Nearly
everyone I’ve spoken to about my intent to write this book thinks it’s a bad
idea. Or, at best, a weird idea. When you tell people who know your writing
history that you’re working on a new book, their face lights up. They’re quite
visibly impressed. Tell them you’re working on a book about death, and you get
a frozen brow and an underwhelmed, “Oh…well, that sounds interesting.” One of
my close friends wasn’t quite so diplomatic. When I told him I was breaking
ground on a new book that would tell the personal stories of people who’ve
endured a significant death in their lives, he scoffed and said, “That sounds
like a terrible idea, man. Why don’t you write a comedy? People like comedies.”
Needless to say, this particular friend is not my target audience. But if
you’re a fan of irony, I will tell you that his is one of the stories I will
eventually tell in this book.
It’s profoundly
fascinating what happens when you ask someone to talk about the most painful
experience of their lives. More often than not, they’d secretly been wanting to
talk about it for years. It’s been inhabiting space in their mind, causing them
to contort their body to step around it. They know it’s impossible to get rid
of this thing, but they also don’t want to look at it and address it head-on.
That all changes today. Because as my sage 91-year-old grandmother would say,
“What the hell’s the point of ignoring it? Won’t change a damn thing.” It
should be noted, grandma will also appear in this book.
I was thinking
to myself recently, “What would help me if I were going through a significant
loss?” I mean, aside from the typical clichés and the platitudes that are
dropped in your lap at the funeral. What would actually help ease the pain of
tremendous loss? The answer continually came back as, “knowing I’m not alone.”
But how could I know that?
What I then did
was connect with various people with whom I share some kind of connection. A
friend, an ex-coworker, a friend of an ex-coworker. And I met with each of them
to discuss a life-altering loss they’d experienced. I wanted to know how they
handled their immediate grief, and more importantly, the lingering grief that
hangs around like an albatross years and years later. And I wanted an eclectic
mix of stories. Cancer, accidents, suicide, old age, brothers, sisters,
husbands, wives, children, friends who were like family. And I wanted this mix
so that no matter what type of loss you might be going through, you can pick up
a copy of “The Mourning Papers” and know that, despite your pain, someone else
in this universe is going through something similar. Misery loves company. But
so does healing.
When I was
13, a classmate of mine named Jaclyn died in a car accident en route to a dance
competition. She was the prettiest, most popular girl in school. And not the
stereotypically self-centered, unapproachable most popular girl type. She was
completely unpretentious. A hardcore Indiana Pacers fan, an aspiring singer, a
truly good kid. Her death was unfathomable, and it opened many of our eyes to
how fleeting life was. I still shake my head thinking about that day. It was a
profoundly sad time. And looking back, I believe it was this accident that
triggered my fascination with death – how quickly it can sneak up on us, how
devastating it is for those left behind. But also, the ways in which we all
manage to triumphantly emerge on the other side of it, smiling through tears.
In life,
there’s this unsaid rule that we’re supposed to start acting like a normal
human again about a week or so after suffering a loss. The calls typically
stop, the flowers wilt, and naturally, the support system you had a week
earlier, has returned to their normal routines. Let’s be honest, we’ve all done
it at some point. We pay our respects, offer up a hug and an available shoulder
on which to cry, and then we turn away. After all, we think, (insert person’s
name) probably doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, anyway. It’s how we justify
our behavior towards this person in the aftermath of his or her most damaging
experience. We shrug off their grief as a “no-fly zone,” avoiding the topic
altogether so neither of you has to be feel uncomfortable. Again, that changes
today.
You might
find it contradictory that I am fascinated by death, but I don’t watch the
news. After all, the news is filled to the brim with tragedy. But the major
difference is that the news only tells us the first chapter. And the first
chapter is only the beginning. There are layers upon layers of depth to each of
these stories that we never hear. Because we take the information we’re given
and move on.
However,
what if we didn’t move on? What if we tapped these people on the shoulder,
escorted them to a quiet room, and asked them to share the sordid details of a
life-altering loss they’d endured? Maybe it’ll surprise you to hear this, and
maybe it won’t. But the people I “tapped on the shoulder” to be part of this
collection of stories all said some version of the same thing: It was cathartic
to finally talk about this again.
So, even
though there are many who believe this book is a “weird” idea - and many who
ignore it like one might ignore a nightly news broadcast they assume is riddled
with only sadness. I proudly present this series of stories. Stories about
loss, stories about the physical and emotional ways we react to loss, and most
prominently, the love and badass strength that shines through in the end.
