Wednesday, February 12, 2014

I'm so sorry...


I’m not sure if this is how they do it everywhere, but around here, when a person dies, we typically have a visitation the evening before the funeral.  Visitations can be excruciating.  The family stands in a receiving line and welcomes each guest.  It is extremely tiring for the family, and it can be intimidating as a guest.  Even though I have been to countless visitations, and have stood in both the guest line and the family line, I still struggle with the process. 
As we stand in line, I try to watch the others and see how they interact with the family.  Do they shake everyone’s hand?  Everyone’s?  Do they hug?  Should I hug or shake hands?  What if the people in front of me are distantly related to the deceased and that’s why they are hugging the family and then I try to hug them and they’re freaked out because they really don’t even know me?
And beyond the initial contact, what the heck to I say to these poor people?  I really struggle with this.  The last thing I would ever want to do is to make one of the most difficult times in their lives even worse by a misplaced comment.  I tell myself that if I can’t go wrong if I speak from my heart, but my heart seems to suffer from stage fright which leaves me stumbling over my words and eventually having to resort to one of my two lifelines. Unfortunately, of those two lifelines, only one is really acceptable. 
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” is fairly standard and is probably the most commonly uttered phrase at a visitation.  If I stuck with that, and didn’t say anything else, I would probably be fine. 
However; I can’t seem to stick to the script and the phrase “You look really pretty,” tends to come out of my mouth instead.  In my defense, who doesn’t want to hear that they look pretty?  This line has led into some heartwarming stories about the deceased- for instance, once the widow’s earrings were an anniversary gift from her late husband and she shared that memory with me.
Other times, my “pretty” comment just gets me a blank look.  If I’m lucky, I can smooth it over with “I’m so sorry for your loss,” but at other times, I go even further off-script and end up leaving them even more confused. 
My only hope is that they will have no memory of my having been there. 

Thursday, February 06, 2014

Goodbye, Old Friend

I know it may sound silly, but I never knew how much I could love a cat.  This little holstein cat captured my heart and made the past 17 years of my life better.  He sat with me when I was ill, loved me when I cried, and demanded nothing less than my full attention when he felt he needed it.  In return, I nursed him through injury and illness, told him he was a pretty cat and a good cat, and held him on my lap every chance I got.  Losing him is tearing me apart.  There are so many stories I could tell about this cat, but they are only special to me. 
Just know this: 
I loved this cat, and I will miss him.