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Author
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Topic: Burials and Understandings (February 2001)
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Kevin Ott
True Believer
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posted 02-04-2001 10:05 PM
   
The February Life in Practice update is now up. |
Pattie Gillett
True Believer
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posted 02-04-2001 10:06 PM
With death, it truly is hard to make comparisons. While some may say that not two people respond in quite the same way, I’ve found that I don’t respond in remotely the same way to the deaths of separate loved ones. Kevin made the parallel between the expectation of his grandmother’s death and the reality of his pet’s. Now there are many that might berate him for equating the two but that really isn’t fair. Grief isn’t scientific or logical.
Five years ago, my grandfather died, that is, my paternal grandfather. My parents left the country to attend his funeral but I did not. Truth be told, while I was sad, my grandfather’s presence in my life had always been so remote that I could not bring myself to grieve. Later, when I found out how traumatic the event had been for my father (like most daughters, I had lived with the assumption that nothing could make my daddy cry), I felt like the slime of the universe for not shedding a tear.
Two years later, we lost my maternal grandfather. I was inconsolable. This was the man who had taught me how to swim and explained the designated hitter rule to me every day for weeks until I understood it. I rearranged my exams to be able to make a flight to say my good-byes. Even though it's been three years, to paraphrase Kevin, I’m still not fully dry. There are times when even something like a recipe he was particularly good at making or an episode of I Love Lucy he may have particularly liked will send me tumbling down.
Two men who, as far as bloodlines are concerned, were equal; one’s passing barely penetrated my radar while I’ll likely be grieving for the other for the rest of my life. It certainly has to do with the impact one man had in my life over the other and, in my head, I understand that. But with so many rituals involving death, and so many well-intentioned people seeking to make sense of your grief, it’s hard not to fee guilty for you own feelings. And guilt and grief are a terrible combination. |
Dave Thomer
Guardian of Peace and Justice in the Galaxy
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posted 02-04-2001 10:06 PM
We never had a dog or a cat when I was a kid. (My family has had a few cats since I was in high school. They also waited until I left for college to get cable TV. I'm not bitter.) I had a couple of pet chameleon-like lizards. My brother's pet frog ate one of them, shortly before my other brother's pet turtle either got hit by lightning or ran away, I can't remember which. The other lizard later starved to death -- he apparently was unhappy with the supply of bugs that came from the pet store and the garden in our back yard. (The SPCA has orders to shoot us on sight.)
I think all these failed attempts at pet-having influenced my current antipathy toward the idea of having a pet. I always tend to think more about the effect on my allergies, the cleaning, the smell, etc. than on the whole love-and-companionship thing. (Because really, how much companionship can you get out of a chameleon-like lizard?) But the other thing, and I was struck by this after reading Kev's piece, is that I don't want to get attached to a pet. I don't want to form an attachment to something about which I'm likely to have to make the kind of decision that Kev made about Mavis. There's too much pain, grief and suffering in the world without inviting more on yourself, is what I guess I figure. So I admire Kev for setting himself up for that pain by trying to relieve another creature's suffering, and I really admire the empathy that he shows for what Mavis went through at the end. That's the kind of connection we need to form with each other in order to really form the kind of society that we're shooting for here.
I couldn't help but think of the conversations we've been having on the Philosophy boards . . . the decision that seemed merciful in the case of a cat is one that many people would find repugnant if made about a person. Maybe some would say we shouldn't be making that kind of distinction; I'm not sure. It can be hard to figure out where an animal's actual consciousness ends and our projections and anthropomorphizing begins. Wish I had an answer to that, but I don't.
I also really appreciated the way Kev made the connection between his current situation and other kinds of loss and grief, and the acknowledgement that in some situations, we're going to feel pain. The only question is what we do with it. |
Stephanie
One of the Regulars
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posted 02-05-2001 10:27 AM
You're right Dave. There is much grief, loss, and pain when you have a pet. I lost my cat, Zima, in my arms one night. She had been sick and the vet had no idea what was wrong with her. Somehow, she woke me and my sister up in the middle of the night and we just held her and made her last moments as comfortable as we could.
Just this past Thanksgiving, my family lost our dog, Brandy, to cancer. She had it for a while and we had had her taken care of, but it was terminal. We made the decision to keep her with us until her quality of life began to suffer. My baby was only 9 years old. She was fine for a about 6-8 months and in the space of two weeks, it just got to be too much for her. She fell down the stairs, had trouble moving around the yard when she used to run all over the place and make sure that everything was where it's supposed to be. It was funny that on the day we took her to the vet, we let her out in the yard and she went over the whole thing, almost like she was saying her goodbyes. My mom and I stayed with her in the office and we were just like Kevin described, a mess.
Yet the pain we've had with her passing, is completely overshadowed by the joy and love we've had with her for the past 9 years. She was our baby, probably the smartest and funniest dog that ever existed. (She had quite the sense of humor.)
It's like Pattie said, (paraphrasing), that you can't equate two deaths by putting a human a pet or another person. My paternal grandfather died when I was little. Probably around 8 years old. My sister and I always used to see him and he would buy us toys. But he wasn't an integral part of our lives. I understood what it meant that he was dead, that I wouldn't see him anymore and I wanted to say goodbye at his funeral but my father did not want his kids to see "death," so my sister and I weren't allowed to go. I was upset but then that passed too. I do feel bad that I hurt more over the deaths of my cat and dog than over my grandparents, but then my pets were my babies, and they were innocent. We took care of them and they were in my life every single day. |
slgorman
One of the Regulars
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posted 02-05-2001 03:04 PM
Where to start. First off, Kevin, excellent piece. You really should have had a disclaimer about tissues. I had to get up and go find some. And now all my co-workers think I'm even stranger than usual, for blubbering at my workstation.I had a cat all through high school. We were best of friends and even shared the same birthday. High school, being what it is (and me, being who I am), was incredibly difficult for me. I know, for a fact, if it weren't for that darned cat I never would have made it through in the relatively good shape I did. That cat curled up to me and slept in my room and licked the tears of painful high school crap off my face every single time I needed her to, without question. When I went away to college (not far from home, but I lived on campus, and who really wants to come home much once they have been away at school for a few months?), that cat would jump on the hood of my car every single time I came home, meowing like the dickens. She even caught me birds and lizards as "coming home" gifts. Of all the people and things I've had contact with in my life, she was the one who never judged me, never turned her back on me, and always loved me with the fullest of hearts. That's why, on occasion, pets can really tug at the heart strings. Even more than people. I think it's the severing of that connection, whether to a human or an animal, that spurs us into such a state of grief. That beautiful love we had, and recieved, is no longer immediately available. And that hurts. As it should, IMVHO. It's one thing that can remind us all of what we have, and be thankful. And if Kevin's piece didn't make you cry, this will. Unless, of course, you don't have a heart. |
Andrew Wester
One of the Regulars
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posted 02-23-2001 02:04 PM
This may be something of interest for those who have lost a beloved pet. The College of Veterinary Medicine at Cornell University runs a Pet Loss Support Hotline.The line is open on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday from 6-9pm EST. Or you can visit their website at http://www.vet.cornell.edu/public/petloss/ Their email address is petloss@cornell.edu I hopes this provides help to those who need it during the difficult time of losing a pet.
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Kevin Ott
True Believer
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posted 06-06-2001 10:16 AM
I thought this post was going to be a lot different.I even had a good lead in mind. I was going to say something like “boy, do I hate being right all the time,” and then launch into a speech about how hard it was to see my grandmother die, and how the intervening days were so disjointed from the rest of my life, and how happy I was in the end because it brought me closer to my family, and made me realize that I need them just as much as I always thought my grandmother needed me. I had it all planned out. For some reason, it wouldn’t come. I would sit down to write it, and I would just feel like I was faking it, like I was trying to dress up an obituary for someone I didn’t know to make that person’s family feel a little better and maybe make someone notice that I’m a halfway decent writer. I felt insincere, like I was wearing clothes that were a size too small and sucking in my gut. A lot has happened to me in the past few months, and for the life of me I’m not sure how much of it was connected to my grandmother’s death. I interviewed for new jobs, fell in love with them and then found out how disillusioned I was. I rediscovered relationships with friends, found dead ends in some places and explored new back-alleys in others. I remembered just how much I like to learn. I found a lot of anger inside me that really has to be tossed away, but I found even more serenity that needs to be embraced. Something weird happens when you lose someone who you love as much as I love my grandmother: Your emotions, your intellect, your love for the other people in your life, and your realization of who you really are all rush to fill the space, like gas expanding to fill a container. At least, I’m guessing that’s what’s happening. I don’t know – like I said before, Mavis was the first one I’ve ever lost, and there’s a hell of a big difference between a cat you’ve known for two years and a grandmother who helped your single mom raise you. But I think it’s a pretty good estimate. It sneaks up on you. At first, you’re sitting in your car, staring at the steering wheel, wondering how you’ll deal with it (because you know you will, everyone does, you just don’t know how), then you’re laughing with your family and finding things out about them you didn’t know. After a while, you’re remembering a lot of things about yourself that you forgot. I’d like to apologize to everyone for being so incommunicado these past few weeks, and for continuing to be kind of selfish in making my first post in more than a month an introspective rant. I’d also like to thank everyone – particularly Dave and Pattie – for putting up with it. Life has been pretty bizarre for the past few weeks, it’s pretty bizarre now, and I’m sure I haven’t seen anything yet. But damn, does it feel good. I’d forgotten how much of the future that I have to look forward to and shape to fit my needs and desires. It’s pretty cool.
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Dave Thomer
Guardian of Peace and Justice in the Galaxy
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posted 09-24-2001 01:56 AM
I reread Kev's last post on this thread again tonight, and it struck me how grief just forces you through such a gamut of reactions. It can paralyze you, fill you with doubt, and deaden you to the world -- but it can also bring the world into such sharp focus. Human beings really are remarkable creatures.What's really weird is I feel like there's something I really want to say here, and I have no idea what the devil it is. I'm listening to a song by the Badlees right now, about a dying man sharing his last wishes with his son. The refrain goes quote:
I am thinking in ways
I never have before.
I am counting the days
I never have before.
For some reason I feel like all I'm doing right now is counting days. And I'm trying to figure out if that's a natural reaction to everything that's been going on lately, or a sign that something needs to change. When I figure it out, I'll let you know. In the meantime, sorry for babbling. |
slgorman
One of the Regulars
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posted 09-26-2001 02:48 AM
I have the following refrain from the Pretenders "Hymn to Her" stuck in my head since I heard it on Sept. 13
quote:
She will always carry on,
Something is lost, something is found.
They will keep on speaking her name,
Some things change, some stay the same
I was cleaning out my closet and ran across a folder I had gotten when my grandmother passed away about 4 years ago. It had my college graduation announcement from undergrad, my wedding invitation and program, a few letters I had written her, and some other stuff. She's been gone for awhile, but I still miss her. I still wish she would find poems for me to read that suited my moods, like when I was in high school. I just hope she knows all this, because I'm very afraid I didn't tell her enough while she was here.[This message has been edited by slgorman (edited 09-26-2001).] |
Dave Thomer
Guardian of Peace and Justice in the Galaxy
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posted 09-26-2001 01:50 PM
quote:
Originally posted by slgorman:
I just hope she knows all this, because I'm very afraid I didn't tell her enough while she was here.
I don't think anyone ever thinks they said this to the people they care about enough. Which is kind of odd, in a way, because if the people close to us know us, they should know how highly we think of them, which makes you think such sentiments are more for our benefit than theirs . . . but on the other hand, unless someone is exposed to your entire stream of thought, how are they really going to know exactly why and how and how often they touch our lives? No matter how close we get, there's always some distance, and death ensures that that distance never gets any smaller (in this life anyway) -- and that may be the worst part about it. |
slgorman
One of the Regulars
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posted 10-02-2001 02:22 PM
I found this note in a box of letters and stuff the other day. I also found another from my grandma where she talked candidly about her health declining and said I was the only one who understood these things and that she of me as a "pal" more than her two daughters. So maybe she did know, and I shouldn't be so worried. All this digging around in this old stuff had made me sad on the one hand, yet reassured on the other. Damn contrariness of life. | |
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