Lessons Life Has Taught Me: # 2

Lessons Life Has Taught Me# 2  I Have "Traditional" Variations to Grief
 
    Sometimes I feel I was born in the wrong century. 
    Normally, I would say this in reference to my love of history. But this time it is because I feel more at home in the Victorian morbid grieving practices. (I do not mean Edwardian/turn of the century as most wrongly think. I mean during the reign of Queen Victoria.) Now, I won't go so far as wanting a window on my loved-ones casket so I can always gaze on their face through a tunnel/glass concoction like some Victorian's would. But, I am not weirded out or creeped out by death: Some of this I attribute to my faith, some of it I attribute to my own morose side, some is from having experienced death so many times. 
    The year 2013 has been a year of deaths, escalating deeper sorrow in me. 
A former classmate from Asbury passed tragically February 6th
I found out my uncle had unexpectedly died March 3rd.
July 16, I had to make the choice to put down my beautiful husky (with a bit of wolf to boot), my "baby girl", Sabrina. She had cancer. 
On Friday, September 20, my mother had fallen, was flown to Louisville for surgery and her heart gave out on the helicopter ride. Just like that. 
     If I would not make people I had completely lost my mind, I would don the traditional black ribbon on the arm or dress all in black. If only I had a proper Victorian black gown. Alas! 
I wanted a picture with my dead puppy- much like some mothers would pose with their deceased baby: but I was convinced by my husband it would be too creepy so, I resisted.
    There are some things I have not veered from Victorian morbidity: I keep locks of hair in a special place. I neglected to get Sabrina's locks, but I keep her collar. It took me weeks to clean her nose prints off the front window. I have a shelf in my house designated to pictures of loved ones who have passed on. Two days after my mother's death, I came back home before heading back up to Madison to help settle things. I ached to decorate for Halloween. So, I did: The house needed to be as morbid and spooky as I felt. 
     I have been accused of being morbid: the way I deal with death is to make jokes, try to set everyone else at ease: Few people see when I am alone: when I weep until I no noise comes. 
Grief is messy. Many people have offered, but few have followed through and entered into it with me. Sometimes I ache for others to join me. And it's not because I want everyone sad or anything. It's because grief is something that can make you feel so utterly alone: only you grieve like you.  
    So, maybe I'm not so weird as I thought. I'm quirky. I'm weird. I am still trying to remind myself that I am allowed to grieve however helps me.