This Is How to Dance With Loss

The dispatcher’s voice startled me. It was 3 AM and I was parked in a lonely, empty lot in the north end of town. I liked parking there because it was quiet, and I could get my reports done.

“Code 7 at Oak Tree Villa,” the dispatcher continued over the radio. In other police agencies, Code-7 meant “lunch break.” Unfortunately, in my department’s radio vernacular, it meant “dead body.”

Oak Tree Villa was our town’s only retirement and assisted living community. A local firefighter once called it “Croak Tree Villa,” which was awful but not inaccurate. Cops and firefighters often refer to retirement/assisted living communities as “God’s waiting room.”

After you find out all the things that can go wrong, your life becomes less about living and more about waiting.
― Chuck Palahniuk, Choke

I drove the short five miles across town and arrived at Oak Tree Villa. It was summer, and the crickets were in full song as I navigated the pathway to the front entrance.

So many roads to chose

Fire personnel were already there, as their station house was nearby. Inside the lobby, I was greeted by Karen, who often worked the night shift.

“Hey John,” she said, “Thanks for coming over. It’s Mr. Benson, in room 209. One of our night shift staff found his apartment door ajar and went in to check on him. Looks like he passed away in his sleep.”

I thanked Karen and made my way back to room 209, where the fire guys greeted me and confirmed that Mr. Benson had been dead for several hours. They packed up their gear and soon I was alone in the apartment.

Cartoon by John P. Weiss

I radioed dispatch, and arrangements were made for the Sheriff-Coroner’s office to respond. To pass the time, I strolled around Mr. Benson’s apartment.

You can learn a lot about someone by the photographs and pictures in their homes. In Mr. Benson’s apartment, there were many framed pictures on the walls and desktops.

There were some black and white wedding photos of Mr. Benson and his wife. They looked happy. Eager for life to unfold. The photo reminded me of the old Carpenters song and the following verses:

We’ve only just begun to live
White lace and promises
A kiss for luck and we’re on our way
(We’ve only begun)

Before the risin’ sun, we fly
So many roads to choose
We’ll start out walkin’ and learn to run
(And yes, we’ve just begun)

Other pictures captured family trips, children, and holiday festivities. By all accounts, Mr. Benson enjoyed a rich family life. But time’s relentless march was also evident in the photos. I could see how the years aged Mr. Benson and his wife.

Waiting is the most difficult bit

It’s a solemn thing, to stand watch over the recently departed. To take in their photos, mementos, and personal effects. Sometimes I felt like I was trespassing, a voyeur into the private world of another person. But really, I was a temporary guardian, until arrangements were made and the family could respond.

I couldn’t help but wonder what it was like for Mr. Benson, in his late stage of life. Was he lonely? I later learned that his wife died a few years ago, and his adult children lived in the neighboring county.

Was Mr. Benson waiting patiently for death, in order to be with his wife again? How did he deal with the loss of his wife?

I’ve learned that waiting is the most difficult bit, and I want to get used to the feeling, knowing that you’re with me, even when you’re not by my side.
― Paulo Coelho, Eleven Minutes

Loving ghosts

One of the Oak Tree Villa staff members, named Maria, came by the room to ask about Mr. Benson’s next of kin. I told her that my police department had contacted the Sheriff’s Office in the next county and that Mr. Benson’s adult children were notified. One of his sons was en route.

“I’ve been admiring all these amazing pictures of his family,” I said to Maria.

“Yes, he loved his family. When his wife died a few years back, it was really hard on him,” Maria said, adding, “He also lost two brothers over the years.” Maria pointed to one of the pictures of Mr. Benson with two other elderly men.

“I can’t imagine losing your brothers, and then your wife,” I said to Maria.

Cartoon by John P. Weiss

“He told me once that the pictures of his wife and brothers were like loving ghosts, keeping him company in the winter of his life,” Maria said.

I thought about the many other death calls I responded to at Oak Tree Villa. There were always family pictures and framed photographs on the walls. Loving ghosts, standing watch with the remaining loved one, until the end.

Grace is what matters in anything

Old age is hard enough to navigate, but throw in the loss of loved ones, and even the strongest people can crumble. Experiencing loss earlier in life can be equally devastating, as we grapple with sorrow and thoughts of what could have been.

Grace is what matters in anything — especially life, especially growth, tragedy, pain, love, death. That’s a quality that I admire very greatly. It keeps you from reaching out for the gun too quickly. It keeps you from destroying things too foolishly. It sort of keeps you alive. -Jeff Buckley

In my law enforcement career, I saw death up close and personal. I dealt with suicide calls, fatal accidents, and medical emergencies ending in death.

One of the hardest things to do in police work is a death notification. Knocking on someone’s door, waiting for it to open, knowing you’re about to destroy someone’s world.

These experiences were challenging, but they helped me think about my own life and loved ones. I thought about how precious time was. How I wanted to invest in my family.

So how do we dance with loss? How do we console our broken hearts, and mend our shattered spirits? Here are five suggestions, my love letter of hope for the broken among us. A little bit of cop wisdom.

Memories

Make memories whenever you can. Don’t put off family vacations. Visit your parents often. Turn off the TV and take your kid to the park.

Nearly every funeral I’ve ever attended shared pictures and photos of the good times. Family trips. The laughter. The cherished memories. These memories will help sustain us when loss comes into our life.

God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December. -James M. Barrie

Forgiveness

People are going to wrong you in this life. Perhaps you’ve wronged a few, yourself. Of course, when it involves family, our hearts ache even more.

Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. -Buddha

When we let go of anger and learn to forgive, we bestow a tremendous gift on another person. But we also unburden our own hearts.

Some may not accept your forgiveness, and others may not forgive you. But whenever possible, forgiveness will soften the pain of loss.

Friendship

Never take for granted the healing power of friends. Other family members can be leaned on, but often they’re struggling with grief too.

The greatest gift of friendship is simply being there when you’re needed. Showing up. Listening. Hugging. Helping with little things (meals, laundry, etc) when loss shatters the normal cadence of our lives.

A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out. -Walter Winchell

Remember too that friendship is reciprocal. The friend you lean on today may need to lean on you tomorrow.

Movement

Loss has a way of immobilizing us. Our normal routines, work, habits, and passions are all put on hold. Our bodies might rebel with weight loss, anxiety, depression, and malaise.

The very thing we feel least like doing, moving, is often exactly what we need. Studies prove that exercise combats depression and improves our mental health. Grief is not depression, but exercise seems to help both.

Cartoon by John P. Weiss

In an article for Self.com, author Rachel Tavel shared how running helped her cope with the loss of her father. Tavel wrote:

Running has become a time when I can feel my dad’s presence instead of isolating myself in his absence. It’s an active, moving meditation during which I can release emotions that have nowhere else to go. Sweat and tears aren’t the same, but there is something cleansing about releasing both — especially together.

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When my father passed away years ago, I found long walks with my dog to be therapeutic. The fresh air and scenic park allowed me time to reflect, and the movement of walking helped loosen the tension of loss.

Hope

My favorite song by country music artist Garth Brooks is “The Dance.” Here are a few of the lyrics:

And now, I’m glad I didn’t know
The way it all would end
The way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I’da had to miss
The dance

The dance of life is exquisite. It’s such a gift. To love and receive love. We can hide from love, but we would be cheating ourselves.

Love gives us hope. It shows us that there is goodness in this world. Maybe even a hint of the divine. And love is not just for people. Animals give and receive love too.

Inviting, giving, and receiving love in our lives means that there will be loss someday. That’s the deal.

Grief is never easy, but it’s a reflection of what we had. With the help of memories, forgiveness, friendship, movement, and hope, loss eventually gives way to gratitude. We become thankful that we got to dance with the love we lost.

In Mr. Benson’s bedroom, there was a small frame with a quote by the British poet Alfred Lord Tennyson, that echoes the message of Garth Brooks’s “The Dance” song.

Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. -Alfred Lord Tennyson

I hope you can avoid loss for as long as possible in your life. But one day, if it arrives, hang in there. The pain is a reflection of the love. Remember that you got to enjoy the dance, and the love in your heart is a flame that never burns out.

Before you go

I’m John P. Weiss. I draw cartoons, paint, and write about life. Get on my free email list here for the latest essays and artwork.

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This post was previously published on Medium.com.

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Internal images and cartoons by John P. Weiss