1988

There is something that happens when you reach your forties, fifties, and sixties. You start to either see your parents' age, and the fear of losing them enters your thoughts, or you do lose them and now you have to figure out how to navigate life without them around. I know many who have lost their parents long before their forties, and I feel for them. I lost my father at age twenty-five. It is a gift to be able to see your parents grow old, and I know it is a gift for them to see you start to get a few gray strands of hair or wrinkled lines next to your eyes. However, with age, it also brings the anxious anticipation of the inevitable, the loss of a parent.

I graduated in 1988. It seems like a long time ago and at the same time just yesterday. That’s what memory does to you. You can be driving down a road where you pass the house of an old friend and it brings a smile to your face. I can close my eyes and in a single moment picture classmates, close friends, and the carefree nature and invincibility that we all thought we had. I see youth and having our lives in front of us, dreaming of what might be, and anxious for the unknown. 

The 1980’s were a wonderful time to grow up. We did not have the distractions that have now been fed to us, to our current young people, but the reality is, many of the same issues of coming of age were the same. We had the same fears of not being accepted by our peers. We understood how leaning in for that first kiss could make your stomach churn. There was the pressure of sports and grades, and hurtful categories that we made for ourselves, putting others in, such as the jocks, geeks, and dirtbags. We had the haves and have nots, and wondered if the Soviet Union was going to bomb us some day. I always hated the groups we placed one another in, and the same happens with today’s youth. What most of us didn’t think of as we reached that moment of moving the tassel to the other side of a strange looking cap, was losing our parents. For many of us, it seemed so far away, something out of mind or the realm of possibility at the time. 

I have seen over the years many people from my high school class start to lose their parents. We have come to that age where our parents are starting to reach their life expectancy. I cannot speak for everyone, but I do understand that losing my mom has been like losing a part of myself, my identity. Her death sits heavy on my chest and I cannot catch a proper breath on many days. I will admit, I have shed tears for my classmates that have lost parents. Many of these are people I have not seen in thirty-six years, except through a screen on my phone or computer. They are people that I did not know well in high school, but I wish I did. I wish I had a magic wand where I could go back to those Lafollette hallways with the knowledge and wisdom I have now, putting any shyness, youthful ego, or arrogance aside, and connect with them all. I guess that is the beauty of social media, you can still connect with people that you would never see otherwise. I woke this morning with tears in my eyes for a former classmate that recently lost her mother. Reading the obituary and rereading the message I received from her last night made me weep. To understand, at least a little, of what she is now going through with that kind of loss, is heart wrenching. I also understand what is next, and that is starting the journey of grieving for the person who brought you life. It steals your breath at times. It will fog your mind and make you believe that you will never think clearly again, or it will leave your body feeling like you are ill, fully depleted of energy. That is grief fatigue. 

In the past year, and actually before my mom died, I have tried to put into words what her loss has meant to me. I have tried to articulate grief, but I am not sure anyone can place the devastation of losing a parent into words. I am not sure I can explain the mental and physical toll it takes on you. I am uncertain if I can articulate how you will feel guilty when you start to smile or laugh again. 

It was around this time last year that I came home from Scotland and headed directly to the hospital to see my mom. It was when death came knocking on her door and was closer and closer. I knew it, she knew it, and we discussed how she was now in the next phase of dying. My summer was much different last year. It was driving back and forth over an hour each time, almost every day, to go to either the hospital or the rehab facility. Many days, it was going to her home where I spent an hour and a half in the car not knowing how I would find my mom, in what mental or physical state she would be in, when I arrived at her apartment. Then some days crying the entire drive back home after seeing her struggle to stay awake or even speak while I was there. I was thankful that I was an educator, having the summer off to be with her. I have often been grateful for being a teacher and sometimes wondered if God gave me a nudge towards this path? When my mom was dying last summer, I knew there had to be some divine intervention to allow me to have this time with her. Uninterrupted time that I would never get back. This might sound crazy to some, but it helps me process the events that came and the timing of those events. 

For those classmates that have lost parents or the ones that will one day lose them, I offer you my tears. I tell you to be mindful of their presence and live for the moments that you have with them. Then, when it comes time for them to leave this world, allow yourself the space to grieve. Know that the way you grieve is individual. There is no right or wrong way. Do not let others make you feel that you should be over it in two weeks. Don’t allow people to tell you that, “Well, they were old and lived a long life,” because that dismisses your pain. Don’t accept that it will get better with time. Certainly, you will learn how to take a whole breath again, and you will stop crying every hour, but grief will stay with you for the remainder of your life, and I am here to tell you that it’s okay. It’s okay to not be okay. Your grief will ebb and flow. It will find you telling a story about your mom or dad that will bring you to laughter and tears within the same sentence. Your grief is not for anyone to judge, especially you. Allow yourself to mourn because you are then allowing yourself to be human. 

In 1988, when I graduated high school, my mom was forty-nine years old. She was younger than I am now. At that time in her life, she had already lost her father and she had the fear of losing her mother. As a teenager, I remember waking early as I often did, going to the kitchen table to find my mom sipping coffee, tears in her eyes, and that’s when she would tell me another story of her father. My mom often grieved in private, in silence, because she thought she needed to be strong for her kids. I will tell you, and this is something my mom came to understand through our talks over the years, is allowing yourself to show emotion and share it with others, is a sign of strength. To grieve and grieve well is a sign that you are strong enough to know what your body and mind need. Go my friends and grieve because it means you were loved. 

I believe grief is an emotion that eventually brings us all together. It bonds us through death. It’s the great connector of humans because we will all experience loss at some point.