Lessons from an Angel

Let’s talk about the elephant in the room. On January 18, 2014, I lost my younger sister Claudia after her relentless battle with cystic fibrosis. She died. As much as I prayed, hoped, and offered anything to have her back, she is not coming back. Finality at its finest. Today, she would have turned twenty-one years old.

Phew. That was the hard part.

My first lesson from death is acknowledging and accepting that I cannot change certain things in this life. Some things are absolutely permanent.

These past few weeks, people have been coming up to me and saying, “I’m sorry for your loss.” Being on the receiving end for the first time, I can say I absolutely hate hearing it. What is the point of such a meaningless saying? Nothing. I kept nodding and saying thank you because I didn’t know what else to say. Then I talked with a dear friend who’s been through it many times. It made sense. That saying isn’t for you. It’s for them.

People are unsure how to talk about or deal with death. So when it comes up, all they can do is apologize. Now that I know it’s more for them, I talk about my sister. It puts them at ease by acknowledging their awkwardness and their willingness to try to be helpful. Truth be told, it helps me too.

Death makes people think and do irrational things. I’ve always considered myself level-headed and rational. In coping with my sister’s death, I welcomed bizarre ideas:

• I wanted my sister to be able to listen to a fountain and have a tree, so she could have birds hang out with her throughout the day and shade when it gets too hot.
• I’d had vague ideas about my own death before, but never really thought about it until now. I want part of my ashes near my sister because I don’t want her to be alone. I don’t want to be alone either.
• I put a small fence around her final resting place so she can keep those ugly geese away. It’s her spot, not theirs.
• I gave a pointed eulogy at my sister’s burial directed at my extended family. People not talking to each other over petty things is senseless and idle. Why not watch paint dry instead?

It was never about money, things, or status. At the end, on your death bed, all that matters are the people around you. The ones you love.

They say death is one of the hardest things to deal with. I disagree. Death is a finite event, and it eventually is truly over. The hardest part of losing someone is living without them. Every single day, you have to give yourself a moment to grieve and honor their memory.

I was never afraid of death because I knew I had more to do after I’m done here. Now I look forward to it. I know and feel in my heart that I will meet up again with all those I have lost. To me, it will feel like a lifetime (because it just might be). To them, it will be a mere moment. They are timeless and ever patient. When I arrive at my final destination, I anticipate looking around with a big smile, excusing myself for being fashionably late (I had a few things I had to personally handle), and saying: “Now that I’m all done, what’s next?”

Through the whole process from start to finish, I wasn’t angry at anyone. Surprised? I was too. There were plenty of people I could have pointed a finger at and said something harsh. I had legitimate reasons. But it would have been reactionary. We all say deep, meaningful quotes that are mostly empty speak. Back in April 2013, I said: “Holding anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.” It really dawned on me that I finally, wholeheartedly meant it. Because I truly let go.

I understand you want to help. But seriously, if you can’t follow through, don’t offer to help. You’re making the situation worse. I had a few people offer help with something. I said okay, thank you. Only to find out halfway through that they couldn’t finish. Leaving me to drop what I was doing to complete it. They must have thought offering was enough. It’s not. If you offer to help, follow through. Otherwise you stress the person out even more.

I feel gifted to have been mentored from a young age. All my mentors urged me to build a sound, strong mind. Because you either endure during a crisis or lose your wits.

As I was in the maelstrom of my sister’s death, I saw it all around me. Family and friends being pummeled with agony and grief. Most, if not all, broke down emotionally or completely checked out. Utterly distraught.

Death, like fear, forces you to be very honest with yourself. You either come up to bat to hit a homerun, or you freeze and shut down. What will you do? You honestly won’t know until you’re in that situation. But if you don’t prepare, you will fail.

Grief finds a way to ensnare us. It seeks to surface our most crippling fears and petrify us into submission. It does a very damn good job at it too. Grief draws out our worst qualities. If we’re weak-minded, if we’re not grounded in wisdom and reason, all our shortcomings and bad habits will run rampant. When we are needed the most, we will fail. Miserably.

When the people we love need us the most and we’re so ineptly prepared that we fail to deliver, wasn’t that the whole point of having people catch us when we need them?

Your mind needs constant training and conditioning for extreme situations.

Lessons from grief

• Instead of “I’m sorry for your loss,” reflect on the person they lost and compliment both: “Your sister was very kind and beautiful. I totally respect you and the way you are facing this difficult situation.”
• Instead of “let me know how I can help you through this,” offer and let them pick. “I’d love to help. May I bring you a hot lunch or a drink?”