Jun 2 - Grief Is a Funny Thing
I’ve said before (outside of the title, I mean) that grief is a funny thing. And it is. There’s no uniform way it happens or a “right way” to go through it. The closer you are to the person that dies, the longer it takes to move through the process.
Sometimes, the process requires an afternoon of sadness. Sometimes, weeks or months. Other times, though, rare circumstances arise. There are times when someone at the very center of your life and world vanishes from this space rock we call home. They go, leaving behind a hole, and everyone that knew and loved them falls into it.
And it’s a shame, my friends. It’s fuckery of the highest order. Life’s premium “SHIT ON YOU!” A big, colossal middle finger to all of the love, hope, and joy you ever felt in life. And its effects are…interesting.
As it turns out, the thought that’s been in my head the most is about my marriage. Now, I am not currently dating anyone, but I hope I will get married one day. When I think about this future event, I lose hope. Brandon won’t be there. Do you understand? My brother will not be at my wedding. That realization was one of the first thoughts I had after the initial shock.
Of course, there are many other things. A compulsion, powerful and frequently heart-breaking, has grown in my mind. I feel that I must pick up all the hobbies Brandon had while he was alive. I need to hunt and fish, play tennis and disc golf, learn to sing and play instruments; I need to keep Brandon alive. The truth that I know: keeping Brandon alive is impossible. The other truth that I know: I can’t just accept that yet without violently uprooting my entire life, my very soul.
I once learned that our brains engage in a process of “backing up.” It’s the brain’s way of making us more predictively efficient. Imagine that you are in a room with a light bulb and a button. Every time the light come on, you are told to press the button, and you get a reward. The bulb lights up; you press the button; and you get a reward. And your brain releases dopamine, which makes you feel good, yes, but it also makes you pay close attention to the stimuli. After several times, your brain will release dopamine when you see the light because it “backs up” its response — it latches onto something other than the reward so that you can detect patterns and predict what will happen. You focus on the little things.
And I am backed up. That Brandon is dead means nothing. It’s what philosophers of language would call semantically lacking or what logicians would call an empty set. Brandon is dead. Nothing. That Brandon won’t be at my wedding means everything. That Brandon and I will never talk again takes the breath from my body. That I’ll never get the chance to beat Brandon at Scrabble tears me in two.
Maybe Grief was the real Maverick after all.
