Everything I Know About Grief, I Learned From My Parents

Is it racist to stab an Asian with a chopstick? What if you are, yourself, part-Asian? (Just asking for a friend.)

Okay, let’s start over. Did you know that in Korea, it was an ancient custom to hire professional mourners? That pretty much sums up Asian stoicism right there. To be fair, part of the reason was that the instant someone died, the women in the household had to start wailing to announce the death to the village and everyone else in earshot. This would go on, nonstop, for 3, 5, or 7 days, depending on the class and prominence of the family. After three days, I don’t think any of them had a voice left. But it would be disrespectful to not be continually weeping and wailing, so–professional mourners! The men of the family were not allowed to show any grief. I remember my missionary companion and I coming across a funeral procession in Korea, way out in the country. Everyone was wearing white and you could hear the wailing pretty far off. It was both beautiful, and made me want to stab my eyes out with a chopstick. I sense a theme here.

I don’t recall seeing my mom cry. Ever, really. She told me she has, on occasion, like when she’s frustrated or angry, but I think she cried in private. My Dad? Are you kidding me? I know he has feelings, but they came out as very short lectures. Like you can find in here. So funerals for my grandparents were pretty matter of fact and not really sad. And why not? They lived full lives, my maternal grandmother was in excruciating pain, it was time, yada, yada, yada.

I think that’s all a bunch of bs. We as Americans, and especially as members of my particular religion, are completely unprepared and uneducated on the matter of grief. We understand death! It’s an essential part of God’s plan! We believe families are forever! We will be separated for just a short moment in the eternal perspective! Don’t be sad!

That is all true, and I absolutely find comfort in that. But when my friend Julie died about 18 months ago after a long battle with cancer that had turned her into a living skeleton and was causing her constant pain, I thought I would be happy she was released from this enormous burden she had been carrying. That I would feel joy and reassurance that life is eternal and that she would be reunited with her husband and 7 children someday. I did feel that. But I was completely unprepared for the tsunami of grief that hit me as I watched her husband kiss her cheek before they closed the casket, as I watched him being consoled by his teenage daughter. I found myself asking my husband the most ridiculous question ever, “Why am I sad at a funeral?”

Now, I am being taught about grief line upon line. As I watch my father die a little at a time, I find myself grieving in slow motion. Some days I feel like this:

Just trying to hold it all together for everyone and doing an okay job. And then sometimes I feel like this:

WHAT DOES GRIEF LOOK LIKE?

I think it’s different for everyone. For me, everyday is different. Most of the time I just rationally accept that my father has a fatal disease and that’s ok, because we’re all dying, just at different rates. I’m super practical, and a doer, and so I just do things that I hope will make him comfortable and ease some of the burden on my mother.

And then I see him in person, and I alternate between laughing at some of the ridiculously funny moments we have and frustration that my mom still has SO much denial about his condition. Then, anger, that he spent my entire childhood with undiagnosed Major Depressive Disorder, then finally got on medication while I was at college. I have never lived close enough to even try to have a “normal” relationship with him. And now that I do, and I can actually spend some time trying to build something, he has been hit with another mental illness, this one actually fatal. I feel like it’s cruel and unfair and yet I can only accept that maybe this is how I can repair our relationship. Serving him in ways that he would never have let me if he were healthy.

Then the tears come. Often out of nowhere. (Also, I think it’s important to state for the record that I just started hormone replacement therapy.  My emotions have been ALL over the place.) I tend to be more of an anger/frustration crier, like my mom. But now, I am also a sad crier. I think in some ways it’s easier to lose a parent all at once. But I am going to be grateful for this time I have to show my Dad how I feel, for both of us.

And as I’ve pondered this, I shouldn’t feel like my sorrow belies faith–I think there’s a reason that John recorded that shortest of bible verses: “Jesus wept”. The Savior, who KNOWS families are forever and BECAUSE of Him death has no sting, took time to mourn with Mary and Martha. Because He didn’t love just them. He loved Lazarus, too. And being separated from those we love, even for a few days, hurts. God is teaching me how to grieve.

This past few days my dad has fallen several days in a row. Off a bathroom scale, 🙄 off a bucket he was sitting on at a store ( the bucket also took a dive but only he got the goose egg) and then while standing completely still trying to take off his shirt over his head. The disorientation resulted in him falling against the bathroom wall. 🤕. My mom decided he needed to go to the cardiologist NOT the neurologist because this is CLEARLY a heart issue and not a dementia/peripheral neuropathy/mobility issue. He has lost about 60 lbs, by the way. But HE IS FINE, people. That neurologist does NOT know what he’s talking about. My mom actually asked me,”What do you think is happening?” Ummm…he’s dying, mom. I know it’s hard to deal with, but that’s the bottom line. Thinking it’s aspartame poisoning, or a need for a pacemaker or your insistence that he is ABSOLUTELY FINE doesn’t help any of us. I would love to talk to you about how your husband of 55 years is dying in front of you, but we can’t. So I’m just going to back to my racist chopstick weapon debate. So, if she utters the words “aspartame poisoning” or “it’s not dementia!” one more time, you can say, “that’s when her daughter snapped, your honor!”

For now I’ll keep trying to grieve and love them the best I can. And for the love, let’s ALL pray I don’t get this kind of dementia. But it should be ok. I’m hiring a ninja hit team to take me out if certain conditions are met. It’s all fine. Everything’s fine. We’re all fine here. How are you?