What did J.D. Salinger, Orson Welles, and Charlie Chaplin have in common?
Why, it’s Oona O’Neill:
How do we grieve now?
Something has been confusing me this week, so I thought I’d ask you: are we still allowed to grieve? See, here’s the thing: when my dear Uncle Ray passed away last year–a profound loss–a friend told me two days later that I “wasn’t fun anymore”. I don’t think he meant it in the dickish way it sounds, but I would have to concede that I was not particularly playful, sarcastic, or mischievous a couple of days after the greatest loss in my life.
Earlier this week I put my dear 13-year-old cat Cassius to sleep. It was fairly unexpected–I had anticipated returning from the vet with a vial of medicine but instead came home with an empty carrier. I drank myself a bunch of whiskey that night and cried and kicked a lawn chair. My boy and I were close.
So, the next morning a close family member (would be better not to say which one, but it rhymes with “schmother-in-law”) saw me crying as I was typing a message at my computer and said, “You need to get over it and move on–pull yourself up by your bootstraps.” Less than 24hrs had passed. That felt to me like a punch in the stomach and a malicious disrespect to the memory of my friend. I have been unable to bring myself to speak to her since.
So, ‘flockers, that’s why I’m coming to you. I’m not looking for sympathy (though I’ll take it), but I’m really just trying to answer this question: what is the etiquette for grieving these days? Keep it totally to yourself? Cry at a funeral for an immediate family member but not beyond? Only for humans but not for pets? Between being no fun and taking too many hours to mourn a non-human, I’m just not sure what one does anymore.
What do you do?
Frank’s story about Pierce
Them’s the breaks, as my half-brother Pierce used to say a lot. He’d spit it out like you had earned that bad thing comin’ and why didn’t you just get outta the way but nobody said it out loud when he got so drunk and walked in front of an F-350 dually. Twenty four breaks as I recall although that’s skipping the bones that got all crushed up like oyster crackers.
Today, a while ago
On this day 34 years ago, I was handed over to the state of Texas as a ward. I spent the first week of my life in the nursery of the hospital, alone. No name. No parents.
It all worked out in the end. I was adopted by amazing people when I was 6 months old. I had a wonderful childhood, went to the best schools and have a very good outlook on life, in general, and my place in it, specifically.
I don’t define myself by my start in life. I don’t consider myself unlucky. I’m just tired of being angry at two people I’ve never met.
