what do you wear to say goodbye?




at some point in your life you will have to confront death. it could be when you are young - the loss of a first pet, a grandparent [or someone like a grandparent]. it could be as you get older -  parents, mentors, more pets... as death becomes something more familiar, you begin to have coping mechanisms, routines, strategies that you rely on. you might read books ((this is an affiliate link to amazon)) that help you process grief and loss. you might feel comfortable offering someone else a shoulder to cry on when they confront loss. we all intellectually know that death is an inevitable part of life. that heart ache is more than just a phrase as your chest pounds and your eyes swell. 

also as you get older you start to notice things. knowing that death is coming might help you cope. you might intuitively know when someone passes. some people hang on. some people go freely. some deaths are harder - those that are accidental, sudden, unexpected or feel too soon and hit like a ton of bricks. for whatever reason the person having a long life may give solace and comfort. the inevitability of death doesn't seem fair, but it feels justified. 

and here i sit. confronting the loss of a friend. my peer. someone i've known for much of my adult life. someone who has been woven into my family - coming to thanksgiving and christmas. someone who i could count on to help with my child. to go on dog walks with. to complain about being and artist and self employed. someone whose dark humor matched my own. someone whose aesthetics were impeccable. someone who always managed to find the most thoughtful and perfect gifts. i looked forward to any present from her. wrapped beautiful, seamlessly fitting into my horde of things.... not just someone i knew casually but someone who while maybe we didn't share our deepest secrets, we had a camaraderie that was genuine and true. 

the other day i had to decide that it was time to let her go. she has no real living family except for an aunt who she reconnected after the death of her own mother. and a long distance 1/2 brother who she hadn't spoken to in years. that's it. she started a health directive and i was listed. this was good enough for me, the hospital and the aunt. i had to make a decision that she couldn't make. i consulted with her friends. the aunt. my husband and friends. my morality. the support i have received from those close to me is indescribable. it's hard to know what to say when people say what can i do to help and there isn't a concrete answer to that. other than tell me i'm doing the right thing. tell me i'm doing what they would want. what they deserve. what is humane. 

the night before, after the decision was made to stop any measures keeping her alive i couldn't sleep. and then this ridiculous thought got stuck in my brain. what the hell am i going to wear? i mean i will remember this outfit. it's not going to be "tainted" but every time i put on XXX i will know that is what i wore as i went to hold your hand as they made you comfortable. this isn't a funeral. or an "event". i don't really want to remember every detail. and then in delirium of late night dark humor i giggled. because for a moment i thought that she might actually have the same thought. is the scarf too much? i shouldn't wear a bright color. i don't want to dress up or dress down too much. our brains are so weird. i mean i'm kind of curious how many people would even think this thought. just me? a handful? a lot of people? 

what the hell do you wear to say goodbye to the dying? 

i honestly don't know. so i picked a gray shirt she actually gave me. because i already associate it with her. and my lockets. the ones i keep as a mini shrines to the pets and people lost. they all came with. 


Comments

Éireann said…
oh Lisa. love to you. I am so sorry for your loss. this is beautiful and it's exactly right—the way life pushes up in the midst of death (so the fact of death is not the solemn thing we thing it must only be, but is as silly, gentle, funny, absurd as all the rest of life). makes so much sense the way you write about thinking about what to wear. <3 you will be in my thoughts.
Shari said…
Lisa, I am so very sorry for the loss of your friend.

The older I get the more I notice that I am trying to befriend death. I do this in serious and playful ways---i.e. wanting to buy clothing with skull imagery to incorporate into my wardrobe just as a reminder. I like to imagine myself being 85 and wearing a skull sweatshirt or skull socks into my doctors' appointments. It makes me smile.

Hope you are doing okay.
xoxo
Kasey Jueds said…
I am so very sorry, Lisa. And I love what you wrote. Everything all mixed up together, and death, our experience of death, exactly what it is and not what it is "supposed" to feel like, to be. Very freeing and affirming and just plain helpful, reading your words. Thank you.
Sherrie said…
Oh, Lisa - I am so sorry that you lost your friend. I echo just what Eireann wrote above - I love how you captured the ways that death and the act of dying is just like so much of life. I'm so sorry for your loss.
Austen said…
Thank you for sharing this. I am also sorry for your loss. I'm also glad that you were able to be there for your friend, to hold her hand, to accompany her on the last part of her journey. It wasn't until the last two years that I really understood how completely death and life are intertwined, and how grief can infuse every moment, even (especially?) the happy ones. Always there. Never forgotten. Like our loved ones, wherever they are. xo
Julia said…
lisa, i'm so sorry you lost your friend. it sounds like you did exactly what she would have wanted. she entrusted you with that decision for a reason and you did right by her. thinking about what to wear sounds like a totally normal thing to do, i imagine i would lay awake thinking of the same thing! may her memory be blessing to you & all who loved her.

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