HW #21 - Expert #1

Beth Bernett (I believe that was her name) courageously came to our class and shared the experience of caring for, loving, and trying to heal her husband, Erik Wood.  Her words were honest, straight forward, and evidently heartfelt. One important aspect of this several-year-long experience, was that Erik’s memory is positive. Those who knew him remember him as an artist, a father, a neighborhood guardian, an involved community member, tenacious, stoic, a “fighter”. Although he was involved in various familial conflicts and was sometimes far from a peace-maker, the positive parts of his memory are particularly preserved. Beth and Evan (her son) mentioned their collective attitude during their father’s increasing state of illness; I found it intriguing that their family denied the possibility of Erik’s demise until the last months and days of his life. If Beth did acknowledge such a possibility, she did not speak of it, especially to Erik. If Erik wanted to pretend that he didn’t have cancer or that it would not kill him, Beth figured, why not let him play along and thrive on his positive energy? Beth seemed very at peace about the loss of her husband and friend; she showed no anger while telling her story except perhaps while verbally regretting their failure to buy insurance, or while reliving the inhumane care in the hospital. Her voice cracked a few times, but her sorrow did not overcome her demeanor. She has accepted that Erik is dead, that she does not know if she will be with him again, that his demise was an inescapable part of life, and that he was neither a saint nor a complete antagonist.

                In my experiences with loss, I have found that it is often best to face its potential from the beginning and let oneself feel. When my pets died and when I lost touch with certain treasured friends at one point, I responded by pretending that it either had not happened or that the occurrence did not bother me. I, like many other people I have seen in life or in literature and the media, often fall into a state of denial over potential loss. This is in a sense making oneself numb as protection.  This seems to be what Erik’s family did for the first several years of his illness; they pretended he would stay alive forever. Because doing this made me more bitter and guarded, I can infer that Evan and Beth did eventually come to terms with the inevitability of Erik’s death, and allowed themselves to feel the grief that accompanied this acknowledgement. If they had pretended that everything was peachy during the duration of Erik’s illness, perhaps they would be bitter now, and would possibly have been unwilling to even speak of this experience during class. I’m glad that Beth and Evan had the courage to deal with their loss in such a direct, honest manner. Beth went into detail describing her husband’s admirable qualities, but did not mention his annoying attributes until questioned further. I also do this in my memory; when I remember my tortoise, I remember the cute way he chomped on lettuce, his patient gait, the way he fit into my palm, his beautiful shell. I don’t immediately recall the odd smell his cage emitted, or the expensive lights required to maintain his optimum environment until I question myself about his unpleasant qualities.

                I was immediately struck after Beth’s presentation by a feeling of rightness, even of beauty. This seemed contradictory to me. How could a story of a valued husband and father dying with his wife at his bedside, after years of fighting cancer, be beautiful or right? I came to realize that my feeling sprung from the way Beth had handled Erik’s death. She grieved, but accepted that he died. I think that there is something almost sweet about pain, because even though pain is an effect of loss, something was there before it was lost. We cannot grieve the loss of something that never was, unless we experienced that something in the first place, or have some inkling of what is missing. Beth’s grief represented  her loving, precious relationship with Erik, and her acceptance of painful experiences as a part of life.  Her pain represents the courage to feel, and THAT is beautiful. I wonder why people generally only speak of the positive attributes of those who have “passed away”. Perhaps they feel that it is unfair to speak badly of someone who has no chance of standing up for himself. Perhaps sweet memories simply make people happy, so that’s what they choose to remember. I appreciate that Beth mentioned both the good and the bad aspects of Erik’s personality, because it helped me and my peers to understand the experience more fully, because it took significant bravery, and because I think it is a honest and respectful way to remember someone.