Thanks to everyone for the wishes and condolences as I put 600 more miles on the car to chase down ghosts. It was a cathartic time, made possible by two of my dearest chums – Kim and Michele, along with the additional help of Sir Jack Daniels. Thank you, dear friends, for sharing your time to talk me through an unexpectedly rough loss. Kim, I know you’re reading, and you were right – as the Indians say, the rain on the funeral day is a sign that the loved one has reached Heaven. I like that.
I was taken aback by the greeting in the funeral home. His youngest sister recognized me, shouted my name, and wouldn’t let go as we soaked each others’ shoulders. Mind you, I haven’t seen her in 30 years. His other sister crushed a few of my organs, and wouldn’t let go most of the night. His dad’s hug brought more sobs from me. And apparently, driving that far to see your first boyfriend is something incredible – his stepmom, God love her, took me around to the relatives, introducing me and announcing my travel feats.
What was really shocking was the greeting from his partner of 20 years, a dear woman whose warmth far exceeds her stature. As I was introduced to her she latched on, hugged me, and thanked me more than once for the letter I’d sent her man a few months ago. She said he’d read it often, and she’d read it to him again the day before he died. Her relatives had read it and were glowing about how wonderfully written it was. And that’s when I felt like a sham.
See, I’m a writer. Am I not supposed to do this right? If they’d said, “Nice note. Thoughtful of you” I may have felt a little better about it. But the glowing reports made me almost ashamed. Yes, I put my heart into it, but no, it’s not a struggle for me to say these things. Thanks to being a Cancer, I can emote with the best of them. Also, being a writer, I usually can get it in the right order and neatly put. And thanks to my Aquarius rising, I can put the emotional crap aside for a second and get the damn message out before melting into a puddle.
I don’t like taking praise for something that personal. I’d rather look at it as his stepdaughter said as she fought back tears – he read it often over the last few months and he was touched by it. She said it really meant a lot to him. To me, that’s golden. If it helped him, it was worth all the praise dribbed and drabbed and all the shameful feelings for doing it right because that’s what I’m trained to do.
And now, back to work. Goodbyes were uttered, love was shared. All the memories are now tucked in a nice, warm corner where they can glow and remind me of special times.
Back to the page. Back to life.
10 responses to “Doing What We Do Best”
I understand how you could feel your letter was a sham in a way. But, in my eyes, it wasn't a writer writing it. It was LORI writing it. You wrote what was in your heart to write.
I've seen people who can't even write a grocery list, create a tear-jerking poem in similar situations.
Everyone has different spiritual beliefs. To me, I feel you were chosen to be the one to help him and those close to him to heal. In this situation, it happened to be with words.
Wendy, thank you. And you should see my grocery lists – what a mess! 🙂
See, I feel he was chosen to help ME in some way. I haven't quite nailed down what that was yet, but I'm getting closer to it. Maybe he's the one who taught me unconditional love beyond family borders.
Your talent and genuine love helped make their world a better place during a dark time. There is no reason to feel guilty because you're able to use your talent to express your GENUINE emotion. If the emotion wasn't real, then, yes, feel like crap. But it WAS real, and you helped not just your ex, but the whole family. You gave them a gift of light and love in the middle of an awful time. Few can do that. Of course they're grateful.
Thinking of you.
Thank you, Devon. I appreciate your kind words.
As Wendy and Devon have said, it's because it was a heartfelt and genuine letter that makes the difference. You just happen to have a talent that made your emotions easier to share. And don't forget – because it's been so long since you had seen him made it that much more special to receive such a letter. To be remembered lovingly would be meaningful to anyone, especially someone in such a situation. Taking the time to write, not simply what you wrote, was an act of love.
I went on a writers residency a few years ago, where I got to spend three weeks with a high-level novelist/artist. During a conversation at the end (in which he gave me advice that changed my artistic life, but that's another story), he said, "Having observed creative people for many years, I've found an interesting thing. Artists, as a rule, spend half their lives figuring out what they do best – and the other half not doing it."
Resisting doing what you think is too easy to have any worth, and resisting accepting or believing honest praise for your words – because "it's not a struggle for me to say these things" – are the same sides of two similar coins. It's your gift, Lori, accept that what you do can and will affect others, whether an eyebrow raise or bring them to tears. We don't work for free, remember?. That's the payoff.
I long ago concluded that just about anything said along the funeral/wedding continuum can sound awkward if you read into it too much — which of course is EXACTLY what those occasions lend themselves to.
I absolutely understand what you're getting at. All I'm saying is that your lovely and heartfelt gesture isn't diminished in the slightest by the fact that it's in an area in which you're skilled, or by a small-talk comment that (ahem) you may be examining more closely than it should be. 🙂
Anyway, glad you're back to the page and life.
I agree with what the others have already said about you and your letter, Lori. These days, actual tangible letters are a rarity, making your letter even more special to him and his family.
And what a great family – thoughtful, warm and nurturing even in their grief. Seeing someone special from his past had to underscore how many lives he touched. It's good that you went.
I like hearing your friend call rain on a funeral day being a sign the loved one has made it to Heaven. As a kid I remember waking up on the day of my mom's funeral (well, not that I'd actually slept) thinking, "It's raining – maybe they'll cancel the funeral and it won't be real." Then Dad or Grandma explained there weren't rain delays for funerals. I clearly remember thinking of the rain as angels' tears. Since then I've always paid attention to rain and snow on funeral days, and it's oddly comforting that most of the time there has been rain or snow at some point on the funeral days. Even ornery Great Uncle Harold got a "spit" or two of rain.
Couldn't agree more with everyone. If an artist paints a portrait as a gift is it any less beautiful or welcomed?
The really special people in life are in our hearts forever, Time makes no difference. What a special gift they are to you, Lori.
Welcome back and virtual hugs.
Paula, what anguish you must have felt. My heart goes out to that little girl in you – my lord, how hard that had to have been.
Ashley, thank you. 🙂 It was an act of love – how could you not love someone so special?
Nice words, Joseph. Thank you. 🙂 I've always felt a little twinge of discomfort when anyone gives me a compliment. But I guess that would be fodder for a therapist, eh? :))
Jake, you're right. And maybe some of that guilt stems from the emotional upheaval. He and I never resolved anything face-to-face, so there will always be questions. In my mind, I wanted to resolve it in his mind at least.
Super analogy, Cathy. That helps a lot. Thank you. 🙂
Paula, they ARE a special family. I was a little surprised by all the attention I was getting. Why me? Geez. But I may have been the diversion they needed to escape that grief for a minute. And my traveling that far, I hope, showed them just how special he was to other people.