The Veil

A journey through death and dying is not the trip I choose easily or am forced to take.  I could have left it for some future time and dealt with it then.  I could have stayed away and denied registering it from my mind.  Deny it was truly happening.

But, I was with my mom when we got the call, from Florida, telling us Karen was possibly not going to make it through her cancer set-back. So, it wasn’t just about me.  I had to take into consideration Mom’s need to say goodbye to her daughter, before she passed, not just my own needs.

Karen is my older sister. She died of breast cancer on October 9th, 2014.  Mom and I arrived at St. Joseph’s hospital, in Tampa, a few hours before Karen died.  She was in conscious sedation when we arrived Thursday afternoon.  She couldn’t respond, but we were told she could possibly hear us and feel our touch.

As soon as I walked into I.C.U. to visit with Karen, I went numb.  It took more energy than I possessed to focus on the people in the room and what they were saying. I could see Karen lying there helpless and only when I saw her with my own eyes did I internalize, “She’s not going to make it.”

Picture Hanging in Karen's Condo

A veil fell over me.  It was dark, heavy and protective. Without it I’m not sure I could have stayed there and dealt with this.  It sheltered me from the shock of it all.  I was able to reach out to, speak to and comfort others, but my veil kept me from curling up in a ball and weeping.  It had a numbing affect and warded off any possibility of absorbing the reality of Karen’s death.  I listened to the details of what was happening to her physically, but none of it registered.  Karen passing and my goodbyes were all my mind could muster.

The veil felt like a fog covering up my five senses.  Leaving them useless.  My sixth sense, my heart, kept taking the blows of this pain.

Morning Dew, in Karen's Garden

I think now I understand the traditions of wearing a veil during times of loss.  It must help to shield others from what your face is showing.  Anger, pain, disbelief, helplessness, defeat, sorrow.

I think an invisible veil is more difficult.  It doesn’t ward off trivial conversation.  It doesn’t show the need for physical distance from strangers who are living life as if the world hasn’t just been shattered.  It doesn’t hide my tears in the grocery, the airport and the restroom.  It doesn’t give me permission to have time to grieve.  Or permission to be brain dead when someone asks me a question and expects a intelligible answer.

I did see Karen’s sons, Ryan and Andrew wear sunglasses. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t to keep the Florida sun from their eyes.  I think it was their kind of veil. Why didn’t I think of that?

Jamie, Comforting Andrew

Fr. Joseph, Comforting Mom

 Sara, Staying Close to Ryan

Pete and Kathy Staying Close to Comfort

Andrew and Mom
Sunglassess don't take the pain away, 
just make it easier to smile

Family Gathered To Comfort One Another

Gazebo Lake Karen's Condo Was Located

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ENNzjy8QjU

I've included a video from YouTube of the wail of a loon.  I chose the picture on top of this post because it seems appropriate I wish I could wail like a loon for Karen and she'd answer, "I'm okay."

And being a loon I'd always wear a veil.