Embracing Life’s Lessons in the Face of Death

Life has a funny way of throwing curveballs at you when you least expect it. One moment, you’re cruising along, thinking you’ve got it all figured out, and the next, you’re blindsided by a double whammy that leaves you gasping for air. That’s exactly what happened to me when I lost both my parents within weeks of each other. January 17th and February 5th – two dates that will forever be etched in my memory, not for celebration, but for the profound loss they represent.

The Shock of the Century

You know, life has a way of throwing unexpected challenges our way. My family (what’s left of us, anyway) certainly knows this all too well. We experienced a devastating duo that left us reeling. Losing both my parents in quick succession had been a profound shock, forcing me to reevaluate everything I thought I understood about life. It’s a journey that no one is truly prepared for, and the emotional weight is something that words can barely capture.

I had never experienced death in my immediate family before, and boy, did it hit hard. It was like someone had pulled the rug out from under my feet, and I was free-falling into an abyss of grief. The initial shock was so intense that I half expected my parents to jump out from behind a corner, yelling “Surprise! We got you good!” But as the days turned into weeks, the reality of their absence began to sink in, and with it came a tidal wave of emotions I wasn’t prepared to handle.

The Incredible Shrinking Woman

In the wake of their passing, I found myself on an unintentional weight loss journey that would make any fad diet guru green with envy. I lost approximately 30 pounds, not through any miracle pill or trendy eating plan, but through the sheer power of grief and air pies. Yes, you heard that right – air pies. It turns out that when you’re drowning in sorrow, your appetite takes a vacation, and you find yourself subsisting on nothing but oxygen, water and memories. For me, it was a culinary adventure into the realm of the ethereal, where calories were just a distant memory and my stomach growled in confusion, wondering if sadness was supposed to be this filling.

I became an expert in the art of pushing food around my plate, creating intricate designs that would make even the most pretentious chef weep with envy. My fridge became a time capsule, preserving leftovers that would outlive empires. Friends and family tried to tempt me with comfort foods, but my taste buds had apparently joined a monastery, swearing off all earthly pleasures. Who knew that heartache could be so effective at suppressing the munchies? Move over, keto diet – there’s a new weight loss regimen in town, and it’s called “Grief Chic.”

To cope with the overwhelming emotions, I took up jogging. And when I say I took up jogging, I mean I became the Forrest Gump of grief, running day and night as if I could somehow outpace the pain that was chasing me. I ran through neighborhoods, parks, and probably a few people’s backyards. I ran until my legs felt like jelly and my lungs were on fire, but still, the ache in my heart persisted.

The Well-Meaning Platitude Parade

As if the grief itself wasn’t enough to deal with, I found myself inundated with a parade of well-meaning but utterly unhelpful platitudes. “Sorry for your loss,” they’d say, as if I’d misplaced my car keys rather than my entire world. “My condolences,” others would offer, the words feeling as empty as my refrigerator. But the real ball-kicker was the classic “god doesn’t give you more than you can handle.” Oh really? I wanted to scream. Did the almighty consult with me on my grief-handling capacity? I must have missed that memo. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated the sentiment behind these words. But part of me couldn’t help but think these good samaritans were just soothing themselves, fulfilling some sort of empty urge to say something – anything – in the face of overwhelming loss. In those moments, I found myself wishing they’d just give me a hug and say nothing. It would have felt so much more sincere. Or better yet, why couldn’t they say something practical like, “Here’s my number. Call me if you need me,” or “I’ll check on you regularly if that’s okay, and if you don’t answer your phone or open the door, I understand.” But no, instead I got spiritual platitudes and vague offers of support that evaporated faster than my appetite.

The Wisdom of the Godparents

In my desperation to make sense of it all, I turned to my go-to godparents in the UK. These were the people who had always been able to explain the inexplicable, to make the world make sense when everything seemed chaotic. I called them, expecting some profound wisdom that would instantly heal my broken heart and restore order to my universe.

Their response? “I’m sorry, but it’s part of life.”

I was stunned. Here I was, expecting a philosophical story on the meaning of existence, and instead, I got the equivalent of a cosmic shrug. But you know what? Those simple words hit me like a ton of bricks (in a good way, if that’s possible). It was as if someone had finally given me permission to accept the unacceptable.

The Stages of Grief: A Not-So-Fun Rollercoaster Ride

As I navigated through the murky waters of loss, I found myself on an emotional rollercoaster that would put any theme park to shame. One minute I was drowning in overwhelming sadness, reliving every memory and wishing for just one more moment with my parents. The next, I was burning with anger, raging at the unfairness of it all. Why them? Why now? Why couldn’t death have picked on someone else’s family? What can I say, I had a moment of selfishness.

Guilt and regret became my constant companions. I replayed our last conversations over and over in my head, wishing I had said more, done more, been more. If only I had known it would be the last time, I would have… what? Solved world hunger? Discovered the meaning of life? Invented time travel? The “what ifs” and “if onlys” were endless, and about as productive as trying to nail jelly to a wall.

Then came the loneliness. It was as if someone had turned off all the lights in my world, leaving me fumbling in the dark. I felt isolated, even when surrounded by well-meaning friends and family. It was like being at a party where everyone was speaking a language I couldn’t understand – the language of normalcy in a world that no longer made sense to me.

Nostalgia: A Bittersweet Symphony

As time ticked on, I discovered that my heart had a secret stash of memories, like a squirrel hoarding acorns for winter. I’d catch myself grinning at the thought of my dad’s legendary gardening skills—seriously, he could coax a flower to bloom just by giving it a pep talk! And then there was my mom, who could turn any room into a concert hall with her delightful humming and singing of church hymns. Even after her open-heart surgery, there she was, serenading us from her recovery bed and still lightly under anesthesia, mind you, like a true diva! These little nuggets of nostalgia felt like stumbling upon an oasis in the vast desert of grief—refreshing and delightful, but also a bittersweet reminder that I could never hit the rewind button on those golden days.

The Fear Factor

With the loss of my parents came a new, unwelcome companion: fear. Suddenly, I was acutely aware of my own mortality and the fragility of life. Every cough, every ache, every minor ailment became a potential harbinger of doom. I found myself googling symptoms at 3 AM, convinced that I was mere moments away from joining my parents in the great beyond. Spoiler alert: I wasn’t.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, things began to change. The weight of grief, while still present, became more manageable. I started to find moments of peace in the memories of my parents, rather than just pain. I began to see their influence in the person I had become, realizing that in many ways, they lived on through me.

This newfound perspective was put to the test nine years later when I lost my brother to Sickle Cell Anemia. While the pain was still intense, it was different this time. The wisdom of my godparents’ words had taken root, and I found myself better equipped to navigate the stormy seas of loss.

Resilience: The Unexpected Gift

Through it all, I discovered a resilience I never knew I possessed. Each day that I survived, each moment that I chose to keep going, was a testament to the strength my parents had instilled in me. I realized that grief, in all its messy, painful glory, had also been a catalyst for growth.

Hope Springs Eternal

As I emerged from the darkest days of mourning, I found hope in unexpected places. I connected with others who had walked similar paths, finding strength in shared stories and mutual support. These connections reminded me that while death may be a part of life, so too is love, and that love endures long after we’re gone.

The Ongoing Journey

Today, as I reflect on the journey that began with that double whammy of loss, I’m reminded of a quote by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross: “The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you want to.”

And you know what? She was right. I’m not the same person I was before I lost my parents and my brother. I’m stronger, more compassionate, and infinitely more appreciative of the time we have with those we love. The grief doesn’t go away, but it changes. It becomes a part of you, a reminder of the love that was and the love that continues.

So here I am, still running (though thankfully, not quite as maniacally), still remembering, still loving. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from this unexpected journey, it’s this: In the face of death, choose life. Choose love. Choose to honor those we’ve lost by living fully, loving deeply, and yes, occasionally indulging in a real pie or two. After all, life’s too short for air pies, right?