Let's Talk About Death

Why? Do we have to? Can’t we talk about something more uplifting? Most people I have met don’t like to discuss death. We do ourselves a huge disservice by avoiding conversation about the only thing besides birth that every single human being is guaranteed to experience. So I say, let’s talk. Not about the stages of grief, not by using abstract terms or common platitudes, but let’s share the lessons that grief and loss have taught us. I will use the experience of losing my 39-year-old husband in a bicycling accident and the stories of love and loss I have gathered from men and women all over the world to facilitate conversation about how losing someone we loved changed our lives. And I am willing to bet that you will feel yourself being lifted by the stories you find here. Grief changes us; sometimes even for the better.

Michele Neff Hernandez is the Executive Director of the Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation. Visit www.sslf.org if you or someone you love needs support as they grieve the loss of someone they love.

Let's Talk About Death | 06/14/2009 11:00 pm

My Inner Voice

Decision making was never difficult for me. Options don’t often confuse me, and once I have made a choice I rarely question myself. Over my lifetime I have come to realize that many people engage in a mental wrestling match with every decision they make, and I have regularly been grateful that my mind and I generally agree pretty quickly. And then came widowhood.

One of the most disturbing aspects of widowhood for me was the about-face I experienced in my decision-making abilities. My previously certain mind betrayed me at every turn. When your spouse dies, an avalanche of decisions that must be made immediately begins, and then an ongoing slide of questions to be answered by the last person standing continues. The first heart-wrenching choices to be made included: whether or not to donate his organs (you have to make this one in less than 24 hours), burial vs. cremation, what type and how many memorial services to have – and will you be purchasing a monument, Mrs. Hernandez? Once these choices were made I began to second guess each one asking myself repeatedly if I made the right choice.

The decision-making process did not get any easier as the weeks and months passed. I discovered that I was entering the wrestling match of the uncertain on a daily basis without regard for the importance of the choice to be made. Was I doing this task correctly? Should I purchase the blue or the brown sheet set? Water the grass every other day or every third day? One minute option A seemed best; the next minute I was more inclined to go with option B. I found myself seeking advice on choices large or small, allowing myself to be swayed toward my advisor’s way of thinking regardless of what my own instincts were telling me. Buy a new fence or fix the old? Sell Phil’s truck or keep it? Get a gardener or teach the kids how to mow the lawn? Vacation or no vacation? The list went on and on … making a decision of any sort became a monumental effort. I lost confidence in myself, and began to believe that everyone else knew what I needed better than I did. Until one day when a well-meaning friend stepped over the line regarding my privacy, and a little voice sounded inside my head: "He did not just do that!" Hearing the familiar sound of my own voice, I realized in one mind-blowing moment how much of my daily life I was allowing to be determined by what other people thought, felt, knew, said or sometimes even ordered. The silence of my inner voice suddenly became deafening.

The truth is our inner voice still speaks while we are grieving, but sometimes we can’t hear her over the din created by sorrow. The initial realization that we are no longer a part of a couple often begins an all-consuming tempest inside of us. But at the eye of the storm still rests the core of our being. That innermost self still knows what we need. When I first became aware that I was abdicating my right to run my own life, I asked myself the question: "Who are you?" I didn’t recognize the woman I saw in the mirror, because I allowed her voice to be silenced by grief.

19 Reader Comments (so far…) Sign In or Register to comment

Michele I am sorry for your loss. I"ve been close to death a few times, and I"ve buried everyone who was an adult of my childhood.

I honestly don’t think I can go to another furneral, or be asked to put it all together. I’ve lost everyone I cared about, but my children.

I just pray to God to let me go before them.

By Deniseann Taylor on 06/15/2009 3:59 am

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I am very sorry for your loss. I sincerely hope that you will oneday be able to find joy in living and embrace it as strongly as you embrace the constant topic of death. My prayers are with you.

I believe it is very important to face the reality of death and to prepare for the future by putting ones business in order. It is also frustrating to have to make sense out of chaos left behind by loved ones! … I believe while we have our health we should give instructions to those we choose to be our voice. We can also be our own voice by leaving a visual and verbal recording of our wishes.

I am a firm believer in not waiting for my death to give gifts.

I choose to live a comfortable but simplistic lifestyle. I choose not to burden myself with a lot of material goods. I have what I use and those things which bring my life joy and meaning.

I respect the author of this article right to grief for as long as she wishes and to invite discussions of death. However, if on is not careful it can also become an unhealthy obsession.

We love and lose our loved ones yet we must also learn to move on. Life is for living and I am certain my loved ones want that for me and not for my life on earth to become an ongoing memorium to them. We honor their memories in our heart.

I respect the grieving process and I am not afraid nor do I run from death as a reality. I must also state that I have no desire to encourage others to spend the rest of their lives mourning their dead. I have heard of cases where some people are in the same place thirty years later. I want to live not die of grief. I know the value and how precious life is and opt to go on.

I choose to rejoice when I learn of someones fight to continue living even while their heart is breaking. There’s no Emotional or PROFIT Motive for me in Capitalizing on the grief of others!

By L. C. on 06/15/2009 5:51 am

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I am not implying there is one for the author!

#1 I believe the purpose of this discussion should be the helping of others to come to grips with death.

#2 The encouraging of others to listen to their inner voice.

#3 Developing an awareness that it is okay to grieve.

#4 Developing an awareness that you will heal and be able to go on living.

#5 Choosing to live does not mean you have forgotten your deceased love one(s).

By L. C. on 06/15/2009 6:03 am

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Loved this Michele. Glad you are listening (at least sometimes!) to your inner voice again. Looking forward to future topics.

By Michelle Dippel on 06/15/2009 6:36 am

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I think my daughter who had lost her fiance has found her inner voice too. The pain of her loss will never go away, but she has moved on and looks back on her relationship with wonderful memories. She once said what was very hard, was her friends would never bring up her fiance’s name when they were around her, for fear of upsetting her, and she said she wanted nothing more than to talk about him and laugh and remember the good times they all had with him. I think since her and her friends were all so very young to experience death of a loved one and friend, no one really knew how to respond or act. She and his brothers have an annual memorial golf tournament each year around the time of his birthdate, and this has been very healing for all family and friends….it’s a day we all remember how a great young man he was and share stories that make us laugh and cry. Grief doesn’t have to last forever…..my daughter’s inner voice is telling her that. Thank you Michele for sharing your story…I always copy it and send it to my daughter.

By Libra Lady on 06/15/2009 8:34 am

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Libra: Left a reply to you on the Liz Peek thread.

By phyllis Doyle Pepe on 06/15/2009 8:45 am

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Sorry for your loss, Michele Neff Hernandez. Glad you have found your footing again. But I must say, talking about one’s "inner voice" in the third person strikes me as very odd. But I guess if it works for you …

By rocky rocky on 06/15/2009 9:25 am

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Rocky: Reading Michele’s soliloquy with her "inner voice" is like listening to people who claim a divine entity is speaking to them or guiding them. How refreshing to know it’s her OWN voice that propels her, that guides her, that she listens to. Writers and artists refer to these voices as their Muse.

By phyllis Doyle Pepe on 06/15/2009 9:49 am

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Michele -

Thank you for your words. I loved reading your post. I lost my husband to pancreatic cancer 6 years ago this past Christmas. He was 42. We had 3 young children. I have followed my heart back to my art, writing, humor…and a house near the ocean in Maine. Trusting our inner voice is where all of our power and healing lies. I have a project called "The Irreverent Widow Project" where I share my stories via my art, words and public presentations. I honor the life Drew and I shared and the love we had for one another, and for our children. My sense of humor and optimism is what has gotten me to where I am now. It’s wonderful to be who you truly are and to connect with others to help heal, inspire, educate and open doors of communication around a topic no one wants to discuss of martinis. Death is SO in need of a make-over!

I hope you’ll enjoy the free stories on my site. Widows are some of the funniest women I know. ;)

Best to you,

Sandi Amorello, www.irreverentwidow.com

By Sandi Amorello on 06/15/2009 1:04 pm

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The other day my cousin emailed and confessed she was down in the dumps from all the funerals she has attended this month so far. I could relate, as I will be attending two this week myself.

Having lost those closest to me, it doesn’t get any easier going to funerals and wakes. It drags up emotions I thought I had put to rest….at least for a little while.

About that inner voice. It’s really not mine alone. It’s part me, part my mother’s, whose values are imprinted deeply in my soul. After she passed on she found a way to still connect, it would seem, by taking over more of the voice track.

"Don’t buy that jacket, Andrea. You’ll be forever dry cleaning it," I’d hear inside my head while shopping. Or she’d admonish me, "Call your Aunt Margie." And then there’s Mom’s sharp guilt-trip voice, "Andrea!!!!" when I’m doing something I shouldn’t. How one woman has the power to make me feel like a five year old again - imagine that!

When things aren’t going well, it’s my mother’s soft, soothing voice telling me all will be well. She’s always right. The woman is so wise. Fifteen years gone and I still miss her. But mothers never really leave, do they?

And so it contents me to let Mom have the majority ownership of my inner voice. No matter that very little of it is mine. After all, I am my mother’s daughter.

By Andrea Brandon on 06/15/2009 2:55 pm

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Easy for you to say Michelle, "decision making is easy", I’ll bet YOU are not a Libra!

By DeBúrca obj on 06/15/2009 6:50 pm

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I’ve been there, the widowhood thing. I was a widow at 41 with 2 children. Not only was I in a state of shock and upheaval, but I was required and expected to make many decisions that I had no experience with. Starting with a funeral, continuing with finding healthcare for myself and my children and paying bills after the main wage earner was gone. Rolling over an investment plan, doing the taxes myself and finding all the paperwork… figuring how to get 2 kids to 2 different schools each morning by myself, handling household repairs and car repairs I had never dealt with before… all this when my mind was in a haze.

By DeBúrca obj on 06/15/2009 6:55 pm

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I think such writing is crap. Joan Didion’s Pulitzer prize piece on the topic is saved by her lack of sentimentality. I’ve lost grandparents, parents, many friends to AIDS for over twenty odd years, friends to random deaths, premature deaths, you name it, and each experience was horrible and terrifying and lonely and mystifying and appalling. What’s to be gained ? A stark reminder of our own future annihilation ? The cruelty of the losses cannot be compared to anything I’ve experienced. Better person ? Hardly. Burdened, maybe, by the shock and permanence of the of the deaths, deaths that took irreplaceable lives from me. Time dulls the sting, but some days are filled with deep, powerful currents of grief that goes no place. Its a change I’d rather do without, had I my druthers.

By Paul Smith on 06/15/2009 7:20 pm

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I could write an encyclopedic set on death A to Z. And please note how I do not go into it here. It isn’t avoidance. What more can I say about it? I put together perfect funerals? I know how to honor the dead?

Many were brutal to deal with on so many levels. What did I learn over time? That there are two kinds of people in the world: those who step up to the plate, face it head on with a crystal clarity, accept through their grief what is going on and how to deal with it, and those who bury their heads ("She’s going to live, isn’t she?") to the others who run away. Physically walk away and leave you dealing with it alone.

So I learned that I have the courage to face really bad "stuff." Want another life lesson about death? Some people view it as the perfect opportunity for sprewing their venom, often right over the coffin at the bereaved. No respect. Gloves off. Open season. You think we’ve advanced over time in civilization? Think again when you watch relatives paw over jewelery and rip plants out of the garden. Wills changed and money left to Miss Bimbo Doo Jour. A period of mourning? Why wait. Go straight to litigation.

By Washington Cube on 06/15/2009 8:00 pm

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I’m sorry for your loss Michele, and I thank you for sharing your story with us.

Over thirty years ago my four year old son died in an accident. Three years after his death, my home was destroyed by a tornado, and within another two years my husband filed for divorce, and I became the single parent of a five year old daughter.

It was years before I made peace with "grief’s slow wisdom." I learned over those many years that my story, though unique, put me in the company of untold numbers of people who had experienced great loss and had found a way to rebuild their lives.

Grief made way for sorrow, and sorrow made way for resolve, and resolve made way for hope. And when I let hope in, I found that even joy was possible.

My blessings include a wonderful daughter, grandchildren, family and friends. I wish you a long life of new joys as you find your way through the healing process.

By alice ruth on 06/15/2009 11:42 pm