Another Funeral

Feb. 4^th

Today was the funeral of a co-worker, someone I had worked with for many years. I had found out about her death on the way back from the Bahamas when I was sitting in Pearson airport in Toronto and turning on my phone for the first time in a week. I saw a text telling me about this woman’s sudden death. I felt numb. Then I felt guilty for not feeling more distressed. Was I inhuman for not shedding a tear? I had to tell myself that this was a normal reaction: while we had been co-workers for 15.5 years, we had not been close, and her ill health over the last few years meant that her death was not a complete shock. But it was undeniably tragic. She was only 48, and she left two teenage daughters.

So it was a tough afternoon, not so much because of a sense of deep personal loss, but because of being back again in an environment of intense grieving. The agony of her daughters, the composed dignity of her mother and sister, the sound of someone sitting behind me breaking down and having to leave the chapel—all acted as echoes of the emotional currents at K.B.’s funeral. Yet again, this could hardly be one of those “celebration of life” funerals typical when an elderly person has died. This, too, felt like an occasion difficult to process because of the relatively young age at which my co-worker died.

So it all felt too much. Hey God, could we please take a break from the people dying thing?

When a close friend, someone who knew my co-worker better than I did, phoned this evening to see how I was doing, I broke down and cried and cried again as we talked not just about my co-worker but about my ongoing grief at the loss of K.B. My face is now red and puffy and dry from all the tears. My head hurts from being so stuffed up.