I’ve been having a hard time finding the right words.
When I learned that one of my closest friends lost her father very suddenly this weekend, I didn’t call her. I did keep in close contact with those who knew times for the services, names of funeral parlors and addresses where to send flowers, but I didn’t call Elle. Because I knew she wouldn’t want me to.
And what if she had? I’m fairly certain that had my dear friend been the kind to feel comfortable with emotional outpouring, I’d have done a terrible job delivering. Since receiving the news, I’d been over-indulging my own sentimentality – imagining how it must have been to have your loved one simply not wake up one morning. And I could not wrap my brain around that kind of grief. I felt dumbfounded and comfortless. What comfort, then, could I possibly be?
I caught a train from work yesterday afternoon and spent the hour and a half ride to Connecticut worrying that I didn’t know what I would say to Elle when I saw her. My sympathies ran deep, but any which way I tried to express them sounded trite. I walked quickly from the train station to the funeral home dodging puddles and car splashes, feeling mute and uncertain. And then sort of foolish. The moment I walked into that funeral parlor I understood all that worry wasn’t necessary, that the worst thing I could have done would have been to unleash upon her some perfectly constructed, sappy Hallmark sentiment. She didn’t want that sort of attention. Even hugging seemed awkward. What she wanted – and ultimately what she got – was for her friends to sit around on folding chairs giggling and telling stories.
Remember that time we…?
If laughter is inappropriate at a wake, it certainly didn’t seem so. It felt healing and frankly, the exact right thing to do.
Despite all the laughter and comfort of seeing so many beloved faces, I left Stratford feeling like my heart was worn too thin in a few places. I knew I would. So, back in the city, tired and with a headache pounding above my right eye, I left Grand Central and headed uptown. But not toward home. I didn’t feel like being alone where sad could find me too easily without distractions. I flipped open my phone.
“Hi,” I said, “You home?”
“Not yet—I’m about three blocks away. You?”
“About the same.”
“See you in a minute then.”
A few minutes later, we arrived at his front steps simultaneously. I had to smile. That kind of thing only happens in movies and cell-phone commercials. I’d made the right decision not going home. See, a good friend knows when you need to talk, and when you really just need to eat frozen pizza and watch the Gastineau Girls or Robbie Knievel – America’s Greatest Daredevil. A good friend also does not let you get tired and go home before dessert. When I left, I felt better. Less lonely, less overwhelmed. But still tired.
And cold. So I wimped out of waiting for the bus and hopped a cab across the park. A few blocks from home, a distressed cabby realized he’d not set the meter. He shrugged his shoulders and clicked it on. I understand, I said. It’s been a long day. And when we pulled up to my apartment, I dug the cash from my wallet – not the small sum on the meter, but what it usually costs for a ride from Ben’s house to mine, plus tip. The cabby seemed surprised.
“God bless you, dear,” he said as I climbed out.
“Um, okay. You too.”
You too? I shook my head, pushed open the courtyard gate and decided that this was one of those days when doing the right thing would have to count. Because when it came to finding the right words, I really wasn’t doing so hot.
Shhh. Don’t talk. It’s better that way.
one word describes your words, fishie:
“beautiful”
thank you for the great read today – i needed it.
are you sure you and Ben don’t belong together?
great post.
i’m voting for the fish-n-ben combo. and your words were like music flowing from a harpist’s fingers.
i know what you’re going through. my good friend here’s dad died suddenly a couple weekends ago and she’s been home since and i wish i knew the right things to say to her.
Heart wrenching post, fish.
I know what you mean. I hate it when I try to come up with words to express sympathy but they are all so trite.
Sounds like you made it work, like usual. I admire you, I would’ve kept trying to say the “right thing”.
Fish, you can’t be with Benjamin because you and I are meant to be together forever.
FOR-EV-ER!!!!
schools and schools of little baby rock star fish.
God bless you.
Awesome blog, you have a way of putting the words out there and making them meaningful.
Hi Fish,
My dad passed away a few weeks ago and let me tell you from this side of things that you did everything right. I didn’t expect friends to call me, I mean what can you say really? You certainly can’t make it better.Frankly in those first few painful days I didn’t want to talk to friends. I didn’t know what to say to them to make them feel less awkward or even how to express my own feelings – still dealing with that one. The point is she knows you care and that you are there if she needs some special fish love. My dads’ funeraL and wake were filled with laughter and “remember whens” too. It’s much better to celebrate lives shared and embrace the love that surrounds you in hard times.
Thanks for sharing your life with us.
Robbie Knievel grabs my butt all the time at the local casino. SO ANNOYING.
what a beautiful post. i’m sorry about your friend’s father, but she is lucky to have a friend like you.
“finding the right words” is overrated and usually completely inauthentic. i’m just saying that because i can never come up with anything good to write in the comment box.
Always damn fine stuff, Fish.
You did the right thing. God, those types of deaths always leave you in a blur. Laughter has always helped me through those times. I have enough self-sympathy to get me through without needing extra from my friends–I just want to have a diversion from the “thank you for coming” and “thank you for your support”….That’s what friends are for.
You are such a tremendous writer. You capture these moments in life with such clarity and such emotion that I feel like I’m living them with you.
Thank you for sharing.
I have to second and even third the comment that I am hoping for a Ben and Fish combo.
Also you are a great friend and I for one think you did the right thing.
there never really is a “right thing” to say. sometimes it’s best not to say anything at all.
I find that there is no better place to try and celebrate someone’s life, then at their funeral. If there’s ever a time good memories need to come to the forefront, it’s there. The right thing indeed. Friendship, so many times, is simply in the effort.
I had laugh a few years ago on a very rainy day.. We talked of BMWs, Krispie Kremes and weight loss contests. Definitely a contender for saddest day, and he was just my roommate for 2 years.
We had a fund raiser a few weeks ago to support curing the unfortunate cause, and served Krispie Kremes as an appetizer. They go surprisingly good with martinis… I hope it stops raining soon..
Sometimes the right words are no words at all.
Bad thing to read on an emotionally precarious day … but so powerful. Thanks … and damn you
Have a wonderful day.
I lost my dad a few months ago and I would have to agree, that was a perfect way to handle it. The only advice i give is to remember her dad died 6 months – 2 years form now. It is important ppl don’t forget your loss when you go through this and remember what a change your life has been through. I think also remember to make special plans cause she will feel lonely while going through this…you are a good friend Fish good job!
reminds me of the Sex and the City when Miranda’s mom dies and Samantha tell her that she looks good at the funeral instead of offering something trite like, “i’m so sorry.” or the wretched, “she’s in a better place.”
what you did was perfect. that’s why people have friends. to cut the bullshit and laugh.
Aw, Peter you made me tear up.
I agree with the lot of the commenters. Just being there for your friend, silently, says more than any words.
this is exactly what i would hope my best friend would of done for me.
About three days after my father died, my best friend brought me a t-shirt with a shakily drawn cow on the front, laying on its back with all four legs straight up in the air. The caption under the picture read, “Really, I’m fine.” That about sums up how I felt. That same night, we sat on my couch, eating ice cream and brownies that her mom baked and sent over, watching Drop Dead Fred. I’ve never been so thankful for anyone. Good for you for not forcing yourself to find something to say (she wouldn’t have remembered your words) and for just being yourself. Best medicine in the world.
sigh* There arent words to describe this. Beautiful.
Maybe fewer sad words at the time and this somber narrative here was what was most appropriate.
“Let no one weep for me, or celebrate my funeral with mourning; for I still live, as I pass to and fro through the mouths of men”
-Quintus Ennius
Exactly the way to do a funeral. My dad is a minister who has had occasion to perform many funerals, in addition to the two I’ve been part of when my mom’s parents died, and I have yet to see anyone truly welcome a Hallmark-inspired tribute! The best ones are exactly like that: a celebration of life!!
When my mom died, that’s exactly what happened- and exactly what I needed. My friends showed up and were respectful- but were themselves. They assessed the situation, posted guards to keep away the little bluehaired ladies, and proceeded to tell mom-stories from when we were kids.
It was the most healing thing in the world.
I’ll join the list of “well done”s if I may. There is no sure way of doing the right thing at such times, other than simply trying your best to provide your friend with the sort of support that you think will help most. You may not be able to guarantee the perfect words but that’s the great thing about friends, isn’t it? Sometimes they say exactly what you need, sometimes they get it wrong, but they always do their best to help.
Personally, I think the other thing about coping with loss is how you deal with it in the long term. When my grandfather died he had his funeral planned; no-one was allowed to wear black and no cut flowers were allowed in the church (he was a keen gardener and thought cutting them was a waste of the flowers). He had left money in the will to pay for drinks at his memorial, and he laid down a case of fine wine so that the whole family could get together for a party to celebrate what would have been his 100th birthday a few years later.
That sort of attitude certainly made it easier for all of us to deal with his death, but also left me with the realisation that you never know how long you’ll be surrounded by the people who are important to you, so celebrate their importance when they’re not around as much as you would when they’re in the room with you. Whether they’ve left through death or just by moving away and losing contact, keep doing something that reminds you of what you like about them.
I celebrate my grandfather through continued support of his favourite charity and by enjoying bike rides in the countryside – a couple of things I know he values whether he’s with me or not. It may not be much, but at least it keeps a little bit of his goodness in the world.
This post represents so many beautiful things. First, that the companionship of some dear friends is so undervalued. Second, that a best friend can be of the opposite sex. That may transcend to other things, but at the heart of it, a great big piece of your heart. And last, that old cliche, actions speaking louder than words, is still true. Just being there, taking that train, dodging puddles, expresses love! Thanks for sharing.
When you lose someone usually all you need is for everyone else that’s important to be around. And I totally feel ya on the funeral thing, it always suprises me how good of a time you can have at a funeral. Also, for what it counts, in my books the right thing is always a lot better than the right words.
Just wanted to say i check your blog every day. you have such an amazing way of expressing yourself, i just love it.
thank you for a wonderful and inspiring site!
Marie // sexiest-men.net
Don’t know any of you. Only started reading after NYT article. It is clear as a bell Benjamin and Fish should be. Take it from someone who is married to her best friend.
Oh dear. My adorable friends who watch just too much American Idol: You do not get to vote me into a relationship.
Unless it comes with a private jet. And then by all means, vote away.
My dad died when I was 13 (I’m 44 now). Not surprisingly, seventh graders are not great at dealing with the feelings that come with that kind of shock, yet my friends were surprisingly good at just being with me, not expecting much from me, and yes–sometimes even laughing at silly things.
Now, all these years later, my brother and I call each other on the anniversary and just say, “It’s today. Kinda blue. Thought I’d call.” We don’t need to say much for the other to understand what we mean.
It sounds like you were there in exactly the right way for your friend. I’m sure she appreciated it. A lot.