The Grief Bond
My poet friend, Mara, lost her husband, Cory, unexpectedly just before Jimmy died in July. She was with Cory when it happened. By October I was ready to drive out to visit her. We picked apples from her orchard and sat on the edge of the woods by a rock cropping, Cory’s favorite spot, and compared notes. “Do you want the community to start a food tree for you?” she asked. “No, I don’t want to see people now,” I answered. “I didn’t want to be alone,” Mara said. “I throw things away easier now, but I save things easier too,” I shared. She knew what I meant (something about knowing what was important and what was not) because we were speaking the same language. ~ From Death’s Poetry, The Jim and Dan Stories.
Mara and I share a love of writing as well as playing scrabble, but because she’s been busy with her creative writing classes at Hollins College, we haven’t seen each other much lately. Even so, she called me the day before I left for Boston to visit my father in the hospital, feeling that something was wrong.
“What can I do to help? Can I come over?” Mara asked when she learned that my father was in the ICU.
“I’m busy packing to go to Boston. Just keep me in your heart.” I answered, and then I added, in the language that we share, “I know that you know that I know you know, you know?”
Mara did know. She and I share what she has coined as “the grief bond.” And her phone call reminded me of another one described in “The Jim and Dan Stories…”
My friend, Mara, called to see how I was doing. I was crying over George Harrison’s death at the time. “I’ll call you right back,” I said… “If I had just lost a husband, it would be hard to find a few other people, let alone nine, who had just lost theirs and could offer support,” I said after she told me she was seeing a grief counselor. I had a built in support group! Is that why I couldn’t go a day without talking to my family members on the phone or through e-mail? Each of us has an individual way to grieve, yet I had nine others who really did know what I was going through. Two brothers dead a month apart, who else could relate to that? Mara had a little girl to take care of, and she hadn’t been back to the Pine Tavern to read her poetry since a woman there made a comment about her dress. “Red? I thought your husband just died,” the woman had said. Mara lost her boldness right there. ~From The Red Dress
Later, on the same day of our phone conversation, we ended up running into each other in town. She was coming from the Harvest Moon Health Food Store as I was on my way to it. We pulled over in front of “Oddfellas Cantina” and shared a big knowing hug on the side of the road… another language we have in common.
Update: I’m posting from the Hull Public Library. After this, my mother and I are heading out to see my father at the Tufts New Enlgand Medical Center. Over the course of the last few days, he has undergone several ups and downs. He’s back on the ventilator but stable with that. He’s lucidly present, which is a blessing. We’re holding him in the light…
November 2nd, 2005 11:06 am
Colleen, I wish I could help in some way, but like you said to Mara, I’m keeping you in my heart, thinking good thoughts for your Dad.
November 2nd, 2005 12:59 pm
It’s so wonderful that you all have one another to lean on. That was something I dreadfully lacked when I dealt with my biggest grief in life. In a small way, I’ve never truly been able to release it all without the type of emotional support that just wasn’t anywhere in sight when I needed it most.
Still thinking about you and the family. Wishing all the very best always!
November 2nd, 2005 4:13 pm
those who know
its a club that gets bigger every day…
those who know, need not speak
all of life will honor you
November 2nd, 2005 5:19 pm
I’m keeping you and your family in our thoughts, I hope there will be better news for you soon. Be well.
November 2nd, 2005 5:23 pm
Good that you all can support each other; that’s the bad part of being an only child, when parent(s) are ill.
I wil hold him in the light too – a great big bubble of it!
November 2nd, 2005 5:43 pm
In spite of all the grief and pain, I have found a wonderful magic to the passing of those you love. To me it’s as if they have left me something whole and pure and I must keep it polished and pass it on. I guess words can’t really describe crossing this threshold.
November 2nd, 2005 10:14 pm
Can you please post an address so we can send a card to your dad and let him know the we are thinking about him and praying for a speedy recovery. You are very fortunate to have such a close family, Of course you know that, and we are fortunate to be related observers. Hugs to everyone
November 3rd, 2005 12:13 am
I am glad you are with you mom and dad now. I will keep him in my heart.
The story about the red dress is so very sad. We all certainly have the power to crush one another with just a few words.
November 3rd, 2005 7:33 am
David and I are so happy that you’re there with your wonderful family back in the “Bay State” by your favorite ocean. Look forward to seeing you back in Floyd soon. Hope your dad’s health continues to improve.
November 3rd, 2005 8:01 am
Grief bond. That’s interesting. I can almost see a book title, “The Sisterhood of the Grief…” or something like that.
Again, I offer best and peaceful wishes to your dad and your family.
November 3rd, 2005 8:17 am
I’m still praying for him. I hope he gets better soon. I can’t even imagine. My husband can, he saw me like that, But I don’t know that I could handle it…. On a lighter note, when you say Hollins College do you mean the one in Roanoke, Va? Cause if so I’m like 20 minutes from there!!
November 4th, 2005 1:55 am
Shaking my head at the red dress comment. Some people.
Catching up, reading on, and keeping your father (and all of you) in my thoughts and prayers….
November 7th, 2005 3:00 pm
I love you.
I miss you.
You are still in my heart, often.
tea and scrabble asap once you are home…and hopefully you’ll get to meet the new love of my life over xmas break.
(sidenote…yes…hollins in roanoke)