Such a Bitch!!!

I think I come across as callous …… I also think I think too much but that's by-the-by! Anyway, as I was saying – I think I come across as callous sometimes. Why?? Well I'll explain ……

Last week I received a phone call from one of the site agents at work – nothing new there. He was telling me how one of my lads who's currently working on his site had lost his brother in an accident at the beginning of the week. We had quick chat about what had happened and bemoaned the fact that Charlie's kind of stingy for only allowing a day for compassionate leave, and all was good (or as good as could be anyway!!!). Now this is where the problem arose – he was killed by a tractor – yes folks, you read that right. He was killed by a tractor, and me being me, as soon as I put the phone down, said to my colleague "Well that's an unusual way to die!! Death by tractor. It sounds like it should have comedic value ……" Foot meet mouth – think I chipped a tooth on a toenail. Not that there is anything funny about death. If you know me at all you know I don't believe that, but I think it's a coping mechanism for me.

Despite having suffered loss I don't think I know how to cope with it in a traditional sense – I don't dress all in black (Not specially anyway!!!) and wail over it. I've grown up knowing that death is an inevitable and unavoidable part of life. You can't cheat it no matter what the movies tell you. The body wears out and at some point will just not work anymore – like any machine. That fact was never hidden from me – I was never told that Tigger had tootled off to visit his cousin in Kathmandu. It was "He's gone to heaven – where Grandma's going to look after him" …… a lot of pets went to live with Grandma. Of course the fact that ol' Tiggy died on the front lawn in full view made his demise completely not obvious!! Don't worry – he was an old Puss and a couple of his vital parts stopped working – it's not like we had to scrape him off the road with a shovel …… and there it is again ……

I'd also always been aware that my Dad was a lot older than most other kids' Dads. Beside the fact that my half-sister wasn't much younger than my Mum, which of course made him an old geezer anyway, he always used to say that he wasn't always going to be there – and true to his word, he isn't going to be. The addition of pets to the family probably makes the inevitable a bit more expected and less sensational. I don't think it's the 'how it happens' that's most important, but the 'how you cope'. My preferred option seems to be humour. I don't cry about it – not in front of people anyway. When my Dad died, the patients and the nursing staff must have thought we were mad. We had a little cry in the first few moments but when we got into the waiting room thingummy, crying was quickly replaced by relief which was swiftly replaced by laughter. Even the registrar and the bank manager must have both thought we were a bit heartless when it came to informing them of his death because even though we did what we had to we still had a little laugh or two.

That's how we did it. I didn't cry at the funeral either. Maybe that's why it still gets to me sometimes, because someone somewhere probably IS thinking of me as being callous because I'm not outwardly emotional about this stuff. I never have cried at funerals. With dad's it was more that I didn't want to be there. Not so much because of what was going on, but more because attendance seemed a little bit hypocritical on the parts of some who shall remain unnamed. I don't think I quite understand the crying when a person has gone somewhere where they feel no fear, no pain, no suffering, and, I like to think, live in nothing but peace, happiness and contentment. They meet up with people they've lost, have a big party and don't have to worry about the hangover afterwards.

That said, even though we took the loss in a seemingly joyous stylee, I don't think we really wanted the wake either. Personally, at the time I really didn't want to be around most people generally – especially those who came for the piss-up that really didn't know that much about what had gone on but seemed to just be helping to make up numbers. But they came, they ate, they drank, then they all went home again and got on with life.

I seem to have digressed a tad here, but hopefully this explains a bit about why I seem very disinterested when people talk about their losses. It isn't because I don't care, but it's just that I deal with it in my own way, as we all do, and I have accepted it as an inescapable fact of life that no amount of crying or 'dwelling' will change ……