It's personal

We all grieve in our own way. It is intensely personal. It is also not unique to human beings.

Some moments I'm as calm and cool as I ever am. Some moments I'm a crying heap.

I find that when I keep my mind on other things, I am calm. That's to be expected, I suppose.

Then I will think of something, someone, some time. I'll see or hear something or someone. It all comes rushing back in a flood that threatens to overwhelm me.

So many memories. Some good, some bad. Some I may share one day, others I shall take them with me to wherever I go after this life.

Have to send out thanks to Mary & Lori, both of whom told me there's no wrong way to go through this, no wrong way to grieve. It's personal and has to be that way. Mary taught me through her essays on the passing of her sister. Lori told me outright, you do it your way.

This is my way.

CELEBRATE

She said, many times, when she finally left we are to throw a party. Celebrate. As she said, no more pain. She also said, more'n once, to celebrate that (insert pejorative of your choice here) was gone.

Understand at this celebration, we will have beer, at least a keg. If this offends you, well, I shall let Ma reply. "You can get glad in the same britches you got mad in." We will have food. What kind, I do not know. Her favorite meat was wild rabbit, so Shag, me and some more rednecks may need to get out and bust a few one night. I can tell you, since we'll have meat, the celebration will not be on a Friday. She didn't eat meat on Fridays.

Why? She was a Catholic. Meatless Fridays. The Mother Church and her had a falling out, but she still held to her faith. In later years, the reason for the falling out was repealed by the church, so she would be welcomed back. S'far as I know, she never went to another mass after the schism. In case you don't wonder, I was partly raised as a Catholic, but I left the denomination 'cause my rebel streak not only runs to my core, it is my core. Maybe more on this later.

DENIED

She wanted last rites. Don't get much more personal than that.

She was denied.

Shag penned a letter to the editor in this week's newspaper of his opinion on the policy.

Here's mine.

If the priest is willing to do it, then let him in. Suit him up if need be. To deny such a request to a dying person is, to me, unconscionable.

I understand the epidemiological issues. I understand the temporary and minor inconvenience it would cause, both to the priest (who signed up for this kinda thing anyway) and the medical staff (who signed up for this kinda thing anyway).

No, you say.

Yes. I say. The doctor, the nurses and everyone else involved in the decision at the hospital all said the same thing - They would make her passing easy.

Last rites, about as personal a thing you can get, that would have her passing even easier. But, no.

No, you say, the medical folks were referring to her physical state.

No. Medicine and medical people also treat the mental and emotional state of patients. That is part of the whole care package.

They could have eased her mind. They chose not to.

I'm going to resent this for a while, but not forever. I will let it go. But not right now. I could rage. I could storm, I could let the Tifton hospital know exactly what it feels like to get on the bad side of a person who buys ink in 55-gallon drums.

Not gonna.

She'd say let it go.

And so, just like her on Sunday, May 17, 2020, when I let her go, I'm gonna let this go.