When an old friend of thirty years died last week I realized again that very few people can utter the actual word, 'dead'. People say “passed” or mumble something pious. No one dares say 'croaked', either or 'toes up' or even that poetic Shakepearean 'shuffled off the mortal coils'.
Next time you say 'passed', try to not roll your eyes heavenward. Look at me. See what it means to me. Help me face it. 'Dead’ is hard, yes. ‘Dead’ is sharp, yes, and final. There’s nothing good or easy about it but it's the truest word.
Don't try to smooth it over with a flowery euphemism such as ‘he’s gone home to God’. This makes YOU feel better but it irritates the hell out of me. Just endure my unhappy moment with me. Maybe I want to say more about the dead friend; maybe I’ll even burst into tears. But I’m a grown-up. I’ll change the subject if I can and let you off the hook.
Say, “too bad he’s gone” or “what a shame” and I’ll handle my own religion. You may mean well but you're changing the subject from my grief to your sermon. If you really believe I am wrong to weep, that my friend truly is ‘better off’ with the angels’, just hand me a pamphlet. I’ll read it later.
“Be honest. Call a spade a spade,” my mother said. When you want to dig a hole you need a spade, you don’t want ‘a digging instrument’ .’ Only a shovel with long handle and a pointy blade will do the job. A tool you can lean into. I need a spade to bury my dead friend. I need a sharp spade to say good-bye to thirty years of happy times.
Now is not the time for a spirituality lesson. If you saw me with a cast on my leg, would you say, “it’s God’s will?”
No, you’d say, “Too bad. How’d it happen?” Because you know I’m dying to tell you how it happened and I’d sure like your sympathy.
“Don’t gild the lily.” My mother said. Meaning, don’t paint over a beautiful flower. Saying “he’s passed” means he’s not really gone away forver. “He’s passed” means he’s just out of sight, stuck in a traffic jam. “He’s passed” promises I will see him again. You may believe that what if I don’t?
What matters is that he’s not here anymore. He doesn’t answer the phone. His dog misses him. Dead means dead no matter how you try to improve on it.
Skip the sermon. Hand me the spade and let me dig.
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2 comments:
Oh, honey. I am so sorry. Yes, dead is dead. If you need to talk, call me. The only thing that takes the sting out of forever is telling the story about how it all ended. No sermon from me. Dead just sucks.
Yes, I often want to use the word death or died when writing to a friend about someone they have lost. And I often don't use it - as if they will object to the perceived hardness of the word - and then I resort to a euphemism instead. The thing about it is that death is what it is, it's tough and real and not understandable, and it ain't no euphemism.
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