Rage, rage against the dying of the light

My Grandmother, who I lived with for most of my life, died last week. Two weeks ago, at the age of 98, she had a heart attack, and chose to spend her last few days at home.

I've had the unfortunate opportunity to attend way too many funerals this past year. And yesterday's was the hardest. It was a beautiful service, and fun to see my bazillion cousins who I don't see enough; I guess I was hoping for a little bit of closure. But my emotions are still all over the place.

Funerals are weird, viewings are weird; I find the whole process of public memorializing strange. Not that I think it is a bad thing; somehow every society has to find a ritual to mark the transition from life to death. I think we need to - its part of what makes us human.

I guess it just feels a little stifling to me. Grief as I've experienced it is not easily contained into scheduled musical numbers and trite words of sympathy. And our society doesn't seem to know what to do with Grief if it doesn't sit quietly in the corner and weep. It seems one or two tears, rolling quietly down someone's cheeks is appropriate, and anything else is an "embarrassing display of emotion." We don't really have an outlet for Grief that storms and rages, Grief that throws things, Grief that decides it is better to feel nothing at all. But all of those feelings are just as common. And should be just as acceptable as watery smiles and reassurances that the loved one is in a better place.

 The things people say to each other on these occasions are very strange. I mean, you have to say something but everything other than "I'm so sorry" sounds patronizing to me. There is not anything someone can say that will MAKE me feel better (there is my ego poking through) mostly because all those "I'm sure she's having a happy reunion with Grandpa." aren't hitting at the core of my grief.

 I'm not worried about my Grandmother any more. Regardless of what you believe about the afterlife, there is nothing more I can do for her. That is not why I'm upset. I'm selfish. And I'm hurt and sad and angry because I want my Grandma and I can't go see her. And now, I will not be able to go see her. Ever again. And I'm pissed off, because she has been such a sure thing in my life, and I do not like loosing that stability. That unconditional love.

 Later I will write about all the things I learned from her, and all my happy memories. I may not even cry every time I tell my kids about her. But that is not in me now.

 So here is a Dylan Thomas poem, that is far more eloquent than I can be.

Do not go gentle into that good night, 

Old age should burn and rave at close of day; 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, 

Because their words had forked no lightning they 

Do not go gentle into that good night. 

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright 

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, 

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, 

Do not go gentle into that good night. 

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight 

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

And you, my father, there on the sad height, 

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. 

Do not go gentle into that good night. 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

By Dylan Thomas