I am a somewhat private person. Not because I believe in privacy in particular, or in Too Much Information. More because I have a sense of not wanting to be burdensome to others with my feelings. I am not adept at reaching out to others, even just to be friendly, never mind in moments of pain. Id like to to be different. More open. Its a process. I havent drawn a thing since my father died. Yesterday NoiseCo marched in a second line with a huge and diverse array of other groups and folks to celebrate the life of a woman I didnt know. If I met her it was only in passing, at a parade or event, she was another Noisician, albeit one with particularly stellar costuming. The streets and then the venue were filled, brimming with people who loved this woman, crying in each others arms, sharing memories and laughter and comfort. It was the best memorial Ive ever seen. Everyone should be so loved. Everyone should live a life filled with such fire, creativity, goodness, and love given to others. Everyone should be so lucky as to die in New Orleans and be remembered with music, and dancing, and drinking in the street. So very, very few people manage any of those. Ive been mourning my father alone. The other people who share his death with me are far, far away. So Ive been mourning my father alone. Every day. Ive altered my life, or my life has been altered, and my priorities have been to focus on small things, to focus on daily living, because anything else seems utterly overwhelming. I havent drawn. I havent written. I avoid most social obligations and groups. There is a constant fear that I wont be able to get outside of my own head long enough to maintain a conversation (and really, Ive barely been able to), or that Ill, seemingly at random, tear up and have to spend hours surrounded by people while Im trying not to cry. Theres a voice in my head that keeps telling me I should be OVER it already. And Im not. Yesterday I cried in public. A lot. I wasnt crying for the brilliant, talented, lovely woman I would never know, but I was crying for her family, her friends, their loss, their pain, and for my father, and for myself. A woman in a beautiful beaded flapper gown came and put her arms around and me and I blubbered out awkwardly, Im so sorry, I didnt really know her.. My dad.. Last month... and she just said it was okay and let me cry on the gorgeous costume that I suspect Veronica had a hand in. I had come to support all of my friends and mostly try to stay out of the way, because I had seen their faces crumble as the news of her illness and impending death passed through the community. I was embarrassed by my own tears that I couldnt stop feeling were inappropriate, but at the same time, I was so relieved to be able to grieve in public, to let the pain out, to not be the only one red faced and shaking, even if the mourning was for different people. All the grief is not so different, all sharply felt loss is kin. And I think, now that I know it at all, its more damaging than healing to deal with it alone. Mourning our dead together is an ancient and human thing. So, thank you, all of you, for that experience. As lucky as all of you were to know Veronica, to have her in your lives and communities, Im sure she appreciated that she was lucky to have all of you, weird, wonderful, warm, clever folks that make up the heart and soul of a life well lived. I know Im lucky as well, and grateful, even if Im often not the best at expressing it. (And here a couple of pictures I caught of her at Box of Wine, in case anyone would like them. It was just a perfect day.)
Posted on: Mon, 22 Sep 2014 18:48:46 +0000
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