by Paul Puckett
It took me a day to decide whether to share my
experience with grief.
The grief was recent and powerful. At the
end, it was life changing. The experience was not something I would wish
on anyone, even though it helped me become a better person. But maybe
sharing it in an open forum will be helpful to those that may have had similar
experiences or to those who have children who need to deal with their
grief. With that in mind, here is my story about grief postponed.
Over the course of my 48 years, people have
sometimes commented that I seemed to always be angry about something. I
figured that they misinterpreted passionate discussion for anger and often
tried to modify my own behavior to help those around me feel more
comfortable. Fortunately, I was born with a knack for humor, some would
say a knack for attempting humor, so I could cover some of my passion with something
funny. In hindsight, I was angry for over forty years, but never really
knew it.
A few years ago, I began writing my first book
which came out this past April. It deals with fear and in writing it, I began
to confront my own fears. In the introduction, I wrote about my fear of flying,
which thankfully is no longer an issue for me. As many of you know, writing a
book requires an opening and examination of your soul. I think the book
brought me to the point where the grief that was in me decided to make itself
known.
In August of this year, I realized that with
every passing moment I was getting more and more angry. I released it on
other drivers and anyone who made the mistake of being in my vicinity. As
I became more aware of it taking over me, I decided to ask my counselor, who
helped me through a divorce several years ago, why I was angry. She
smiled and asked me if anything was off-limits. Confused and exhausted, I
said "No, you can ask me anything." She smiled gently and asked,
"Paul, tell me about your sister Beth." After ten or twelve
minutes of uncontrollable crying, I was able to respond with "What was
that?" and she told me that it was over forty years of blocked
grief. She suggested I take some time off, get some exercise, stay
hydrated, and let the grief flow.
It was all consuming for several days. I
forgot to eat and spent a lot of time riding my bike all over town.
Blocked memories of my sister flooded back in vivid color. She had read
me to sleep at night, driven me around in the car, and been like a second
mother. Guilt for not remembering this was, fortunately,
short-lived. After a hurricane of emotion, I found myself walking down to
the Chesapeake Bay near my condo and, at two in the morning, I finally said
goodbye to a sister that loved me.
Beth had gone on a date, her senior year in
February of 1968, and she never made it back. A Florida thunderstorm
made the road
disappear and her date turned the car to go down a street in my hometown.
Back in 1968, there were several small bridges that didn’t have guard rails and
he turned, not onto a street, but into a thirty foot deep ditch. There
was no way he could have seen it and the street lights made the ditch look like
a street in the downpour. He survived with a broken rib while she died instantly.
I’ve always wanted him to know that I know that it wasn’t his fault.
I’m the son of a Baptist Minister of Music and
my mother was the church organist. Given our belief that heaven was a
better place, it never occurred to anyone that we should grieve. Beth had
gone to a better place and she was happy there. Me, well I was a six year
old little boy, with no clue of what had happened or why.
In 1990, when my Mom was in remission from
lymphoma, she wrote a book, Prunes, Pride, and Vinegar Pie so that when I had
children, they would one day know their grandmother. In the book, my mom
told the story about my sister’s funeral. After the graveside portion of
the service, we all got into the big black limo, which I now remember vividly
after years of blocking it. My grandmother said to my mom, "You know
if I could ask God to let Beth come back, I wouldn’t, because I know how happy
she is in heaven." My mom says that my little voice came from the
back of the limo and said, "I would!” Remembering it, as I can now,
that moment describes a big part of who I am now.
If you have a child that loses a loved one,
help them understand the need to grieve. If you are a parent who lost a
child, let your other children see your grief and help them with theirs.
Death is a part of life, and grief is a part of death. As difficult as it
can be, it is better to go through it than to postpone it.
My parents did what they
thought was right. In 1968, they had no way of knowing all the things
that we know now about the impact of blocked grief. I love my dad and I
loved my mom who passed away on my thirty-third birthday and was buried on
Beth’s birthday just four days later. It was in September, maybe that is
why it all came back this past August.
*See "Blessed Assurance" (same subject and person to which this article refers)
No comments:
Post a Comment