How to Mourn
Marshall taught me how to mourn. Following a significant loss, be it the end of a promising relationship or withdrawing from my chosen program of study, I cast my burden upon on him. He listened, reserving judgment and exuding humble compassion. I recounted my tale of woe with exaggerated despair to ensure he understood the gravity of what I faced. Patient as an ox, he waited until I settled before pressing forward. That was his mantra: press forward. I’d heard it countless times. In troubled hours, the remedy was pushing forward, but what that meant mystified me. Reconciling my grief and moving on seemed incongruent. I thought one occurs before the other follows. Yet Marshall knew while that paradigm held, I could never successfully mourn. It was peculiar to listen to him discuss the proper method of expressing mournfulness, especially after growing up in a culture encouraging uniqueness in emotional discharge. There is no deficit of healthy expressions of heartache, but to define mourning with a prescribed pattern struck me as pure novelty.
Marshall showed me that to mourn is higher than sorrow for injury. Loss is simple–try as we might to safeguard our personal status quo, nothing is permanent. To mourn is to surmount what occurs after tragedy. It reaches further than the sorrow thrust upon us after the death of a loved one, or a dream that’s shattered, and a broken heart. Genuine mourning violates the depths of the soul. It’s uncomfortable. We prefer others don’t see out of worry that they’ll either contribute to the pain of the experience or cheapen the catharsis. Not to mention the questions they’ll pose. Maybe we’ve concocted an answer or a rote idea to draw upon, vary, and adapt to explain why this transpired, or why the catastrophe is tremendous. I’ve served this to temper the blow to both them and to myself. Consciously rationalizing grief isn’t akin to mourning though, it’s hiding from it. It leads promptly to bright memories and shadowy wishes that shine in our minds of the era before calamity. For a moment, we suppose we can restore it. But mourning demands unconditional surrender to the truth.
Perfect mourning isn’t knowing of a surety that it’s unfixable, but believing that with every fiber in your being. Once you do, this leads you toward what Marshall called the desolate trail littered by departed spirits devoid of hope. Sorrow and suffering only deepen until you kneel beside them. Dreadfully, you then drown in the wake of the irretrievable and succumb to the current dragging you under the surface. You bury your wounded soul among the others beneath your knees, laying to rest hopes, plans, dreams, and desires. That’s what makes mourning so tough. It’s not about negotiating catastrophes, or meeting the uncomfortable questions, or crying in public at funerals for old friends. We can endure perpetual sorrow if need be. But the crux of mourning is accepting death in whatever form it meets us in exchange for rebirth into a new life.