Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep

Caitlin's wedding, 2005
Both her late father and I walked her down the aisle.

That was quite a day. First off, it was a 45-minute drive to Kars to have a brief visitation with my ex-late husband.
What a shock. We were married 17 years: 1976 - 1993! 
Patrick Timothy Martin
April 21, 1950 - February 4, 2014

Normally, only the family gathers at the funeral home, and the casket is closed, then the family goes to the Celebration of Life.

Of course there were years of discord, as my first husband and I  navigated our way from me being a  young university student (age 18), when we were married (1976) and moving to Ottawa (1981). I was going out to work as a teacher (I graduated pregnant as he wanted kids, being 6 years older than I), and then separating (1993), and divorcing a couple of years later. I simply couldn't live with him. The Right Fight, as Dr. Phil calls it, was too much for me. In a marriage you do not need to be right, you need not correct your father-in-law (my late Dad, who had low self esteem, depressive traits, and a gr. 10 education).
  

Without any closure, and many memories of conflict, how do you move beyond that? I found that by concentrating on the grandkids at any parties (hatching, matching or dispatchings), I could get through it.

I was alone with his body for about 20 minutes before the family arrived. I made my peace, remembered the good times, gently chastised him for not accepting counselling the 3 times I'd asked. Assured him that her children were going to look after his 2nd wife, Sharon. She is not well.  I told him we have fine children and grandchildren. What's done is done. We did the best we could at the time.

My late father and mother , our family in 1991
at the church were the funeral was held

As with my daughter's wedding, there were in-laws, and what my late mom called out-laws! My ex-husband's wife's adult children and grandchild.

The time we spent preparing to go to the church for the funeral service was interesting. The casket was still open, and Isabel (3 yrs. old) asked every 5 minutes or so, to go over and look at her late grandfather's body. I've done much reading and writing on sharing grief with children.

I told her she could remember Grampa Pat by looking at the photos they had. There was one photo of him, in drag, for a Hallowe'en party. It was 1981, and I was doing my B.Ed. at OttawaU. I was one of the oldest class members. I had to explain the photo to Bradley, Sharon's son. Several of our husbands all decided to go as women to the Hallowe'en party. It was funny and fun! A good memory.

I lifted Isabelle up and we talked about her grampa as we gazed on his lifeless form. We agreed we were sad he was dead. She was kind to tell me.

My daughter talks to Josephine.
Her aunts look on.

     "He not sleeping." she assured me.
I said she could remember her grampa in her mind.
     "No, Gramma. In my brain!" she retorted!
Suggesting her Grampa had a new body, and new home, and was with his mommy and daddy, that stumped her. I said he was in heaven with the angels and she could talk to him, if she wanted, and tell him she remembered him. He would like that. (She cannot process the concept of a great-grandparent.) She was OK with the notion that he was with the angels.
     "We not see them. They're invisible!" she explained wisely.
    "What else can't we see?" asked Papa.
   "Your breath."
     "Air."

The minister came in and suggested we could say our last goodbyes before they closed the casket. Isabelle, on my hip, watched everyone carefully. He step-grandmother went to the casket, we happened to be standing behind Sharon.

"Gramma," she queried, "why they not say goodbye?" She expected to hear them say those words, but people were murmuring. She didn't like that! Kids need to see, hear and understand what we do. This is part of grief, mourning and bereavement. We model it for them, show them the cultural traditions, which gives them a framework. I carried her over and she said "Goodbye, Grampa Pat!"

Everyone got their coats on. Isabelle told me I should come with her and sit in the back seat of their mini-van. I told her I had to drive my car!

This is the church our family attended.
This is where Pat's funeral was held,
since he and his wife were members there.

     "You can drive beside us, Gramma!"
     "That might not be safe, Isabelle!" She seemed to need me with her for some reason. It was heart warming.

We drove in the funeral cortege over to the church. I was last in line. There were impatient drivers behind us, veering in and out, looking to see if they could pass these slow drivers. Argh.

We drove past the house where my kids had had swimming lessons, across from the feed and grain store. Then we turned the corner, passing the development where Pat and Sharon had lived. Up, farther north, where Mrs. Eastman's farm was. She taught Jesse kindergarten. She was there at the church, helping with the food served after the funeral. The old Carsonby building was next, where the kids had participated in community pageants. Finally, we arrived at the church.

Being the 1st wife at a funeral means I'm persona non grata. It's bizarre and surreal not to be mentioned at all!  I watched the 1st Mrs. Mandela greeting the 2nd Mrs. Mandela at his funeral. In my mind, I held to that standard. Dignity and class, they had in the public eye.

Isabelle at her great-grandparents gravestone. 
Isabelle was
fascinated with the site.
"Gone but not forgotten,
at rest in their beloved Muskoka"

The funeral service was lovely. Many tears, good remembrances. Our granddaughters, and Pat's step-granddaughter, all lit candles. We sang hymns, heard scripture. We heard comforting words and the message that all is love.

My eldest son read a eulogy, with his fine acting voice, and sang a song. I totally forget what it was.

I had scarfed some tissues from the funeral home. My son-in-law, beside me, grabbed one. Josephine, at this point, was reaching up to hug her mom. She and Caitlin wept together. SIL handed a tissue to Josephine. Josephine noticed her uncle was quietly weeping and scootched over to him, past her great-aunt (Pat's sister) and gave her tissue to her uncle. 

It was a poignant moment.

My youngest son was not at a loss for words. I like to think he found his love of literature through me! They all have musicality from both their parents. With his fabulous bass voice, he recited a poem, from memory. Of course, there was much weeping!

Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

There were smiles and happy memories
visiting my parent's gravesite (Aug. 2011)
Isabelle and Josephine couldn't understand 
that MY parents were buried here.

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.

 in Frye's obituary, 5 November 2004:^[2]

Isabelle concentrates, as I try a selfie
with my heavy camera! 

We checked the first image, I told her to smile!
She did!
Here we were bonding at the funeral home
prior to the service.

The minister explained that
 Josephine & Isabelle
were going to light a candle
in memory of her Grampa Pat.

Grief, mourning, bereavement

When teaching we dealt with grief, I have written about this process. Children's fears must be addressed. On 9/11, the principal where I was teaching got on the loud speaker and told the entire elementary school about the twin towers. The children were afraid to walk home, afraid a plane would kill them. We talk about bereavement and mourning a great deal. Teachers are wise to address this, and school boards send in Trauma Teams when there is an incident.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is a celebration of life. I've made videos of my boys:
 Kittens in castle, shows their playfulness; KITTENS in the swamp, as my boys liked to play in the wetland, and didn't realize that the floating water lily leaves weren't able to hold their weight! I had to wash them off in the bathtub, as they smelled pretty swampy!

Cat and mouse standoff

Buster caught a mouse out in our backyard. Sadie was watching carefully, non-pussed. 

The brothers argued about a mouse one of them caught. They don't hesitate to steal one another's captures! 
I made a collage of their antics:
  

Grief is the emotional response to loss - of loved ones, job, home, family situation; divorce.

Bereavement is a state you are in after a loss, with many cultures having specific traditions for mourning.

burrs, again!

The mourning process is one based in culture and values, with rituals surrounding the practice. I remember helping a student write her grandfather's eulogy. The priest wouldn't let her read it in church, but she read it at the wake.

The one ritual I had in my classroom was to read the Tenth best Thing About Barney whenever a child experienced a loss - for the loss affected the entire classroom. In this story: a child loses a cat and the family tries to find ten wonderful things about their late pet.

Do not mourn the day of death; celebrate the days they lived

Seldom far apart
Felix in front, Buster up high

My boy, Felix cat, was hit by a car. He did not survive. They drive pretty fast on the roads. Monday, a holiday, the traffic was fast and furious, with people passing constantly and dangerously. The sound of unmuffled motorcycles was awful, as well as racing youngsters and wannabe youngsters.

Felix was not yet a year and a half. His twin brother, Buster, is ever so mushy. 

The late Oliver was killed in the same spot.

 I phoned the local Lanark Animal Welfare Society (LAWS). Yes, they'd had a log-haired black cat brought in. A couple had picked up this poor cat, struck by a car and left to die on the side of the road. It was taken to Merrickville, to the veterinarian who was on call, where the vet put him down, as he was beyond help.

I asked if we could view his body, to determine if this was our Felix. Yes, it was.
I'm so sad.


This is what I have learned.

Many of us look at where we failed, not where we succeeded. As a cat parent, I did the best I could at the time. I look at my cat who insisted on crossing the road, despite us going over, bringing him back, and putting him in a time out room.We put collars on them. Still, it did not work.

Felix, his first month with us last year.

I just didn't want to treat them like dogs. I gave up. They would drop, stop, but not roll, when on leash.

I thought Felix was staying on our side of the highway. My mistake. I laud the days he lived, and do not mourn the day on which he died. I refuse to put a memorial by the side of the road. I have to say that I am against roadside memorials. I am. I believe that a memorial where a person died focuses too much on the death, and not on the living. You give power to the place of death. It isn't fair, either, for neighbours to drive past it every day.

We gave a donation to LAWS for taking him in and getting him to the vet. The vet will send us the bill for euthanasia and cremation, adding to the irony.

The Ten Best Things About Felix
1. He was the most purry cat I've ever had. You just looked at him, talked to him, and he would begin to purr.
2. He loved 'walkies', walked and ran for miles in the forest with me. Meowing for me when I went too fast and he would lose me.
3. He groomed his brother with great attention to detail. They loved each other, getting those hard-to-reach spots.
4. He happily took all the treats our granddaughters wanted to give him.
5. He was happy for me to brush him, purring madly.
6. He loved playing 'snake.'
7. He respected his big sister, Sadie, unlike Buster who provokes her!
8. I loved how he always got burrs, and brought the forest home with him.
9. He was very affectionate with us, always snuggling in the night, often on my feet.
10. He loved exploring the wetland as much as I.

He'd launch himself up the tree

Always helped me when I worked clearing paths.

Followed me all over the wetland

He loved walkies!

Grief and grieving

It is up to adults to emulate the grief work, to get help if they need it. Honouring that which has passed, in ceremony, is important. The loss of a pet is a perfect time to model this for children. (See Grief and Children.)

My late mother's celebration of life

We are judged, too, by the way in which we treat the dead and dying. From a previous article: A good death.
Here are three aspects to the passing of a loved one: grief, bereavement, and mourning.
Grief never leaves you, it is a sign that someone was loved and will be missed and it is a normal part of loss.
In bereavement, it is a state of loss of someone or something. Many cultures and religions have specific mourning rituals. Mourning is the outward expression of this loss.

In some, grief is transferred into anger, rather than celebration of a life, or choosing to make a difference, such as those who lobby for organ donations, Mothers Against Drunk Drivers (MADD), or *

Threads of Life

.

Many lash out in anger, directed at those responsible or not. You can watch such people, whom the media love to capture on video, as they deal with their grief. Displaced anger isn't pretty. Screaming people, lashing out at those who are not responsible. Or things, like cancer, when cells go awry. In an untimely death, it breaks my heart to see outward expressions of the anger. You know they need help in dealing with the loss.

*Threads of Life is a national registered Canadian charity dedicated to supporting families along their journey of healing who have suffered from a workplace fatality, life-altering illness or occupational disease. We help these families protect future generations of Canadian workers.

Grief is carried with us like a sack of stones. When we walk along the road, on our journey, we bring out the stones, examine them, and each time we lose something, or some one, we add a stone.

A child and her mentor work the clay
while they work out their grief

There is so much work to grief. I have learned to honour the memories, not to fear the death.

The work of grief is endless. It is a part of the life of the living. Each time we grieve, we pick up more stones to put in our sack. Whether it is the death of a grandparent, pet, a career, loved one, loss of a home, or a life when family splits up. We can let the sack slow us down, dragging it in the dirt behind us, or we can chose to lighten our burden.

Hospices provide bereavement groups. Many provide Art Therapy groups for children, as well. I participated in one. It is truly loving to share your grief with another. Support groups provide much in the way of hope. Not ridiculous hope. But hope for the small things. To laugh at least once a day. When we share our grief and examine one another's stones, we realize that grief shared, is grief that become a diamond.

In our bereavement groups we shared our stories. We brought out the stones from our sacks, held them up to the light of day. The stones can change in the sharing, to become precious jewels when they see the light of day.
I read a mystery novel, Summer Time, by Liz Rigbey, and she wrote:

"We all need to tell stories. Stories frame events. Once we massage life's traumas into a narrative form they become less destructive."

We gave language to our thoughts and feelings. Kübler-Ross had it right: anger, denial, bargaining, depression, acceptance. None of these feelings are wrong. They just are, and by sharing them, these stones that weigh us down, we turn the stones into precious jewels. Like the earth that compacts coal into diamonds, those around us convert our stones into things of beauty. For if you have never loved something, there would be no pain in the loss. If you have never lost something, you would never know the joy, and the sorrow.

A time to mourn

I read a post about epitaphs, and then I remembered...Since my Dad died Feb. 16th, 2007, I thought it a fitting time to post the photos.
The date doesn't matter, I'm not one of those who perseverates on dates.

I remember my parents every day. I often dream that I am phoning my Mom and talking to her! Some perseverate on dates, but that is an unrealistic perception of life.

Today I want to thank a blog friend, Ed.
I also want to write about grief.
First, the thank you.

"Gone, but not forgotten. At rest in their beloved Muskoka"

Ed Boutilier, Muskoka blogger and photographer, very kindly offered to take a photo of my parents grave and grave marker. It is a 5-hour drive for us, and I was quite curious about how the stone looked.

In the Fall, Ed took time for a photo shoot for me. We moved after 60 years of Muskoka cottage country life.

I'd transplanted a globe pine to the grave, as well as the bird bath. A few plants from the garden, and some grasses. Emily, one of Mom's favourite garden statues, sits there with her broken leg. Some rebel mafia raccoons, including Butch, who smacked her around.


There are different kinds of love: there are various anglo interpretations...

 Agápe (brotherly, sisterly love; true love),
Eros (erotic love),
Philia (friendship),
Storge (affectionate love), all different kinds of love as articulated by the Greeks. They were so wise.

Now, if we do not love, then we do not grieve. Loss affects us all- those who risk our emotions to love.

Grief is an interesting human emotion.
Responses to grief (internal feelings), as opposed to mourning (external rituals, Celebrations of Life) and bereavement (your situation), are quite varied.

The late Elizabeth Kübler-Ross determined 5 stages of grief; Denial, Anger, Bargaining,  Depression, Acceptance, later revising them to indicate that they aren't so much stages as responses. A lifelong learner and pioneer, she lived and learned from those who are dying. Not sequential, we can move around these stages, at our own pace. We, as mourners, can recognize that we are normal to experience various emotions, and responses to the dying of a loved one.

There are different types of grief, anticipatory (as a loved one is dying), as well as grief that is inhibited, or delayed, abnormal in terms of being delayed, chronic or distorted. At some point one must come to terms with the loss.

In all my years teaching, helping children to deal with the death of a grandparent seemed the most natural thing I could imagine. We honoured our grandparents. Having volunteered with an Expressive Arts Therapist I learned more about this aspect of expressing grief. Very therapeutic. Most Hospice organizations have bereavement groups that have proven their success. I urge you to try one!


All photos by Ed Boutilier, Muskoka cottager and photographer!