Sharing, Caring and Grieving
“So why the hell are you making me go there early?” I demanded out loud to my 56 year old brother Murray who dropped dead from a massive heart attack on Thursday September 3, 2015. The corridor was empty as everyone was in class, not that I cared if anyone heard anyway.
Now that I am studying Spanish at Universidad Pontificia Bolivariana — it took me a week to learn how to pronounce it – I have a routine. An hour and five or ten minutes into the class, I grab my water bottle, stroll off to the loo for a break and top up the H2O.
Last Friday I left even before the hour was up. My brother’s energy was telling me that I to go — immediately.
Rounding the corner there was a young 20s something woman who was weeping and wrenching and heaving coming towards me. I planted myself in front of her, touched her gently on her arms and asked if there was a problem.
I will spare you my baby Spanish and go directly to English.
“Yes, yes it is my friend.”
“What happened?”
“She died.”
I wrapped my arms around her and she sobbed into my shoulder and I cried into hers.
When I finally composed myself enough to continue, I held her at arm’s length. Then I looked into her tear-filled eyes and told her that I completely understood as my brother had died a week and a day before.
I advised her to cry, wail, scream and call on her friends for support. She nodded and pulled me close. We held each other and continued to cry together.
Sharing grief is one of the things that makes us human. And there we were, two women from two different cultures, two different age groups and two different languages openly weeping and supporting each other. I could feel that the energy we shared helped both of us cope with our respective loses and grief.
Thanks bro. The experience was deeply therapeutic and good for both of us. And if you hadn’t sent me there when you did we would have missed each other.