After Death

Writer's Note: Last fall, I enrolled in Megan Devine's "Writing Your Grief" workshop as a means to process the spiral of emotions relating to Declan's premature birth that surfaced annually. Upon completion of the course, I was admitted into the WYG "alumni" group, which includes a private Facebook page where we are free to share our continued writing with one another.

After Thane's death on Monday, November 13th, I was barely functioning. I knew I would, in time, want to process on paper the myriad of emotions swirling through my body; I just didn't know when the words would appear. When I was home alone Wednesday for the first time, and the silence was too much to bear, I found myself drawn back to the solace of this beloved group. There, I found the space to say what I felt needed to be said. I'm grateful for this sacred, compassionate Tribe.
~Julie

Damn it. Now Declan has experienced significant loss, and is beginning to understand how After feels so different than Before. I had hoped to shield him from Grief as long as I could; after all, he's only twelve. But I couldn't stop Death.

Thane was almost twelve, too, when he left this world Monday night. He and Declan grew up together... ran together... played together... cuddled together... loved each other unconditionally. God, what a gift he was.

Thane was my rock through so much loss... the absence of family members through death and estranged relationships, fractured life-long friendships, my health challenges and diagnoses, Declan’s continuing disabilities from a pregnancy that ended far too soon, financial hardship, marital stress, and other things I’m not sure I can name out loud. 

He was my comfort and support, my companion and safety. He let me cry without needing to fix anything, never made any commentary about my process through grief, and never judged me. He'd simply let me spoon him, and lie there, listening to my words. Or he'd just sit with me through my tears. He seemed to know when I was done crying, because he'd give a gentle lick on my hand, or kisses on my face when I finally stopped to breathe.

My head knows the decision we made was the "humane" one, given the circumstances. It would have destroyed me if he had suffocated in our hallway on Sunday night. (God, I was petrified that was going to be how he exited this world. We were up with him the whole night, just trying to help him get comfortable.) I couldn’t let him suffer. But, even so, somehow my heart just doesn't understand. How do I explain to myself that letting this gentle spirit go was the "right" thing to do? Nothing about it makes sense. Nothing about it feels even remotely okay. 

I wasn't ready for Thane to die. My righteous indignation says he should still be here, beside me right now. I'm desperately trying to find comfort in the knowledge that we surrounded Thane with love and support, and that I got to spoon him, stroking his puppy-soft ears as he took his last breath, but I just can't stop crying. I wish with every fiber of my being that I could change the outcome. But I can't.

His absence is profound. The silence, deafening. Our memories together are everywhere. The questions keep coming, and I don't have the answers. How am I supposed to explain the After of Death to Declan when I don’t even understand it myself?