An Apology to

“After the first death, there is no other.”

Those oft quoted famous words of Dylan Thomas came to mind last week as I watched the ceremony for John McCain in Phoenix, and I knew I disagreed.

Each death adds to the vial of sorrow that we begin to carry after the loss of the first loved one. Sometimes, it begins even with the first funeral we attend.

The ampul that became mine to carry arrived the year I was six. That was when in the family tradition, my attendance was mandated at the three day wake and funeral for my Maternal Grandmother. I was too young during her lengthy illness to have formed any relationship with her, yet her demise has been ingrained in my memory since that fateful cold February morning.

A few brief weeks later, after a sudden illness my Paternal Grandmother also went to her reward. By that time I was accustomed to the grieving process that I had already observed from a child’s eyes. Still that was when the transparent drops of sadness in my vial doubled.

Each death is different, and each one brings a different reaction from those left behind to mourn.

The one thing they share in common is the incredible, indescribable pain of loss. As a child, I felt it while not being capable of comprehending the reason. However, a lifetime later I still remember the surge of emotion that embraced me as I watched my parents grieve and I felt their pain invade my soul.

As the years passed by quietly without further loss, I almost forgot the tiny vial now embedded in my heart until it resurrected with a jolt the year I lost my Dad. I never experienced grief of that magnitude before our final goodbye. It was then with a beloved Parent’s loss, I recognized the promise of eventual sorrow that love carries with it.

Ten years ago on a beautiful September morning I bade the final goodbye to my love, my life’s companion, my husband; he who was “My Noon, My Midnight, My Talk, My Song.” I truly believed then the vial of sorrow must overflow. Yet it didn’t because grief seems to have a strange elasticity. And that causes me to wonder about so many things; all beyond my ability to understand.

But I do know, despite the elegance of the Poet’s words, there are other deaths after the first. And their scope of pain is relentless, and the flask of sorrow that we each carry becomes heavier with each goodbye.