I was 8 years old when my grandpa died. I knew he was sick in the hospital, and I knew my mom was worried about him. But, when she answered the phone early that morning and loudly cried “Nooo” into the receiver, I knew something was seriously wrong. He was gone. Never to experience his strong hands tickling me and my brother and sister as we climbed on him when he sat on the couch. Never to hear his voice again or see his hands able to fix anything, with nails blackened from decades of repairing oily machinery, a black he called “clean dirt.” Never again to enjoy my mother’s joyful spirit when he visited.
I cried in my room where no one could see me railing against something I could not change. I couldn’t understand why the sun was shining and the birds were chirping in the trees. How could they carry on as if nothing had happened? Didn’t they know? Grandpa was gone.
It took a while, but I believe that first experience with the death of someone I dearly loved was the birth of my insight about life. I experienced more deaths of close family members through my teen years and to this day can’t stand the smell of flowers because it reminds me of being in a funeral home.
I have empathy for those who are experiencing heartbreaking disruptions in their lives. I wonder how they cope, especially with the world going about its daily business as if it hadn’t happened. We have no idea what people are experiencing on the inside. How they are seeing the world today. What memories or current experiences they are coping with as they go through their day.
Let’s be kind today. Someone has lost their grandpa. Someone has received devastating news. They’re functioning as best they can. Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt. Because the sun may be shining and the birds may be singing, but they’re coping with a gaping hole in their heart.
