I WILL FOLLOW YOU INTO THE DARK

“ Love of mine, someday you will die
But I’ll be close behind and I’ll follow you into the dark”

I WILL FOLLOW YOU INTO THE DARK — DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE

There is something about watching your once strong father being wheeled away on a gurney into a truly unremarkable, sterile operating theatre. It’s not that I haven’t thought about what it would be like to lose him. In fact, it is something that plagues me almost daily. There is some childlike innocence in me that seems to believe that he will live forever. Even though he keeps telling me I need to be prepared. How do you prepare? I don’t understand. I wish I had the words to describe this feeling inside me. This gripping fear, but when I try to analyse the feeling, I have no clue what the fear is of.

In the wake of recent deaths, you wonder. Is it the way they die? I mean, the fact that it is a “peaceful” death — what does that even mean? They didn’t suffer — is often the response, and as a result you should feel some gratitude. WTF? Seriously. They died. That’s it. How, why, who, what, where, when — does it matter? Does it truly bring the ones left behind any semblance of peace with this death concept?

Then there is this other thing, the words “sorry for your loss.” I can’t even begin to describe the rage that builds up inside of me when I hear these words. You didn’t lose them. They didn’t just walk out the door and not come back. They are irrevocably gone. Mind, body, spirit. I know we are conditioned to use these words. But truthfully, I would rather you not say anything at all. “Be strong” — I mean WHAT? Break this down for me please — what does being strong look like? My absolute vulnerability in what I can only imagine will be the most heart wrenching experience of my life? Is it no tears? Is it no loud, guttural cries that only my soul knows? Is it moving on swiftly and learning to adapt to some new normalcy? What?

How do you reconcile the thought that you will never hear that voice again? Feel those arms around you. Sit at a dining table and shoot the shit. Have a drink together. The smell. It’s gone. That look in their eyes of pure love. How do you learn the skill to deal?

The world moves on quickly once the protocols of death are observed. Each culture handling the details and then everyone leaves. They have lives to live. They go on. No clue what grief really looks like — as I believe there is an element of auto pilot that kicks in and you are literally putting one foot in front of the other. So as the cultural mourning period ends, isn’t that truly when ours starts? And does it ever go away? Will it?

I am used to sadness and darkness in my life. Depression does that. But this — the reality that I know I will have to face — to lose one of my parents? It breaks something in me every time I think about it. Facing their mortality is not a skill I learned. Maybe that’s why people turn to religion or spirituality. It gives them some cornerstone of faith to hold onto when everything around you has shattered. And yet, everyone I know — has been through some form of this. Everyone.

My mind falls into a tailspin knowing it happens to everyone right? It is most assuredly going to happen to me. I ask my husband over and over — what does it feel like? I ask because I am trying to be prepared in some way. It’s absurd right? You can never be prepared.

Life them seems to be whittled down to dates. Their birthday, valentines day, anniversaries, death dates, and on those days somehow the wave of grief is more pronounced. An entire person’s life, marked in their death by the one thing they have lost — time.

What is a beautiful funeral? I myself have said this. That is was peaceful? That the family that is being ripped apart by death manages to keep their shit together for the masses? I mean — was it the tents? Were they pretty? The music? The fact that so many people came? Does it give you comfort to know that so many hearts are breaking? These people — whilst they are not family have strong bonds with the deceased most times. Their hearts are breaking.

Let me not lie, whenever I hear about a death — you want to know what my absolute first thought is? Thank god — it’s not happening to me. There is this sense of huge relief in that one split second of a moment that allows for gratitude. The next second, I go into full empathy mode. Interesting that is. I have no clue what it feels like, yet somehow, I can feel it? My heart breaks for you. For your loss — because there is a piece of me, that has gone to the darkest space in my world where I can only imagine. Imagination can be blessing and a curse. It drops you into the abyss of wandering what it will feel like. So, in a way, maybe I am not grieving for you — maybe I am preponing my grief?

As I write this, I can feel the overwhelming fear. My tears streaming down my face — praying I never have to feel this for real. Maybe my imagination is worse. So I guess, the lyrics are true, someday you will die and I will follow you into the dark.