I'm planning my first husband's online memorial, coinciding with the year anniversary of his death. Last April, Covid had just struck with a vengeance, with the world fully shutting down, so when he passed, alone in the hospital, we were all in shock, from the quickness of his decline as well as the strange new world we'd woken up in.

There is something to be said about knowing your time is approaching. Because we had the prognosis, he was able to make arrangements, including pre-paying his cremation expense. When we met a cousin at the funeral home used by his family, the discussion came around to what type of service he might want (this was pre-pandemic). His reply, whispered in my ear, was "Tell them I don't give a fuck because I'll be dead." My mother shared a similar sentiment when I asked if she was ok that I was taking a quick trip to New Mexico while she was on hospice. Her reply was that she'd either be there when I got back, or not, and if not, she wouldn't know the difference. 

So, to the person facing their demise, it may not matter what happens after (though the pyramids are evidence of otherwise for some). But, I have come to understand the importance of ritual to those of us left behind. Not all traditions are worth carrying forward, but there are reasons we humans have rites and ceremonies attached to life's big events, whether birth, marriage or death. (Where we fall short in western culture is a rite of passage to adulthood). Ritual helps bridge the gap between what was and what lies ahead. In the case of death, ceremony helps provide a sense of closure, a formal farewell, shared with members of the community, however that is defined.

I think of the times we've come together as a recovery community, whether in traditional church funerals, with a large 12-Step meeting, or maybe a smudge ceremony with a small group of women after a death, or the ending of an important relationship. Sometimes the ritual is personal, lighting candles and writing, alone on my bench. 

I learned the importance of ritual the hard way when my dad died. He was adamant about not wanting any sort of service, and we followed his wishes. One day my dad was alive, though barely, in the hospital, and then he was gone. For three years, I dreamt of him nightly, always afraid he'd realize he was dead and stop talking to me. Finally, I started seeing a counselor for depression, after bursting into tears while driving to the store. Within a few sessions, she led me through an empty chair exercise, where I imagined saying good-bye to my father. I stopped dreaming about him immediately. 

Good-byes matter. Letting go matters. It's not that the grieving stops with farewells, but there is a psychic admission of the finality that comes with ceremony. Life goes on. My heart still aches. And, I am comforted by words and tears shared.

I'm honored to be an active participant in the planning of this memorial, having known the man since I was fifteen, for at least 10 years before his psychotic break, and having spent the last few years going out to eat and to doctor appointments, dragging him to reunions and over for Thanksgiving dinner. It is a gift of healing that I can write his tribute/obituary, having gone from teenage romance to difficult parting, to strong friendship. Once family, always family. In this process, I strive to balance out my desire to "do it right" with my own feelings of loss. I miss him.

I recently saw this on social media: "What happens after you die? Lots of things - you just won't be here to see them."  A good reminder to live fully, today.

What are the losses you've experienced during this time of social distancing? How can you honor and acknowledge your grief, either formally or on your own? Where have you experienced healing in old relationships? Is there any unfinished business in that department?

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery”  -  a 78 page spiral bound workbook, 8 ½ x11, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view, processing questions, and space for writing.  (See the 11/17/20 blog entry  for a chapter sample) 

Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION of this page, at www.soberlongtime.com  to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information. (my apologies, but with the link, you can only order 1 workbook at a time). ( I offer a price break for locals who can pick up their copy - $15)