For Lise: Metabolizing Grief
Grace Da Maren
Two weeks ago I stubbed my second toe (my index toe) really bad. A swear word shot out of my mouth, and my hands shook from the shock to my nerves. It was early Saturday morning, and despite the bonk, I had to shove my feet into ‘dressy’ shoes and get on with my morning.
It was the day of my Aunt Lise's funeral - a day to show up in nice clothes, join together as a community in grief, but a grief that is neither too visible nor too loud.
I did my best to hold space for my sadness and carry on with the music ministry (surrounded by some of the strongest men and women I know) while my heart hurt and my toe throbbed.
The last time I sang at a funeral with these strong people (my mom and dad, an aunt, uncle and cousin, my sister and my husband), Lise was there. She was the leader. That fact was ever-present throughout the day.
At the conclusion of Lise's funeral, my sadness sprung from me, and it felt good, like how shouting profanities that morning, immediately after striking my toe, had felt good. My tears poured out on the shoulder of my husband, my daughter, my sister and my mom.
In the days that followed, I confided in my close friends, but if I hadn’t, they wouldn’t know my heart was broken, and my understanding of my proximity to mortality was reaffirmed . My grief and loss were as invisible as my toe, sheathed beneath socks and shoes.
But grief doesn’t just go away because the funeral is over.
As the days passed, my toe displayed some beautiful bruising. What started as a blue crescent developed into half the nail looking like it was painted a blue-purple, starting from the nail bed and draining to the tip of my toe.
The bruise took a few days to develop, like how it took a few days to really sink in that my dear Aunt was deceased.
I saw a rainbow that encircled the sun one day. I’m sure that was from Lise because it reminded me of my crescent-bruised toe. It was almost like she was poking fun at me in the most beautiful way possible.
The bruise will take a few more weeks to resorb into my body. Likewise, it’s going to take some time to metabolize this grief.
My daughter’s birthday just passed, and we usually get a phone call from my Aunt - a sung happy birthday. Her voice was noticeably absent from the voicemail. That sucked.
There will be many tiny cuts like that for those who spent time with her daily, weekly, monthly, and annually. I even feel bad for the staff at her local hardware store: they’re not going to be greeted by her flirtatiously-friendly energy as she shops for household repair supplies.
A friend of mine who lost her son over a decade ago said that most of the time she’s okay now, and the loss is like a dull ache, a distant fog. But some days it hits hard and brings her to her knees.
I acknowledge that my body is healing, and my heart will too. I wonder if my heart will miss my bruised toe - because that little part of my heart still aches, and its companion injury is already healed.
I hope my toenail is forever misshapen. That would be good. Because I am forever changed by having known my Aunt Lise.
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Lise's Legacy
In my early repair days, my Aunt Lise encouraged me to repair her guitar. It was a Citation she bought in 1984. The headstock was broken, and knowing I had limited experience and lots of interest, she told me to fix it. I did, and sweat the whole time. It was 10 years ago and it’s still holding strong. Ugly as hell, but solid.
She played that guitar in church weekly. It was a symbol of her.
Guitars resonate sympathetically with the sounds that go on around them. For this reason, it was important to me to have her guitar out at the funeral so that it would resonate with the service. It would resonate with the spoken messages, and she would hear it. It would resonate with our songs, and she would play along. It would resonate with the singing of the gathered loved ones and friends, and she would sing too.
My Aunt’s guitar, her Citation, "George", is going to my cousin’s daughter, Vi. I am so pleased that it is going to her after having taken in that ceremony – that funeral – that celebration of life. I feel like George is moving forward with the knowledge of the love everyone had for my Aunt, and Vi will feel that every time she picks him up to strum.
Lise was a compassionate, handy, helpful, quick-witted smart-ass. I hope that rubbed off on George, and will get passed down to Vi, too!
Takeaways from Aunt Lise:
Put your trust in people you love – let them sweat for you, and watch them grow!
Give of yourself to your community – it’s a wise investment, and the benefits will unfold when you are forced to ask for help in the future.
Respect your energy – use it all when you’ve got it, and never hesitate to have a nap when you don’t.
Family first – Take care of yours, and don't forget that your family is yours to build.
Give your stuff away to people who love you – let a piece of you live with them.
Final thought
As we head into the holiday season, a cultural time of joy and celebration in a dark winter setting, let's be mindful that we don't know what's going on in anyone's hearts or shoes. Please, don't tamp down your enthusiasm, but be inclusive with it, extending it to people from whom you don't expect reciprocation. And bring that love out year-round, because the world, and our family in it, definitely need it.
December 2024
