Epistle 6: Crying – Sorting – Mediating
June 5, 2016
With mercy, a quick one here, friends, as for me much work abounds.
Clearing out Betty's house has been some labor. Many amazing things have been found: my great-great-grandfather George Hoffman's citizenship papers from 1866; his son William's geography text book from 1900; a fur coat with the label "Hoffman Dry Goods" sewn into it; and a picture of my grandmother wearing it. There are nearly a dozen of these provenances - items, mostly clothing with pictures of the people wearing them, from nearly 100 years ago.
My brother, sister, and I opted to do our own estate sale. This was quite an effort both physically and emotionally. There was an unanticipated emotional reward. A story about Betty accompanied nearly every item sold and we cried while handing over stuff. This stimulated people to share their current and past experiences of loved ones dying. Quite a feast.
There is a paradox between this massive urge to preserve, and the need for death, to be plowed back into life. As everything is alive, what are the consequences of these things being preserved...However, they are a feast for my wild ancestor hunger? In the intermittent times, I reflect on the interplay between animism and fetishism. These thoughts get too big for the labor at hand and will have to wait for a quieter moment.
My father's dying continues to be slow and steady. He is losing weight, eating less, and sleeping more. His train of thought is increasingly shorter, disjointed, and tangential. His heart continues to be open and grief-filled. He spoke at the memorial in his wheelchair, trembling, and stumbling towards redemption.
Being "back" at what I have called home in these week-long bursts is quite revealing. So many things seem irrelevant and inconsequential. Mercifully, there are few around me who require that I "get back to normal.” My consideration on this matter goes something like this: 18 months after my father dies, I will have some idea of what aspects of my previous way of being I will want to embrace and which I will say "thank you and good-bye" to, no longer being relevant. Until then, I proceed one day at time, understanding that if today is "my day," it should be able to stand for what my life has entailed.
Attached you will find a .pdf of the article which Stephen wrote for a very medical palliative care textbook. In looking over the whole book, it seems quite out of place. It was published in 2007 and written during the time in which Griefwalker was being filmed. Many consistent themes are present. There is a story at the end about a Buddhist priest which I don't remember ever hearing. It is about the necessary courage and the need for direct action in the proposition of a "good death.”
Until next time…
Brian