The Measure of a Tragedy

Everyone has misplaced their wallet at some time in their life, and I am willing to bet it was an awful experience. It is always there one minute and gone the next, however you do not worry about it at first. You think to yourself that you had it in the house just yesterday; it has to be around here somewhere. Maybe on a first run through the house you give up, declaring something else more worthy of your time. When you finally accept that it is lost though, the first course of action is to scour your house looking for it, comfortable with the knowledge that it has to be around there somewhere. Picking through the dirty laundry, turning out pant pockets, checking in between couch cushions, are places you search all with the hope that it could have slid into one these nooks. You might even find yourself checking unrealistic places such as the inside of cabinets or kitchen drawers. In the back of your mind you are starting to worry about the lost sum of money, credit cards, and drivers license. Once you have determined that it cannot possibly be inside of the house, you go outside to the car. Digging underneath the car seats, tension and frustration are mounting as the thought that it may be unrecoverable sits darkly in the back of your mind, peering outward with a taunting smile. The next step is to call around town to places you have recently been, or even act more proactively by retracing your steps and driving to these places. Maybe you tell yourself that you just want the wallet back, it is fine if someone took the cash. If you are lucky the wallet is returned to you, queuing a feeling of immense relief, allowing you to stare back at the doom and gloom thoughts in the back of your head; no standing in line for a new license, no coming to terms with lost cash, no canceling credit cards or dealing with fraudulent payments. The fear and anxiety caused by losing a wallet is a terrible inconvenience, and when it happens it feels like a great tragedy. If we are so quick to label a day-to-day occurrence as a tragedy, how do we measure what is true tragedy, such as losing a parent?

How does one cope with the loss of a parent? When I was a little younger than fourteen years old my mother was diagnosed with small cell cancer. When my parents told me about it I was at the computer, sitting in the chat lobby of my game of choice, Diablo. Both my mother and father came in to tell me that she was sick, to tell me that we were going to fight it. What do you say in response to the knowledge that someone you love might be leaving you forever? After all when you are younger, you know it to be a fact your parents will always be there with you. In just one minute, I went from being concerned about my progress in a silly videogame to having to face the very real concept of mortality. The gravity of the situation did not hit me then, I could hardly believe that my mother dying would be a reality I would have to think about, that this could not happen to me. At the time it all seemed so unreal, that someone can be there one minute and then infinitely gone the next, mere memories taking the place of flesh and blood. A better question might not be how one copes with this loss, but instead when will one stop coping with it? At this point in my life I still do not know. Every so often I will go days without the slightest hint or reminder, but on other days it will be the main focus of my mind. I ask myself how “X” would be with her, how she would feel about Y, or even what life would be like today if she were still here. The question I will always wonder is what she would think of who I have become, with the only conclusion being that she would be proud, but there will always be that suspicion in the back of my mind asking “really?” Perhaps this is the first indicator of measuring loss; the loss of a wallet is a transient event; the loss of a parent is everlasting. Possibly, to measure loss is a matter of measuring your ability to bring closure to the event.

After I had been told, things went back to this bizarre semi-normal state. She would still laugh and smile, though they were fewer and farther in between. The world seemed to be as if everything had this heavy weight on it, that laughing seemed inappropriate. Part of the reason I think this happened was because we rarely talked about it. There was always this elephant in the room glaring at you, trying to catch your eye. I found myself never wanting to talk about it, that talking about it made the situation too real for me. Suddenly things that I enjoyed were not the same; sure I would still go on playing my games, but it turned from something I had enjoyed to something I was just doing to avoid what can be best described as “real life”. My problems were so much smaller and easier to manage within the game, and thus easier to focus on. The activities that I engaged in also changed in my game as well. Being that it was an online multiplayer game, I stopped my typical routine of helping people. Instead I would find myself engaging in more sinister activities such as preventing the other players from playing by crashing games, or hindering other progress by “player killing”. Everyone grieves differently, and I took all my anger and frustration and transferred every bit of it into that game. I had set myself up in an entirely anonymous landscape; no one knew what I was going through, for that time it felt as if there was not a constant flow of pity, whether it was coming from myself or from those around me. This did not stop the thoughts in my own head though, I constantly worried. The game was more of a temporary way of dealing with the heartache than a cure, but the game really did not stop me from thinking about my mother. The thoughts would always come back and they would often be the same, wishing it were different, wondering what to do, and thinking of a motherless future. This leads me to my second conclusion about measuring loss. A true tragedy is something that is difficult to express and share with others. While this may be difficult, at some point in the grieving process I think we realize that we cannot grieve only by ourselves, but we need those that we love around us.

One day, after Mom started on chemotherapy, she picked me up from the bus stop, which was not uncommon however certainly not expected. She was wearing a blue denim hat with a sunflower embroidered on it. I did not say anything about it, but immediately I could sense a change. We made small talk during the very short ride home. How was your day? Fine. Have a lot of homework? Not really. When we entered the house, she stopped in front of me in the laundry room. With tears in her eyes she took off her hat to reveal she had her head shaved, saying that she might as well because it was all going to fall out. I had nothing to say in response to her other than I loved her. Fourteen year old me did not have an answer, and I have long since concluded that there is not a single thing I could have said that would have been suitable. All I could do was tell her that I loved her and give her a hug. It was at this point that it really dawned on me that she might not beat the disease, for the first time after months of dealing with this dark fear in the back of my mind, always watching and waiting, that I accepted I might have to say goodbye to my mother. This is the third measure of a true tragedy, a true tragedy cannot be “fixed”, and while there may be lessons learned and life goes on, nothing will ever be the same.

Looking back I am always overcome with a lot of emotion when I think about all my family has done for me. Before she was diagnosed, she would always wake me up in the morning and cook me breakfast. She would always take the time in the morning to make me breakfast, even if it was just oatmeal, and then still drive me down to the school. Towards the end of her illness she was not able to do these things anymore, my Dad began to take me to school every morning at 6:30, before going to work. I would usually sleep in the car; he would be in his business mode, interested in getting to work to beat the traffic. We would stop at McDonalds and get breakfast before dropping me at the school. Due to this I would often get to school very early, almost before anyone else. I remember thinking what a pain it was to sit in school and wait for classes to begin, and these thoughts make me feel guilty. I could have just as easily taken the bus and solved both of our problems, but I did not. I look back and am remorseful I did not do more for my family, but I just did not understand at the time, I was so wrapped up in myself and my own grief. At the time I really took it all for granted, which makes looking back on everything that much more difficult. It is hard enough to miss someone that you loved very much without also beating yourself up on the little things you were too young to take notice of. We rarely talked during these rides even if I was not still asleep, but I know that he was there for me if I wanted to reach out. We each kept our grief very much to ourselves, after all, what answers could he provide that I myself could not? This leads me to a fourth measure of a true tragedy is that you are going to have regrets, things you cannot go back and change although you may want to, but you also have to be gentle with yourself and appreciate you did the best you could at the time with who you were then. This is why we live and learn in the face of struggles, so we have more experience to work with the next tragedy we face in our lives.

As I quickly learned, you can only grieve by yourself so long before you have no more answers to offer yourself. It is in my opinion that grieving needs to take place with all of the people who are affected. They need to work together in order to heal themselves, but I know this now, not then. I know this because after my mother had passed away, my Dad had either signed me up or his job had offered free counseling sessions. I resisted at first, thinking my problems to be my own and not believing that someone else could really understand, and even if they could understand, what could they do to help me? I think I went to three sessions total, and I was not completely sold on speaking to a stranger about my loss, though it did serve a purpose in my grieving. Having a third party available to hear your issues and give you their take on them is very beneficial, especially given that a counselor is trained to do so. Ultimately, I believe that it did not work for me, but that is not to say that it would not work for anyone. It allowed me to formulate my opinion that one truly needs family and friends in order to make it through the grieving process. In fact it is my opinion that in order to be happy and successful, one needs this particular support system. This leads me to my next conclusion regarding measuring tragedy is that a true tragedy requires you to come to the realization that you need the support and resources of others to survive and move ahead.

Before my mother passed away, I recall my Dad approaching me and telling me that he thought she would be leaving us that night. He gave me the option of staying there for the evening or going to a friend’s house. I chose to go to my friend’s house, as I really did not know what to expect, again distancing myself from the situation. I had been struggling with the thought of losing my mother for months attempting to come to terms about it, but I just could not stay there that night. She had a hospital bed in my parent’s bedroom where she slept, and we all went there as a family to say goodbye. Again finding myself speechless in the face of something incredibly difficult, I just told her that I loved her. I will never forget how physically weak she was from all the chemotherapy, but I will also never forget how strong she was and how much she fought. When my Dad picked my friend and I up the next morning for school; it was almost the same routine, yet the elephant in the room had grown exponentially. We all knew what my Dad was going to say, but none of us acknowledged it. We went to McDonald’s, but instead doing our patented drive thru, we ate inside. Sitting on those hard white plastic benches, while my friend was away in the bathroom, Dad told me that she had passed away. There is no good way of breaking bad news, but I admire my Dad for his strength in doing it, for doing his best to keep his composure. Even when you have come to accept something and said your goodbyes, it does not stop it from shocking and hurting you. Of course he told the school, in his mind I am sure he thought it was for my benefit. One of the school counselors came looking for me during my first period. It is hard enough being 14 years old dealing with the death of a parent without having extra attention drawn to you by the school counselors. The teacher told me that the counselor wanted to talk to me; I responded that I did not want to talk to him. The teacher returned to the hallway to talk to the counselor, leaving the class to work. The student who sat next to me, who I had spoken to all semester, seemingly sensed that something was wrong and was more subdued that morning. He asked why the counselor was looking for me and I just shrugged in response. Eventually the teacher returned and gave me a note that said if I ever needed to talk to anyone that he was available.

The kindness shown towards me from people I hardly even knew is something I will never forget. Within weeks of my mother’s diagnoses the refrigerator was suddenly full of dishes home prepared by neighbors and friends of the family. It felt as if every other day I would open the door to another face bearing a dish and heating instructions. It always meant a lot to me that people cared enough to take time out of their day and expend energy even though everyone has their own challenges just for the sake of my family and I. When you’re young and going through something such as losing a beloved parent you begin to harbor some bitter tendencies towards the world, and I truly did as exampled by my actions on my videogame. Even though I did not realize it then, seeing the selflessness that people can exert when they truly care aided me in overcoming my bitter tendencies. Perhaps to qualify the fifth measure of a tragedy we need to examine is whom it affects. Using the example of a lost wallet, not only are all of those thing recoverable with scant effort, but it truly only impacts one person; yourself. The measure of a tragedy is not a personal experience such as losing a wallet, but instead it is a shared experience. Losing someone close to you is a tragedy for a multitude of reasons, but chiefly because of the sheer number of people it inevitably affects.

What loss comes down to in the end is that it is difficult to measure regardless of circumstance, and most likely is measured differently by each of us. For me, I conclude it is always important to remember whom you have lost and loved, and equally important to remember not just what you have lost, but what you have gained through knowing them. It is important to hold onto these memories for yourself and others, yet there will always be a physical void which you expected your loved one to fill, which should only strengthen your resolve to never forget them. It is my hope that by examining my own feelings about the loss of my mother that I can better accept this physical void and cherish the memories that I cling to all the more strongly, and provide a path to follow for others with may be faced with a similar challenge of “measuring the immeasurable”.