< February 2003 | Main | May 2003 >

March 03, 2003

Ten years ago, I was a nineteen year old girl living in Queenstown, New Zealand. I spent my days surfing the waves with boys with dirty blonde hair and big egos and the nights sharing stories and dreams with friends.

Life was good; I had no worries.

Then one day, for no reason at all, I felt the need to return to Wellington New Zealand to where my friends lived. I spent most of the day traveling by train and ferry and an hour after my arrival at the house, I got a call that I�ll never forget.

It was my father telling me that my brother in-law had died that morning. I immediately went into shock, dropped the phone and wandered the house for the parents of my friend. I needed someone to hold me and tell me everything would be alright � even though I knew it wouldn�t be.

Luckily, the parents were there to talk to me and help me make last minute arrangements to get to Vancouver, Canada where my sister and my late brother in law were living. I remember at the airport the check-in people told me in was a sold out flight and when I heard the word flight, I broke into tears. When the lady asked me why and I told her, she said, �You cry, you need to. We�ll look after you.� She put me in first class and the attendants throughout the fifteen hour flight would come and sit with me, hold my hand, and soothe me. They not only allowed my tears, they understood them.

As soon as I landed in Vancouver, I dried my eyes. I had to be brave because I knew my sister would need my support. My brother in-law was a well-known stunt man in the movie business and was also a part-time Sky diving instructor. He had taken a man up for a tandem flight and then man had panicked, sending them both crashing down to the ground.

Because of this tragedy, it was in all the papers and on television sets. Reporters hounded my sisters flat and phone and our family took turns guarding the outside world from her. There wasn�t time to be sad, there was far too much to do.

On the day of the burial, I remember holding both my mum and my sister � one on each side � up for support. They were both going in and out of fainting and wobbling and I, with my little frame, tried to hold both them up. I didn�t think about his death or my feelings, I thought about my sister and her loss.

Just before they lowered him, his mother began to cry, shout and scream hysterically. My brother in-law was from Greece and his mother had flown in from there just the day before. In Greek culture, you mourn, and you mourn loudly. You don�t care if people see your tears, if your mascara runs, if you make a spectacle. You mourn and let out our pain like you�ve never done before. Your pain takes over you.

As she cried and screamed, we all stood there silently, watching her. Every one of us � Canadians, Americans, Europeans � all tired to hold in our tears and not cry out along with her. Yet our tears wanted to come out, our hearts wanted to burst and our voices wanted to yell. But we held it in because we thought that was the �proper� thing to do.

Even though we were burying someone we loved so much, who was an incredible and young man, we thought it wasn�t proper to cry out. It hurt more to hold it in and watch his mother cry out alone, than any tear falling ever could have. At that moment, I was thankful that I had my fit in New Zealand, because I needed it. Everyone at some point needs it.

Afterwards, we had the wake and people were quiet. A year later, people were still quiet and ten years later, there�s still silence. For some, there isn�t any closure.

His mum, I�m told, mourned for the accustomed year, and then she healed and moved on. I think of this often, how if we could just act out our pain and accept it, how much easier it would be to move on at some point. Because if we ignore it, hold it in, and pretend it doesn�t hurt, the healing will take so much longer. And who does that benefit?