My little sister Cindy and I stood looking into Tate’s casket on Wednesday night and asked each other, ‘Is this it? I mean, have we actually accepted this? Are we still in denial? Shock?’ Because after the initial horrible-ness of seeing her laid out–actually dead–in the funeral home, we sort of got used to it. It’s just that I KNEW that my sister wasn’t there. It didn’t look like her. It didn’t feel like her. It was like a grim representation of her, like she had put on a freakish Tate costume for halloween.
Not that we didn’t greive. I cried so much over the past few days that my head JUST NOW has stopped hurting. Maybe our bodies can’t take it all in at once. The loss of it all. Sometimes I feel like someone who has lost their leg, but they still feel it itching. I kept looking around the funeral home for Tate to make some comment about something that I knew would make her laugh. All these people came through the line to see her, and for a minute, I forgot why they were there. Some of them I hadn’t seen for years, and I kept yelling out their names like an excited sports announcer. Then I would glance sideways and catch a glimse of Tate in the casket, laying there in her Steelers jersey and realize that maybe I was being too loud. They hadn’t been there for hours and hadn’t seen her in the hospital and the shock of seeing her there didn’t match my excitement of seeing them. It was all so conflicting and bizarre.
I took a walk in the woods today, and it started to rain. I was so comforted by the sound of it and by the dim green softness. I was thinking about heaven, and how it blows my mind that someone I know so imtimately is actually on the other side. I was asking her what it was like, and wondering if she could see me there, in the rain, crying.
I’m not sure how to navigate this grief.
Shelley, your thoughts remind me so much of what I was thinking when my father died. There were so many people there who I knew, who I didn’t know but knew me, who I didn’t remember or hadn’t seen in 15 or more years. It was surreal. It still is. Almost 4 years later and I sometimes see someone who looks like him and I think it is him. I still think I will bump into him at a baseball game, or that he will answer the phone when I call. I think about how he will never sit in my season ticket seats at Fenway, and how much he would enjoy that — and I want to call and tell him to catch the next flight to Boston and I’ll meet him there. I don’t think we ever truly comprehend it. I don’t think we were made to. Indeed, maybe that’s grace. God’s way of telling us to not lose the memory because we’ll see our loved ones again.
My grandmother, too — it was so definitely not her, she looked so fake. No one else in my family felt that way, which made me feel weird.
I think you are doing well — in the sense of you aren’t doing anything wrong, you’re feeling your feelings and noticing and expressing them, you’re not supposed to have a grief to-do list that you can walk through and check things off…
And a Steelers jersey? That’s pretty cool.
It’s weird to me to think about sisters — my relationship with mine is so odd — I don’t hate her, but we’re not close either, and it’s just weird.
I think I am partly just really glad for you that you were close.
Shelley,
Somehow I think she was there in the rain with you…
Maybe the rain was her tears as she watched you trying to make sense of it all. I know this will be a long journey for you. Stay grounded. Stay in touch with people and keep talking. How is Sadie handling all of this? Our thoughts and prayers are with you.
You write so beautifully. You are awesome. I am hurting so much for you.
I agree with Trisha. That was expressed so well Shelley. I’m glad you were able to be so aware at her funeral. As painful as it most definitely must be, I think that your eyes are open and you are processing this in the best way you can. We’re all still praying and still right there with you in spirit. Love you.
My dear,
She is not really gone, as you know. Just gone from here. She moved. That’s all. Love is beautiful.
Elizabeth
Shelley,
I know we have never met or have never spoken but I knew Stacey as an RD at Duquesne that I always enjoyed seeing and talking to when we would see each other on campus whether it be for a duty call or just to say hi on my way to class. I came to the service on Wednesday with fellow RAs and I just wanted to let you know that it was very beautiful, intimate, and insightful. I don’t think Stacey would have wanted it any other way! My thoughts are with you and your family as you continue to cope with her loss, but always remember that she is with you wherever you go and she is with God… She couldn’t be anywhere better than there. I will miss her. God bless!
I’m thinking of you and your family again today.
Karen
What keen insight. I don’t think our bodies can take it all in at once. Your writing is so honest and most times, even now, portrays a bit of hope.
Oh man, I want to hug you. I’m crying for you now. The only word I can think of to describe that amazing entry is “poignant” but it sounds so stuffy, and far from what you are. You’re awesome.
Shelley,
I can’t figure out how to email just you. But I wanted you and Dan to know that we have all been stunned by the news here. Saddened. Grieving for you. Please know that we love you and are praying for you.
Thank you for your willingness to share such a difficult time here. I pray that God fills your time of mourning with his grace and peace.