Tag Archives: loss

Happy 72nd Birthday, Popi

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Popi

Popi

Dear Popi,

It’s been over a year since we lost you. It feels like it was yesterday, but at the same time, it feels like a year. So much has changed in the last year, for better and for worse. What hasn’t changed is that you’re still not here. That sucks. It still hurts, but it’s hurting a little less now. I never thought I’d be able to say that, and maybe I won’t be able to say it tomorrow, but I’m happy to be able to say it today. I still miss you, though, and still wish you were here. That will never change.

I wanted to do a cake for you again this year, but by the time I thought to say something to Noni, she had already gone up to Camp for the weekend, and now tonight everyone is out, anyway. Still, I don’t need a cake and a gathering to celebrate your birthday. I refuse to celebrate the day you died — even when Noni refers to it as your rebirthday — but I also refuse to not celebrate the day you were born. Even though there’s no cake and no candles, I can still wish that wherever you are, you are happy, and that we will meet again someday.

Happy birthday, Popi.

Love,
Your “Pumpkin”

If you badmouth a family's way of grieving for their child, you are a piece of shit

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You don’t have to agree with it. You don’t have to like it. And you certainly don’t have to watch or look at it. But if you badmouth someone’s way of grieving the loss of their loved one, you are low.

Everyone grieves differently. If a family wants to take a photo with their deceased child’s body, then let them. Let them do it in peace.

I’m disgusted that one of the Trending Topics on Twitter tonight is “DEAD BABY,” and most of the tweets are people calling this family “ignorant,” and “fuckers.” You are ignorant, for saying horrible things about the way a family is grieving a child.

When my grandfather died, I went downstairs that morning and kissed his face. I knew that was the last chance I was going to get to kiss his face, so I made sure I did it.

If you knew that you had one last chance to hold your child, you would do it, too.

There is more loss to come

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Any time there is a tragedy, my family gathers. The room fills with warmth, light, love, and even though we might be hurting, together we are whole.

My dad’s family is full of some of my favorite people. Even our extended family — those not related to us by blood — I consider family. We eat, drink coffee and wine, laugh, and cry. We might all be feeling somber, but the mood is light, and my spirits always lift.

When we lost Popi, these were the same people who brought and sent us food. They came to say hello, and shared time with us.

My memories are full of large family gatherings. Even in the bad memories, I am surrounded by these wonderful people. They are always there to share the moment, whether it’s celebration or grief.

It scares me that one day, I will be much older and none of these people will be around for me to share these times with. I yearned for years to be grown up — whatever that means — but I find that as I grow older, I pay a high price. While Brian’s death was not natural and nowhere near his time, and Popi’s was also too soon, I know that eventually, we all grow old. We all die. It’s nice to believe that there is a heaven or next life where we all gather again, but I don’t know at all whether these things are true. Life without Popi and the others I hold dear is so empty. In fact, I still find myself referring to Popi as if he were still here. My mind, it seems, cannot catch up with reality.

Who is next? I wonder. I know that’s an awfully morbid thing to think, but I can’t help it. I selfishly want to keep everyone with me. I cannot accept that there is an end. I don’t want to. I often find myself wrapped up in the beautiful moments we are all together — moments with friends, family, Michael. When I come out of those moments and the realization of how preciously short life is hits me again, I feel the hole tearing open. Because as much as I miss Popi, and as sad as every other loss has made me, I know there is more to come.

How can any of us live knowing that?

Brian

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I’ve been wanting to write, but every time I sit down to do so, my mind goes blank.

Friday was my first day at my new job… and it was also the night I found out my dad’s cousin Brian had died the night before.

We knew it would probably happen, but I think it’s still a shock for all of us. He was only forty-three — three years older than my dad. He was so young and so lost… It’s heartbreaking.

I went to the wake last night. I usually avoid the coffin because the person never looks like they did, but Brian looked pretty close. He just looked like he was sleeping.

I wasn’t close to Brian, but my dad was before Brian got so into drugs. The funeral is this morning. I didn’t have enough notice to take the day off, and everyone says it’s okay, but I still wish I was there. When I left the house, my dad looked so sad. He’s got my mom and the rest of our family with him, but still. I wish I could be there.

I’m never going to get used to losing people. I still have a huge gash in my heart from losing Popi. I’m not paralyzed with it, but it’s still like torture.

I wish people didn’t have to die.