The Myth of the Grief Cap

My sister's best friend since childhood died today after a short and brutal fight with pancreatic cancer. She was 34, and is survived by her husband, her seven year old daughter, and her three year old autistic son. To see her with my sister was to see partners in crime lit with the sparkly giggle of years of mischief and memories. My sister is a wreck. My heart breaks for H's family - particularly her husband and kids, but also her brother who was in my grade in school and her parents who I've known since I was about 10. It is all just heartbreaking.

When my sister called me yesterday in tears to tell me that H didn't have much time left, we talked about how shitty it is to watch someone you love die, and yet how crucial it is to be there for it if you can. We talked about our last days and hours with mom. Robyn talked about watching her friend sleep and breathe and try to talk. Robyn was THE only non-family person that H allowed into the house in those last days. An honor, a sacred privilege, and a bittersweet horror all at the same time.

When I miscarried in March, a couple of my dear ones remarked how unfair it was - that I had already lost so much. I know these friends said this to express their heartbreak, and I didn't really disagree with them, but it's not like there is some kind of Maximum Lifetime Out of Pocket Grief amount that anyone can reach that shields them from more loss and death for the next decade. Or year, for that matter.

If we want to compare, in fact, both of my siblings have lost MORE. My brother lost his dad at 17, his best friend since toddlerhood at 18, his mom at 25, another close friend three years ago, and his first baby-to-be when my sister in law miscarried last year. Surely, if anyone has maxed out their Lifetime Loss BINGO card, it is Nate. My sister's also added two friends to her list of losses.

I'm sure we all know people who have had loss upon loss, and others who have said goodbye to their grandparents and maybe their beloved family pet, but have survived into adulthood otherwise unscathed by Unfathomable Heartbreak.

I wish I could tell my sister today that she has officially reached her Grief Cap, and that she's in the clear for a while. I wish I could tell that to my brother. And to myself. And to a few friends who have suffered great losses. But it's just not true.

Sometimes these deaths and losses act as a comfort to me. Dying actually seems less scary to me now that I know that my parents and others who I love will be on the other side to greet me. It's also motivating to take less for granted, to love recklessly, to be kinder, more adventurous, less fearful. I read something recently that I repeat to myself sometimes when I feel dark, or if I get really overwhelmed by the Total Shittiness of death. I can't remember where I read it the first time, but it is a quote from Ram Dass - "We're all just walking each other home". Some days, like today, I feel like I should get that tatooed to my arm.