The futility of trying to make sense of something that cannot be understood
Our late son, Corey James O’Connor. To read his tribute, click here.
Almost every day, we’re asked: How are you doing?
It’s not by rote that people are asking. They are genuinely concerned with how Sandy, Corey’s brother Sean and I are doing since Corey died suddenly six weeks ago.
My response is generally, “We’re doing OK.”
OK covers a lot—from despair to laughter. OK is on par with fine; nondescript, empty. Sure, we’re getting back to things that we always did, but OK conveys we’re obviously not OK. We’re devastated. Our lives have changed. Life will never be the same.
I’ll have moments of lightness when I’m engaged in a task or watching TV, but then I’ll once again realize, “Corey is gone. I’ll never see him again, talk with him again, hear him sing again, hug him again,” and my throat tightens, tears flow, my stomach roils, and I’ll often plunge into another round of unanswerable questions: “How did this happen to my son? To my boy? Why? How?”
But the questions don’t make the pain go away. They just make me confused, angry and anguished. Besides, the questions don’t reveal anything of value; no solutions, no relief. I think it’s an instinctual effort to make sense of something impossible to understand. It’s like my mind is attempting to wake me up from what feels like the worst dream imaginable.
I’m learning that grief is strange. I’ve found the greatest solace comes when I recall a particular memory with Corey or, say, study a picture of him and drop fully into the pit of my anguish.
But, this is when I feel closer to something like hearing him, seeing him, sensing his spirit.
I’ll often come out of this immense sadness feeling revived, lighter, like I’ve touched something sacred, beautiful and peaceful. I’ll even savour the occasional insight. I feel more connected to Corey and to my family—like we’re being held in an embrace that’s at once painful beyond description and joyful.
What a long, strange trip this will continue to be, and I’m OK with it.
