Navigating the complexities of global events can be emotionally and mentally taxing. Recent events, particularly the Israel-Gaza situation, have sparked intense and polarizing discussions worldwide, dividing opinions across media, friendships, and professional circles. While personal convictions on such matters may be firm, approaching the topic through a different lens—one of universal human experience—can foster common ground. That common ground is grief.
Loss. Sorrow. Heartache. Heartbreak.
Grief, in its myriad forms and emotional depths, is a universal constant, yet profoundly personal. It’s an isolating experience in the midst of shared pain. Though individual reactions to grief vary, the underlying journey is shared – a journey that, in many ways, never truly concludes.
The song is ended, but the melody lingers on.
These poignant words by Irving Berlin, immortalized by Nat King Cole, resonate deeply with the enduring nature of grief. This song, a favorite of my mother’s, filled my childhood home. While its melody was familiar and beloved, its true meaning only crystallized after her passing.
In the aftermath of my mother’s death, this song became a constant companion. Nat King Cole’s rendition perfectly articulated the essence of my grief – the tangible absence of her physical being, yet the persistent presence of her memories and influence, lingering and echoing within my heart. This is the power of a Song Linger, a melody that stays long after the music stops.
Grief transcends mere emotional response; it acts as a catalyst for profound personal transformation. The death of a loved one shatters our perceived reality, compelling us to reconstruct our world and redefine our very sense of self.
I vividly recall the night my father passed. Amidst the logistical aftermath, after ensuring my dad and sister’s cars were driven home, I found myself alone in the quiet darkness, grappling with the concept of “forever.”
Never again would I see my father. Never. Forever. The finality was overwhelming. Memories flooded in – recollections of shared workdays, car rides filled with discussions ranging from life’s grand meaning to everyday trivialities like our current TV obsessions. Hugs, back rubs, laughter, love, debates – the spectrum of our relationship played out in my mind. I recalled the good, but also the friction, the arguments, the stress, and the sadness.
It all came rushing back, and vanished in an instant, replaced by the stark reality of forever. Those experiences, in their entirety, were now relegated to the past.
An untold truth: I shed no tears at either of my parents’ funerals. For years, I prided myself on this stoicism, believing I was processing grief internally, embodying a masculine ideal, “cowboying that shit.”
It was a facade. That night, alone on the stairs, in the dark, the dam broke. Tears flowed – not just for my siblings, aunts, and family, not solely for the loss of my father, my beacon of virtue and love, but for the unlived memories, the future moments now irrevocably lost.
Weddings, births, family gatherings, even the mundane joys like sharing Roxies chocolate milkshakes with him after work – all now existed only in the realm of what could have been.
I ugly cried.
Yet, my father had instilled in me the essence of manhood. Everything I understood about honor, loyalty, friendship, and love – being a mensch – stemmed from his teachings.
As the self-proclaimed “man of the house” now, I wiped away the tears, attempting to bid farewell to grief, to my father… or so I believed.
“When one person is missing the whole world seems empty.”- Pat Schwiebert
The profound grief experienced by families in Israel and Palestine, and indeed in Ukraine, Russia, Afghanistan, Algeria, Burkina Faso, Sudan, and countless other conflict zones, is unimaginable.
However, drawing from my own journey through grief and loss, I hoped to offer some perspective, to share how I found strength and empowerment amidst profound sorrow.
For those familiar with me, my affinity for quotes is well-known. Throughout this exploration of grief, expect to encounter them. In moments of seeking solace and meaning, I often found refuge in words that articulated my inner turmoil. I share some of these touchstones here.
“Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you.”- John Green, The Fault in our Stars
One of grief’s most painful revelations is its enduring presence. Loss becomes interwoven into the fabric of life, part of your narrative, etched at your core. Every subsequent decision, memory, and experience is, in some way, shaped by this absence.
I won’t delve into Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’s five stages of grief – their familiarity is widespread, and many have navigated them. However, the journey through these stages undeniably unveils the essence of who you are.
My siblings and I faced this arduous process twice, within a year.
As recounted in a previous post, we lost our mother just over a year after our father’s death, in a deeply agonizing manner. I made a decision that irrevocably altered my being. After nearly two years of relentless suffering, I signed a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) order, instructing doctors to let her go when her breathing ceased – a frequent occurrence at that point. Countless medical dramas depict this scenario.
This decision clashed with both my Jewish faith, which traditionally reserves the timing of death to divine will, and my personal beliefs. Yet, witnessing my mother’s diminished quality of life, the suffering endured by my siblings, family, friends, and even the nursing staff, I made the “tough call,” as my father would say, to alleviate her pain.
Despite potential religious repercussions, I stand by my decision.
Why share this deeply personal account?
Because I believe that without the experience of losing my father, without navigating that initial wave of grief, I would have lacked the strength to end my mother’s suffering.
Their deaths transformed me.
Grief is akin to a rollercoaster. Emotions fluctuate wildly, from peaks of despair to valleys of anger. Periods of guilt and disbelief punctuate the journey. Yet, intermittently, amidst the turmoil, moments of joy and happiness can emerge within grief’s landscape.
Earlier, I claimed to have “dealt with” my grief. I had not.
Years later, after sidestepping therapy, avoiding tears at funerals, and engaging in dark humor with my siblings – joking that our parents had merely faked their deaths and were living idyllic lives in Hermanus (a narrative we still revisit and cling to), I experienced an emotional reckoning.
A breakdown, more accurately – followed by an awakening.
In my initial posts, I touched upon physical and emotional pain. What remained unsaid was how I navigated through it.
To combat physical ailments and weight issues, I experimented with water fasting, progressing from intermittent fasting to extended fasts – 3, 5, 7 days, and even longer, including dry fasting.
While information on the side effects of prolonged/dry fasting is available, the often-unmentioned aspect is the heightened mental clarity, a “seeing Jesus” moment, allowing for profound introspection. This isn’t a universal experience, and largely, it wasn’t mine either. (Though, this has sparked a curiosity about ayahuasca and similar purging experiences!)
However, one Saturday afternoon, during an extended fast, lying on the couch, preoccupied with food fantasies, memories of my parents surfaced. But this time, devoid of negativity or sadness. I drifted through childhood memories, their lessons, values instilled, basking in the warmth of those times, even in memory. Then, something shifted.
Thoughts transitioned from past memories to future hallucinations. I envisioned my parents at my nieces’ and nephews’ births, hosting Shabbat dinners with the entire family, as they once did weekly. I saw my life through their imagined eyes, recognizing how their lives and deaths had shaped the man I had become.
It was cathartic, incredible, and simultaneously horrific.
Remember the “ugly cry” I mentioned? That paled in comparison. Tears flowed for what felt like eternity. Forever. But these tears were different – a blend of sorrow, anger, grief, but also joy, hope, and acceptance.
“You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.”- JK Rowling
Yet, the pain seemed to dissipate. I collapsed into sleep, a sobbing mess, but awoke reborn. I awoke as the man my father had raised me to be.
My grief had transformed me.
Grief cultivates a deeper self-understanding and expands our capacity for empathy. Personally, I underwent an emotional revolution that day, enhancing my empathy, compassion, and perhaps even evolving me into a more nuanced human being, capable of grasping the complexities of human emotion.
I became a better friend, a more supportive brother, a more compassionate colleague, a more loving partner.
I allowed myself to fully immerse in grief and love that day. Instead of striving to “move on,” I chose acceptance – to integrate grief into my life, to learn from it, grow from it.
This acceptance didn’t diminish the loss, as I had long feared; it finally allowed me to acknowledge its profound impact. It provided perspective on past decisions and experiences since my parents’ passing, allowing me to discern where I had faltered and where I had succeeded.
A deeper love for my parents, brother, and sister emerged from that day, feelings that have endured.
“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.”- E.A. Bucchianeri
Returning to the present moment, a universal truth remains: death is inevitable. Grief is unavoidable. Our response to it, however, is not predetermined.
In the face of conflict and loss, grief can diverge in two directions. It can follow the path of Viktor Frankl, who, despite losing family in Nazi concentration camps, dedicated his life to inspiring others, embracing love, and seeking meaning.
Or, it can veer in another direction—a direction I hesitate to fully articulate here—the direction that culminated in the events of October 7th. A direction where each life lost can breed another life consumed by terror.
Hatred is learned, not innate. I choose to believe that under different circumstances, with different values and upbringing – like the ones instilled in me by my parents – those who choose terror and hatred could have chosen lives of love, joy, and kindness.
I believe that hatred, this desecration of human life, stems from fear. Fear for families, way of life, and the unknown. Those who opt for terror over peace, I believe, are driven by misguided indoctrination and fear.
The alternative is unthinkable.
“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”- C.S Lewis
The song is ended, but the melody lingers on.
In the aftermath of loss, the melody of a loved one’s life continues to resonate, reshaping our hearts, minds, and lives. Grief, though painful, is a potent teacher and catalyst for change.
It challenges, breaks down, and ultimately rebuilds us into more empathetic, understanding, and resilient beings. In embracing this transformation, we honor both our lost loved ones and the ongoing evolution of our own lives.
My hope is that from the aftermath of this war, and all unnecessary wars, understanding can emerge. An acceptance that a better path exists, and that after allowing space for grief, both sides can converge in peace and love.
You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us. And the world will live as one.
The concluding lyrics of Berlin’s song encapsulate my sentiment:
And the melody seemed to saysummer will pass awayTake your happiness while you may
May everyone navigating grief, whether past, present, or future, find moments to embrace happiness whenever and wherever possible!
I’ll conclude with another memory of my parents and a Nat King Cole song. A memory that consistently evokes tears.
I fondly recall my parents cooking together in our kitchen, a scene of pure joy, often soundtracked by my dad’s favorite Cole song, “Unforgettable.” They would sing along:
That’s why, darling, it’s incredible.That someone so unforgettable,Thinks that I am unforgettable too.
Mom, Dad – you are unforgettable too.
Sending love and peace to all hostages being released and to families on all sides enduring those dark, solitary stairwell moments of grief.
I love you all. We love you. You can and will get through this.
SK. 🩶
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