I was asked to come and cover this
reception and memories of Raymond Delorey today. Raymond died last week at the age of 59; an active, vibrant man still
working and living life to the fullest.
Before I have even seen the family; I'm
feeling the miniature eruptions of grief within me,
I'm not good at facing death with a stiff
upper lip and I am not sure why we should. I think it may be better
to cry freely at our losses.
Every time I hear of a death-even one
that only touches my life in a very small way-it opens up the wounds
of every loss I have ever incurred and makes me think of the grief
that I know the family is suffering.
This man; father, husband, grandfather
and friend to many, died suddenly and unexpectedly. It's never easy to
deal with grief and being here in the capacity of work hasn't made it
any more so.
I feel crushed and as the people who
attended the funeral begin to enter the hall- I can't look at them
without swallowing tears for what they have lost.
I really don't know how I'm going to do
my job today.
Later...
As I sat getting ready to listen to the
eulogy someone I knew asked me where I was working these days and
I in turn told her what I was doing and in what capacity I was at the
service. She suggested that I could talk to the older gentleman I was
seated next to; he had worked with Raymond for over 40 years.
A few minutes after I turned on the
tape both the man and myself were crying and I just had to turn it
off. I said, “ I just can't do this job today.”
The woman asked me if I had known
Raymond well; I get so upset at these events it would be an easy
assumption to make, but in fact knew him but in passing. I know his
daughter, his wife, his daughter-in-law, his grandchildren- but also
just as acquaintances.
My grief is for them; for the place that is now
and forever vacant in their lives. I know that loss and nothing makes
it better- you just learn to live with part of your soul amputated.
