gregarious and made friends effortlessly. My mother could be a colossal pain-in-the-ass, and to this today there are many people that will attest her greatest crime on this Earth was teaching her youngest son the saying, “The squeaky wheel gets the grease”.

She had a quick wit, strong opinions, and, at times, a sharp tongue - she would readily rise to a fight, but was equally quick to forgive. She was not ignorant to the failings of people, but was always the first to overlook those failings and allow people the grace to be what they needed to be. She was, at times, impossible, cantankerous, and downright pissed off. But through it all, she maintained a childlike wonder and sense of play that should provide us all a glimpse of one of the secrets to a happy life.

She was my mother, and I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for joining me in remembering her today."

The Soul of Hope - Blog Ads, part deux

Well, a few years into this blog, and the ads are getting utterly shameless:

Free Will Kit - Okay, well this makes sense, I guess. In fact, dear reader, do get a will. Just don't get it from an ad on the Internet, 'kay?

Personal Injury Lawyers - This is just crass. 'Did your loved one die in an accident? You might have $ coming to you!' Funerals for fun and profit...

Are You Hairless On Top? - No, I'm not joking. Perhaps the advertisers think that those in mourning need a thicker, fuller head of hair. Remember that these ads are supposedly "targeted" at the interest group reading this blog - I'm thinking someone dropped the ball on this one. "I'm not just the owner of Misery Club for Men, I'm a member!"

100s Pretty Ladies - Okay Google, WTF? I mean, I'll freely admit to being single and lonely in the wake of my loss, but I am not in the least bit impressed or enticed by a 'dating' ad found on a blog ABOUT MOURNING! Geez, don't they employ any sort of filters?

I am likely going to ditch the ads, as they are just getting offensive. Funny, yes, but still kinda gross. I haven't checked what, if anything, the ads have earned, but I am not really interested in minorly profiting from my pain. (Majorly profiting, absolutely - I could do some kick-ass grieving on a beach). I am just not into wringing a few bucks out of this blog by helping Google hawk hair-loss remedies...

Cat's Eulogy

I was not formally asked to speak at Cat's funeral, so when the opportunity came, I had no words prepared. When the photo-montage set to, "Wind Beneath My Wings" failed to play as planned, I was urged to get up and say a few words to fill in while funeral staff wrestled with the DVD player.

I got up, mumbled something about Cat's dog, Etta-Mae, and then managed only this:

She was Cat.
She was Cat,
and she was good.
She was my friend.
I miss my friend...

Cat's Last Gift

As I write this, a furry German Shepherd named Etta-Mae is silently watching me from where she lays upon a wing-back chair. If not for the occasional yawn or lick of the lips, she is so silent one could forget she is even there. She is a sweet, gentle, and overly-sensitive creature, and she is Cat's last gift to me.

Cat did not leave me truly alone. When she passed, she left a shy, one-year-old GS puppy behind. If possible, the puppy was even more fucked up by the events of that tragic night than I. Together, she and I have tried to move on and survive and, together, we have (thus far).

In fact, she has shown more resilience than I, and I am heartened to see the spark of canine silliness and playfulness has not been extinguished by her loss. She won't go anywhere near a campfire, mind you, and still hides under the bed when I burn the toast, but she cries less then I, and spends more time consoling me than I do her.

In the days following Cat's death, I wrestled with what best to do with Etta. The sentimental choice was to keep her, of course, but I was an apartment-dwelling, beer-swilling, miscreant with a whopper of a Peter Pan complex. What good was I to such a helpless and trusting creature? I was not sure what to do, I desperately wanted to do the right thing, and I just wished Cat could tell me what to do.

When I phoned to register Etta's information under my own name, Cat had beaten me to it: I was already listed as the secondary caregiver for Etta-Mae.

Burn Your Candles

Mere months into our relationship, Cat was already thinking marriage. She was a magical, impulsive creature and, for some reason unbeknownst to me, totally willing to overlook my glaring faults and actually see me as marriage material.

I, however, was reluctant to rush into such territory, preferring to take my time. Heck, if it was for life, what was the rush? Little did I know. Did Cat know, on some level? I wonder - The girl lived her life like a house on fire (no pun intended), so maybe, on some elemental level, she knew her time was short... The star that burns twice as bright, and all that.

You know those fancy candles that people get to decorate their homes, then never light, waiting for some occasion special enough to warrant a fancy candle? The candles go unburned, their potential for warmth and heat never realized, and the worthiness of an occasion for candle burning insipidly rises in proportion to the length of time the candles have been preserved.

Of course, hindsight is 20/20 (and often unpleasant, without the gauzy, soft focus of denial), but I now know I wasted a chance to share my heat and warmth with Cat, choosing instead to keep my candles wrapped in plastic. And then she was gone...

Cat, for what it's worth, I'm ready now.

Burn your candles, friends, burn your candles...

Merry Christmas?

Well, I feel wretched.

It is Christmas morning, and I still miss her like it was yesterday. It has been almost five years since her exit, and the pain is still acute... I am so alone without her, even in a crowd.

This year I am a Christmas orphan. Friends and family being out of town, etc., has left me with too much time on my hands to dwell on the past, and the walk down memory lane has not been entirely pleasant.

And so goes Christmas 2008. Cat loved Christmas, and I will try to think of some way to honour that, I guess. Or I'll get drunk and watch 'It's a Wonderful Life'.

Merry Christmas Cat. I love you...

PS: Apologies to those that have left comments and received no reply. I have been trying to stay away from this blog for a while in hopes it would get things off my mind, but sadly, this is not how it works.

Death Envy

So, I've been experiencing a fascinating psychological phenomena: I have recently noticed that, when presented with someone diagnosed with a terminal disease, I feel envious. This is not a rational construct I have chosen, but rather a subconsciously driven mindset I am struggling to understand.

I have been around health care facilities enough to have more than a passing familiarity with sickness and death (though I, myself, have always enjoyed sound health), and it is never pretty. Illness is ugly and brutal, and I don't underestimate that for a second, nor do I aspire to suffering. So, what is it, then?

Maybe I envy the knowledge of when and how the end will come. I'm not such a control freak that I obsess about this much, but, in an odd way, I suspect this immediate understanding of the ephemeral nature of life would be reassuring, somehow.

Perhaps my perception is that people with terminal illness are no longer held to the same standard of societal participation in work and bills, and instead spend their final days really living, eating picnic lunches, writing poetry, flying kites, and whatnot. Academically, I know this is far removed from reality, but that is what happens on TV, isn't it?

Ultimately, I know neither of those reasons are very accurate, and I am left with the realization that I still desperately miss Cat - So much so that I would be happier to know I would be with her again soon than I would be saddened by my own bad news.

Every day's a gift...

© Abra Cadaver 2007

The Lives (and Deaths) of Others: Post Secret

An extremely frustrating aspect of living with loss is the feeling of isolation that inevitably follows. Given society's reluctance to discuss death and people's encouragement to 'move on' and 'get over it', the grieving are left with little of the normalization and validation that comes from knowing others have felt and do feel similarly in similar circumstances - To know you are not alone.

A fascinating internet project has caught my eye as potentially the purest possible source of nakedly open, shared reality: PostSecret.com. In a nutshell, the creator of the site has invited the world to anonymously share a secret via homemade postcard, which he then posts online. (Inundated with response, he is only able to post a fraction of what he gets). Each day, a new selection is offered.

The results are alternatively shocking, poignant, hilarious, unsettling, touching, and reassuring, but are always very raw and very real. Provided the anonymous forum and the opportunity for artistic self-expression (via the homemade postcard), PostSecret's correspondents have returned hundreds of thousands of overwhelmingly honest sentiments.

Often, these sentiments are about a loss or a death, and how it has affected the correspondent. Many, such as the card attached, are not the obvious, maudlin response one might expect, but a surprising and individual articulation of the universality of loss.

I suspect these confessions may be of more value to the bereaved than all of the grief counseling in the self-help section of your major booksellers. Reading the pure, unadulterated, unadorned, feelings of others suffering a loss is much more useful than most of the platitudes we are all inundated with.

Be warned: These confessions are very raw, and not often happy-happy or upbeat. Neither is life or loss, however, which is why, I suspect, I have managed to find some tiny amount of comfort visiting this site.

© Abra Cadaver 2007

Eternal Embrace - Living with Lost Love

Sometimes, when lovers coo words of longing and love to one another, they say they will love each other forever. Romantic hearts swoon at the ideal of eternal love, and can see no other possibility than being forever united with their love. But what should happen if the lovers be separated by death?

Let me tell you, this is a wrinkle. I am still deeply in love with Cat, though she is no longer here. Many would say that, so long as her memory is strong in my heart, she will always be here in spirit. Be this as it may, her spirit does not keep me very warm at night, and her memory is not a very good conversationalist.

Absolutely no one would fault me for 'moving on' and finding someone new. Indeed, most would be relieved - "Finally, now I won't have to hear about that dead girl anymore..." I have been encouraged by one and all to 'keep living', to 'move on', and to 'find somone new'. I am young, they argue, and would Cat really want me to be alone for the rest of my life?

No, she wouldn't, but then, she didn't want to die, either. If I have learned one thing in life this, it is that you can't always get what you want. (Thanks, Mick and Keith). I don't want to be alone and in love with a dead girl, I want to be with a live Cat and in love with her. But that was not meant to be.

So I remain, loving one no longer here. It is as if I died on the day she passed - I no longer dream, no longer look to the future with hope, but for the knowledge that I, too, shall pass, and once again be with Cat. This world has been stripped of all I cared about.

I try to keep going, keep moving, and making plans for the future, but I am just going through the motions. I don't really care anymore. Even if I were selfishly motivated to find someone to mitigate my lonliness, who would want to be with someone who feels this way? Not the most attractive quality.

Regardless, I would not ever put some poor girl through that. Can you imagine being second best to a dead girl? She was pretty great in life, I'll tell you, but in death, she can do no wrong. Practically deified in my mind, she would be a pretty tough act to follow.

Ultimately, I am not prevented from finding a new love by social opinion, concerns for the feelings of the new person, my state of mourning (you'd be surprised how attractive it seems to be), or even fear of betraying Cat. It is my own heart that ties me to this girl I can no longer touch. I am bound to her for all time, and is that so wrong? If ever there was a creature that inspired and deserved such devotion, it is she.

Wedding vows say ''til death do us part', but I say that is easier said than done when you lose a true love. I wish that every pair of true lovers could go together, returned to the Earth in an eternal embrace.

© Abra Cadaver 2007