Death Has No Rules

there's no subtitle for this one

Sitting in my living room clutching a stuffed platypus having just watched my mom's lifeless body carried from our home, our friend Gaylord (funeral director, coroner, and medical examiner in these parts of the world) looked at my dad and me and stated in earnest, "There are no rules."

There are no rules.

This is profound and sage advice from a man who has seen the many faces of death.

Let me repeat it. It can take a couple of times to sink in. There are no rules. Death and grief are different for everyone.

Few are lucky enough to have the care of a loved one's remains handled by a family friend. More than anything, this was a reflection of my mom's life. During a year when she attended more funerals than any one person desires, she kept running into Gaylord. Naturally, she introduced herself. Four hours of conversation later, they were friends.

Yet I recognize that those words offered by Gaylord were not only for us. Knowing him, he's sat in hundreds of living rooms offering that same, gentle advice. Since then I've passed them along to more than one friend. They soften the fog of grief, permitting you to move through that haze in whatever way works for you.

There are no rules.

My dad and I took those words to heart.

We published my mom's obituary nine months after her death. As her best friend said, "Carol would have considered that right on time." Precisely. Our family is known to send out Christmas cards in July.

We held an ice cream social to celebrate her life — complete with pink peppermint fudge, her favorite flavor from Moomers. Countless friends told me how much she would have loved the gathering. It felt like she would make an appearance at any moment. One gentleman in his eighties approached me, leaned down, and whispered, "I didn't know that you could do this. I've never been to a memorial like this one," and smiled. Mom's 75th birthday shindig would have looked mighty similar if she had lived another year.

Thank you notes for all of the kindness bestowed on us were my biggest hurdle in overcoming conventional etiquette. I wanted to find words of thanks to the friends in our lives who showered us with love and sent thoughtful gifts. Those words never came. I briefly entertained having a friend craft something from my vague explanations but quickly scratched that. Instead I made miniature quilts out of her favorite red fabrics, sending out a little piece of her to all of her friends — two years after her death.

There are no rules.

This also applies to how you grieve, not just the way you celebrate someone's memory. I burst into tears the day my mom died when a friend mentioned meatloaf and again a few weeks later over meringue, both on the short list of five items my mom prided herself on making. The other three were chili, potato salad, and fudge. It wasn't about the meatloaf.

You'll laugh at inappropriate times and cry at others.

There are no rules.

Your list of staying true to you will look completely different from mine. Congratulations. That means you're listening to your heart. In my book, that's the only requirement for grieving properly.

There are no rules.

Strangers on the street and others in your life will offer strong opinions about what you should and shouldn't be doing. It's well intentioned, mostly, and often how others navigate their own grief. If those suggestions don't resonate with you, ignore them.

There are no rules.

For more on grief and grieving, click here.