I've been wanting to write this for ten years. Just be forewarned that it's not about what you're going to think it's about from the next couple of paragraphs.
What it's not about is: death, grieving, my dad. Really.
Note, though, that the five stages of grief as outlined by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross & David Kessler are, in no particular order, Denial, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance, and Anger.
Note also these bare personal facts: my father passed away thirty years ago this past 12 June. He had two heart attacks in one day, it was sudden, and there was no prior medical history to lead us to expect this might happen.
He had just turned forty-eight on 27 May.
I was thirteen years old, and my brothers were ten and four.
But that is not what this series of articles is about.
At the funeral home, at the funeral itself, in the months that followed, we got to hear a lot about those five stages of grief, got to have our every mood and emotional reaction pegged as one of the five.
No-one mentioned one very remarkable thing, though: that those five stages are not just about what you and the other loved ones of the deceased go through. Other people who have never met the person who passed away react the same way. And that's when things can get very, very weird.
This series isn't about me. It's about everyone else.
Because it's about everyone else, I've changed names for the usual reasons. The point isn't to embarrass anyone, although in the case I'm covering in Part 2, I'd like to. The point is to consider other viewpoints.
Some of these examples are understandable. The trick for the survivor is just to ensure they're ready for it when it happens.
Some of these examples are as inexcusable as they are unbelievable. Those are the ones I'm putting first.
Part 1: DenialIt is two years after the funeral. I'm in the second year of high school, as is a classmate I've known since before. One day we're in the corridor at lunchtime, talking to a mutual friend whose parents are divorced. The mutual friend mentions she's going to see her dad on the weekend. He lives in another city now, so she only sees him a few times a year.
Natasha, my classmate, turns to me and says, "How often do you see your dad?"
"Pardon?" I say. The question doesn't make any sense.
"Doesn't he have visitation rights?" she presses.
She rolls her eyes. "Well, I don't think that's right. He's still your dad, and you should be able to see him when you want to."
I finally catch up. "Natasha," I say, "He's dead."
"Whatever," she says, and flounces off with the mutual friend.
There's more to it than that. Not only was Natasha at the recreation centre where my dad had his initial heart attack, not only did she see him borne on a stretcher into an ambulance, but she represented my class at the funeral. She was front-and-centre for the entire event, but here we are two years later, and she's asking about visitation rights. When I confront her later and remind her about the funeral, she just keeps repeating "I don't remember that", as if it makes it true.
Two years later again we're both in senior year and she tells me that once I turn eighteen, any visitation restrictions are null and void. I remind her again of the truth, again she claims not to have lived through her part, and we're back in our starting positions.
Part 2 and a reflection on Parts 1 & 2 will be posted next week.