By Daniel Dunaief
In the best of times, we have the prvilege of living with a lightness of being.
We can anticipate events, opportunities and interactions that we find satisfying or that give us pleasure, like an enjoyable meal, great company, or entertaining or rewarding activities.
In the worst of times, sunlight can seem unbearably harsh to our eyes, the smiles and laughter of other people can feel like they are mocking our misfortune, leaving us isolated, alone and untethered.
Recently, tragedy struck a family we know well, as a member of the family in his 20’s died unexpectedly.
The ripples of that loss spread quickly, affecting everyone who had the privlege of knowing that person far too briefly and who had shared blissful moments without realizing how transient they were. That included siblings who learned of his death while away at college.
The loss had echoes with my own life, as I received a call from my family in my sophomore year. When I returned to my room after studying for a physics midterm, my roommate told me to call home regardless of the time.
My fingers twitched as I dialed the phone. My father had died.
While the memory of the oxygen-sucking reality of that moment has stayed with me decades later, I recognize that my father, who died earlier than the parents of almost all of my friends, lived much longer than this young person who was preparing to graduate from college.
So many moments after that loss and the discomfort it created have stayed with me over the years, even as time has allowed me to focus more on the memories and experiences I had rather than on the agony of what I’d lost.
I remember looking at the happy, worried, excited and normal faces of people in dining halls as I grappled with the reality of a present and future without the possibility of interacting with my father.
Soon after his death, people who knew me or were in the broader circle of friends, gave me “the look.” Some of them said they were so sorry and told me how unfair it all was. Not knowing what to say or how to act, others walked in the other direction or turned around when they saw me. Of course, some of that likely had nothing to do with me, as they might have forgotten a paper they printed out on their desk or realized that it was too cold to walk outside without a heavier jacket.
Even mundane activities seemed to raise questions. Should I shave, should I take a walk or a run, how much did I really care about succeeding on a test, or taking any of the next steps in what felt like an unfamiliar life?
Even the few times I managed to smile in the days after his death, I felt guilty. Was I allowed to be happy so soon after his death?
In those awful first few weeks of pain and numbness, friends who took me to lunch, listened or stayed by my side while I stared out a window provided some measure of comfort and connection.
The shocking relief I felt at meeting someone new, who didn’t know my story and wasn’t still giving me “the look,” was extraordinary.
New people weren’t sorry and didn’t know or see the cloud that rained grief and dumped freezing rain over my head regularly.
Time helped, but so did unexpected moments of escape from the loss, a sense of purpose that came from knowing how my father would have wanted me to live, and an awareness that everyone isn’t living their happily ever after all the time.
Other people are persevering through their challenges, losses, and difficulties. My loss and grief weren’t any less real, but they also weren’t so exclusive or blatanlty unfair.
While I still feel the loss of all the things that would have given my father joy, like meeting my wife or making his grandchildren laugh or the way he made me smile even when I was marinating in my moody teenager phase, I know that I and so many others, including our family friends, are not alone in living our fractured fairy tales.
The days ahead for the family will undoubtedly include difficulties. People who know them can help by checking in and offering ongoing support. At some point hopefully before too long, they may find themselves smiling. They may realize that they are not forgetting or being disrespectful, but they are allowing themselves to breathe in a moment of sunshine, which they can share, in their own way, with the memory of their loved ones.
