The second to last time I went to a funeral was nearly 10 years ago. It was my grandmother’s and I was devastated. Even though it was somewhat expected .. having to be the one to ask the ICU doctors to pull the plug was not something I was versed in, nor cared to be. Neither was watching her arms twitch when I spoke to her while in her coma. Nonetheless, there I was. After it was all done, I found myself numb. Too numb from the logistical parts of death to open up any emotional doors. After a day or two, I dreamt of her. She was 18 in my dream.. sitting on the same couch in her ICU room with hair that touched her waistline and youth all over her face. She sat back and exhaled the sweetest sigh of relief as she gently patted and rubbed her throat, “Thank god they took that tube out. I feel so much better now!” My eyes shot open and it was the first time I cried about it all.
A few years ago, I got a text from my dad about my other grandma in the hospital. This one was entirely unexpected which now makes me wonder which side of this all would sit better on the heart. To expect death or to be surprised by it. I’ve come to the conclusion that neither is favorable. After her funeral and burial, she visited my cousins in dreams and shadows. When it was my turn, I fell asleep on the couch, in front of my ofrenda. She visited me in a dream and in said dream, she opened up huge red barn doors for me to walk through. She invited me in as the sun shined brightly behind her, showing me her unmistakable silhouette. As I was entering into the sunlit barn, I woke up. There was peace that came along with her essence and invitation. This time, no tears, just comfort.
This past month, shortly after his birthday, my grandfather went. I spoke to him the day before and we got cut off by the blood that was gushing out of his weakened body. I told him I loved him dearly and we smiled through nervous eyes in hopes that the faith we had would be stronger than life’s garden-keeper. This time, the expectation of what was to come relieved the expected grief and shifted my attention toward his children — my mother being one of them. The secondhand trauma from witnessing his last breaths hit me harder than I anticipated. While I was comforted by the fact that he was no longer in pain, I was debilitated seeing my mom, aunts, and uncles navigate the trauma they were experiencing in real time. Screams and cries from his children and wife filled my ears. The pleads and frustration from them filled my spirit. I was overstimulated by grief that I wasn’t carrying on my own back but felt as vividly as if I were. My calm had no space to exist in a room with a dead body in a casket. Neither did my newfound understanding that death was not a final goodbye but a crossover into the next plain where we receive our next lessons. I felt alone in a packed room as I stared at the many ways grief shows up for people. My learnings: there is no linear way that it shows its face and creates a home in the heart space of those who welcome it. I took the role of a space-holder. Creating space for weary hugs, for forceful pleas, for guttural screams, for the requests to take care of my mother as she navigates the reality of losing both of her parents, for strangers who knew him and regretted not answering his calls in his last few days, and for the smiles of cousins as they took care of the new babies they’ve brought into the world. My last three weeks have consisted of a whirlwind of emotions that any feelings wheel couldn’t even get right.
I didn’t care to decipher what was going on internally. Over-intellectualizing feelings that we all experience yet we experience so differently would’ve done me no good. It wasn’t something I wanted to coach myself through and I had become okay with that. In between the days of feeling the loss were days of disconnection from the reality that felt like gray storm clouds. I filled my time with work, journaling, and conversations with my ever-understanding and validating husband. I found much peace in my understanding of the fact that our souls don’t die and our past loved ones remain with us as long as we welcome them into our spirit teams. And while I sat in that comforting space alone, I also held space for those who felt that the loss of the physical was a full and complete loss of all that the human was. To be here, to be aware, and to remain firm in my new feelings for something I’ve experienced so differently so many times before, felt …. new. Not bad, not good, but new. I’m still in it and I’d like to be without figuring out how to get out of it or even make sense of it.
What I do know is that I’d like to be cremated when I cross over. “Save your money and save your grief because I’m not going to be gone, I’m just going to the next space,” I said to my husband. He smiled, “We’ll throw a party where everyone can share stories, smoke, and dance the night away. That would be a true honor to how you’ve shown up in this world.” I smiled .. it was exactly what I wanted to hear. So when the time comes, please wear your finest wears and enjoy a little dance for me. And if any tears fall, water your plants with them. I promise it’ll make me happy.