An ode to grief and the grieving

And my heartfelt wish for 2025

Today, four weeks ago, we buried my father.

In every single way the life I had before his death was buried with him that day. My mum often says she feels it’s still November. I get what she means.

When I wrote my eulogy for Dad, I pondered how people pre-prepare eulogies. Nothing of what streamed out of me that day could’ve arrived at any time other than the brief liminal space between him leaving his earthly body and him being buried in the earth. Not that I couldn’t have written words about him, gratitude for him, appreciation for his life; I’d done that many times before. That wasn’t it.

The key is that when I wrote them previously he was still here in his fatherly form. A perfectly imperfect being. A man with gifts and vices. A dad I loved and I fought with. A human with wounds, scars and baggage.

When I finally wrote my eulogy he was not. There was no Michael Sztar in the form of flesh, blood and bones to write them about.

Instead I had to connect with him in a different way, I had to connect with his soul and that which is pure.

When I shared this with my cousin, he said to me he’d often thought the same thing. Attending funerals in the past he’d be gobsmacked at all the wonderful things being uttered about not so wonderful human beings, men and women who may have not been the kindest, wisest or gentlest of people. Yet each one of them apparently had a part of them that overrode all of the rest. And that’s what is left when they pass over.

In the moment of finding out Dad had died, my love for him was overwhelming. Achingly overwhelming. It still is. I knew that the only place I could still connect with him was in that space. If he is pure love now, so must I be when I seek him out. And the paradox is that I’d never have found it before he died because I never had a need to connect with him in that way only.

I’m learning that grief is a form of love, perhaps one of the highest. It is an honouring of another, a song of praise, a sense of gratitude, a yearning and an acceptance interwoven. To grieve is to know the rhythm of life, to not run from it, to hold it as the sacredness it is.

’Tis a holy thing to love what death can touch’ ~ Francis Weller

I’m also learning that there are two aspects to grieving. To grieve what we have lost and through that grieving to create the space for a new relationship with what we have lost. This is why I don’t feel I am the same person as before, how can I be?

Plus I’m discovering that in the most part we as humans don’t know how to be with grief because we’re not encouraged to. Most people I come in to contact with don’t even know what to say. Many wish to go on as if life just had a minor hiccup. Others expect me to carry on with the mundane when I’m swimming far from the shallows. The majority can’t even bring up Dad’s name. Very few have the ability and willingness to reach out and simply check in or to ask where my heart is today. A lot just wish to avoid it all together. It doesn’t make sense, we permit happiness to go on for weeks and months, why don’t we allow grief? It’s not that I blame anyone for this, I just see it as the output of a society and culture not versed in death and grief.

I feel blessed at this time to have the Judaic customs around death and mourning. There is a clearly defined five stage process that enables you to slowly move through all phases. It also gives children of the deceased the greatest role in supporting their loved one’s journey into the light, a time period that spans 11 months post-death. There is some comfort in knowing those who came before me followed the same road as will those that will come after me.

And as a writer I find solace in words. In the case of Dad’s death, I’m finding comfort in poetry — both reading and writing it. There is a rhyme and rhythm to poetry that enables me to keep a rope tied to the cycle of life.

Each morning I get up and write to him. Usually in verse of some kind or a letter. It’s my way of finding a new relationship with him. It’s not easy, but it’s all I have. And it’s also going to be my way of talking about a subject that is not talked about enough. I want grief writing to form part of my ongoing repertoire. Here is my first share…an ode to sorrow, an ode to Dad, an ode to the living and the dying.

The Bluebird

Life goes on,

But you don’t

Well, at least not in the way we’re used to.

I arrived back home late last night

And when I got up this morning

I noticed that the frangipani tree outside my office window is full.

Bright pink clusters

A little yellow sun opening from the inside

A scent so succulent and sweet.

It was empty before I left

Just 10 days ago

Now lush and green and pretty.

Where are you

When the world keeps turning

When the height of summer shows her glorious face.

I hear a flutter as I write these words

The little bluebird lands on the edge of my jade plant

The one I decided a few weeks back is you.

This time of year you loved

Not for its heat though

But for its breeze.

Perhaps you are now the wind

Wings flapping, free, unburdened, light

At home in the fresh air.

The seasons roll on

The solstice has passed

The moon is nearly new again.

Where are you

When the cycle of life continues

A chirp, I hear now…high pitched, long, strong.

Is this the way it goes

Finding you in places I’m not ready to look

When all I still want is a hug, a smile or a hello.

When all I see

Is empty space

Where your body once took up shape.

A lizard slides past

Quick, slick, slippery

Envious of its form, I wonder where is yours.

It’s a trust I guess

In the same thing

That made the frangipani bloom over this past week.

The unceasing wheel of existence

The mystery

Of…life, death, rebirth.

I’ve obviously not written the substacks pieces I’d promised before his passing. Apologies, but they will come in the new year. However, I did feel like I couldn’t leave this year without sharing where I was at and also passing on hope and affirmations that the coming year will be filled with love for all beings everywhere.

In this vein, I would like to end this piece with words from one of my current favourite Hebrew tunes, inspired by one of the ancient psalms. It’s a song that illuminates our individual power to make the change we so desire.

Olam Chesed Yibaneh

I will build this world from love

And you must build this world from love

And if we build this world form love

Then God will build this world from love.

Seasons Greetings, happy new year. Thank you for supporting my work over 2024 ❤️