Some say that deaths come in threes. Some even breathe a sigh of relief when the third notice comes, believing some respite is near. An artist friend of mine spoke of three deaths she had experienced, grouped together, impossibly close in all ways, father, uncle, brother. Three heartaches, three losses. But of course, if you ask the Sudanese mother, the Palestinian child, the Haitian brother, we know that for them death sometimes comes in numbers so large that they need to stop counting. Yet, for the dying, death comes in ones. They die even if surrounded by others as one, alone on the continuing journey. And those who are left are left to mourn, perhaps to be in mourning.
To mourn is one thing, to be in mourning another. Both have to do with a kind of loss. Some mourn the loss of youth, to me this is like mourning losing one’s baby teeth. Some mourn a favorite restaurant, bar or theater being torn down, or at least replaced by a less enduring establishment. I once mourned the almost complete loss of the Fillmore District, once vibrantly Black and alive with music, mostly blues and jazz, incredible barbeque, and interesting, if not chic, shops. The loss of a friendship, the loss of a dream, the loss of a home are also doorways to a kind of mourning. But the death of loved ones can bring on a period to not just mourn but to be in mourning.
This year I have been given the opportunity to consider and reconsider death and all its metaphors of travel, from crossing over to passing on to ascending, and myriad destinations based on faith or theology or physics. And no less so because of the worldwide news of the day, I find myself immersed in mourning. I am mourning my brother three months after his death, still trying to get used to our reshaped family, and where and how I sit as elder. Then this month, my dear sweet friend died and despite my knowing his crossing was near, when told of it I found myself submerged under waves of grief only to be informed, by an ex-sister-in-law who takes the ideal of being a good Christian very seriously, that my ex-husband had died just over a week before that. So, I am beginning to understand what being in mourning is, how deep it can travel, how heavy it can feel, and how in some moments one doesn’t even try to climb out of it, but instead can simply sit with the loss and with slow steady bites chew on its meat, suck the marrow from its bones, and begin, in the heaviness of the day to understand the thickness of mourning mixing with the flavor, scent and enduring expanse of absence.
Thank you for reminding us, devorah, of the many degrees, ways and depths of losses, grief and pain. I’ve come to realize that there is no measuring stick for loss. That the loss of one’s dearest companion, whether it be a dog, a parrot, a cat or a ltwo-legged human are equally painful to the one bereft. A sentient life is precious, be it Palestinian, Latinx, Jewish, Native, White or African American. That said, we need to remind ourselves that racism destroys lives, both here at home, with racial profiling, mass deportations and ithrough our endless iwars. When I lost my daughter, Danielle, two days before 9-11, the personal and the political became inextricably linked. In some ways, I felt she at the tender age of 19, had been spared the ravages of a civilization that was teetering on the brink of moral decay. Now with fascism taking root in our country, many folks are planning exit strategies; Spain, Italy, Amsterdam? Techies can work from anywhere. But OGs like me are here to stay, where my family, friends, memories live on streets and places I know like the back of my hand. Artists, like Shakira, who you just informed us, has passed on, made her mark here. She was my advisee at New College of California. She was the most humble, gentle, sensitive, spirited bundle of energy, like a zephyr, dancing through the night. I know she’s still moving, dancing into the eternal flame, where she will join all the other spirits, like your brother, our friend, Mark and so many dear ones, who we’ve loved and lost.
Thank you for your eloquent reply, and yes all life is precious. The leading cause of childhood death is now Isreal. The life expectations for Arican-American men have decreased in the last five years. Thousands of indigenous women disappear in the US and Mexico every year are just a few of the scourges of racism. I am considering leaving the US with the growth of fascism, but for now I am simply trying to keep fighting the good fight on all fronts.
I’m with you sis. Feelings expressed in your post is so true. Death is the cycle of life and our understand and acceptance of it grows deeper as we age. Along with the understanding of always sharing love with those closest to us is of primal importance. Nothing is promised but the end of life on earth, for all of us. Additionally in the best case we’re able to shore our mourning . I t filled us through life. I always reference this PBS story around the one of the keys to surviving and living as seniors. Surprisingly it no just an active live, healthy foods and building fellowship with other seniors, but our ability to survive the many losses experienced. Our ability to survive loss now I realized how key that is. Our work isn’t as senior we must continue the patterns of joy and gratitude for our ancestors and the living.
Peace in the Hood.
Your forever sister,
michelle
I so agree that the ability to survive loss is key. My practices of acceptance and thankfulness do keep me afloat. And joy is something we must continually seek out and/or create.
Dear Devorah,
I hope this message finds you with the space and grace to hold the deep grief of losing your brother.
We are all still reeling from the recent loss of Shakiri. Roger Dillahunty, Mary Viviane, and I had a moment yesterday to reflect together. Your words stay with me: “To mourn is one thing… but to be in mourning is another.” It’s a truth that unfolds daily, especially as we grow older and experience more loss.
I do my best to honor the lives of those who have gone on and seek refuge in how I process the reality of grief. It is overwhelming—a weight and a passage, a part of the journey we never feel quite prepared for.
Sending prayers and blessings your way, as we all navigate this time of loss together.
With love and respect,
[Your Name]
Dear Deborah,
Thank you so much for your comment. Right now, I am processing four losses, so space is a bit of an issue, but grace is the gift I have received. Yes, these years have so many lessons as we age and learn the lessons of acceptance, acceptance of the changes in our bodies, acceptance of the changes in our dreams, and acceptance of the many losses that come more and more often changing the shape of our lives. And reminding us of our duty to remember to tell their stories and to honor them as the ancestors they have become. And I am swimming through the sad seas of mourning while building an ark of their memories that will keep me navigating towards the North Star of my journey.
With much love and respect for you