Grief factor: Coping with death of dear friend left her facing one unexpected emotion
This is going to be difficult to write, not just because its subject is death, but because it involves a feeling that comes to some who are left behind.
Guilt.
When our friend died last month, way before her old age came, we woke up the next day and had to keep living. Not until a few days later did I begin to wonder why I felt — in addition to profound sadness for her husband, children, mother, sister and other relatives — an unfamiliar yet persevering sense of guilt.
I’m sure there are books written about this, and many hours spent on couches discussing it with learned professionals. I found that I couldn’t name it until another friend, whose husband had recently died, called to see how I was doing. Without having talked with anyone else about it until then, I said that I felt guilty.
Having gone through it, she knew exactly what I meant.
The person who died was a close friend, who in the early years of our friendship shared Jewish traditions, stories, and recipes with me. Her parents lived in town, and mine didn’t, so we spent a lot of time together with her extended family. She was younger than me, a good storyteller and vivacious. Her mother and grandmother generously shared their expertise with me, a novice in an adopted religion.
After she learned that our friend had died, one daughter remembered that when young, she assumed we were related because our families spent so much time together.
As the years passed, we didn’t do as many kid things together, but shared Royals tickets and enjoyed girls’ nights out. She began a job that she loved, and we still texted and talked, but mainly caught up instead of spending the hours we had long ago, chatting over one of our kitchen tables. I believe the term is, life goes on. What an ironic phrase to describe both before and after she passed away.
For example, despite the awful fact that she is gone, everyone who was part of her life has to keep going. Her husband has to figure out how to do it. Her children and other close family and friends have to figure it out.
When I blurted out to my other friend about my guilty feelings, she wasn’t surprised. What is the perfect last thing to say after you meet with a friend who is ill or hurting? Do we leave someone’s side leaving important things unsaid? We may avoid mentioning death, even when it’s a possibility, out of superstition or to avoid spreading an unhealthy negative vibe.
I may have guilt because during her long illness, I made myself believe that she was going to pull through, mainly because we all wanted her to. She fought as hard as anyone could. She had as clear an understanding of her situation as her educated questions could provide. She emailed complicated updated explanations of it, and she very convincingly imagined overcoming it. I can’t say that she ever seemed to stop hoping.
When I write those words, I detect the possible origin of my unease. I wonder if I just gave up when I heard what she was facing, despite her positivity. I asked every day how she was doing, yet there was nothing I could do to understand or help. Loving her as the dear friend she was, remembering her smile, is what we have left, and it has to replace the doubts and the unfinished conversations.
I don’t expect to ever understand death, and life is even more complicated.
