Men can cry too...

Grief is a funny thing, you expect that you will act the way you always do, in any given situation and then suddenly you find yourself in an unthinkable position; it is in these places where grief lives. More often than not, grief manifests itself most powerfully when someone close to you dies. This is something I have come to observe during my work in funeral services. People will often expect that they will react to a loss in a stoic manner, and will be able to suppress their emotions; this does occur, but it is remarkably rare. No, grief will hit you when you least expect it, even those who "society" deems ought to repress their emotions, men. A man is "supposed" to be stoic in such situations, sure he will be sad (or else a heartless monster), but he mustn't show such emotions outwardly, that is the "place" of women. Men, are supposed to grin and bare it, right? Not hardly.

I'm not sure where this notion developed, and while it may be an interesting bit of the history of gender roles, in my experience such stoicism is thrown right out. Men grieve; they weep, cry, sob, yell and scream. Men find themselves acting in a way they did not expect, with their emotions pouring forth, with such fury and violence, that their shock is replaced by shame. They become very self conscious of what they are doing, and try their best to bottle the torrent which has weld up inside them, not an easy feat by any standard. Unfortunately being in such a self conscious state, the fear of being perceived as vulnerable, or weak, will often make those individuals react rather gruffly, even harshly, towards those trying to aid them (like a staff member at a funeral home offering a much needed tissue). Are men, especially young men, correct to feel this way? Should their show of grief become a source of shame? Is their emotional vulnerability a sign of weakness? My answer would be a resounding no, but this is not merely my position as someone in funeral service; no this is also my position as a Gaelic polytheist.

It is during these times, I am reminded of Caílte mac Rónáin as depicted in the Acallam na Senórach. Here we see a mighty warrior (though less mighty than he once was) who is still more than a match for any of the obstacles still left in Ireland. Here is a man who has lived for hundreds of years, has seen all those he loved killed or fall before his eyes, but who still has a story to tell. It is between the many adventures and telling, in those quiet times of reflection, that we see just how burdened with grief Caílte truly is. He bears not only his own past, but the past of all those who has gone before him, and he weeps, openly and unashamedly at their loss. At no point does anyone in the text sneer at how pitiable it is to see such a man reduced to weeping. Upon hearing the tragedies which have occurred, his audience will often be moved to tears right along side him.

Such is the burden of all those who survive, of the old warrior at once proud of his past yet also haunted by it. The burden of carrying on in a world where one you loved is no longer, seems to be well understood by our ancestors. There is no scoffing, no mocking of emotional outpourings; rather there is understanding and empathy, and the hope that we should all bear such a loss with dignity and strength. For while grief can be crushing and seemingly endless, it is something which as time goes by, inevitably becomes a constant companion. There, and never far out of mind, but bearable as we go on living.

-Gorm

Elegy for the ancestors

The twilight of age gives way to death, and loss becomes the center of our lives in the spaces between. It is important to remember though, that grief in its time will also pass away. Those who have gone on before us may have abandoned their bodies, but their memory remains. They remain with those of us who knew them, who loved them, and whose lives they touched.

For what is remembered, lives.

The road ahead is long, and those who walk along it are no strangers to pain. Loss and separation are antithetical to us as social animals, yet death itself is no more abhorrent than being born or growing old. For in the end it is not death, but rather, the seeming finality of that "last separation", which is at the center of our grief. I think back to the ancients and their perspective; and for all our "advancements", those who came before us in all their "superstition", did not treat death as an aberration, but understood it as part of the process of living, if the final act therein.

I am not certain what comes next, though I do have my opinions on the matter.

I honour the dead this day,
I give thanks and praise
to those who came before me:
It was they who fought
but who also had peace
It was they who suffered
but who also had joy
It was they who sacrificed
but who also prospered
It was they who died
but who also lived

If I am able to live as they did
with honour and courage
with wisdom and justice
with hospitality and truth
when on the last day
I am to stand before them
in their hallowed halls
and be asked what did you do
I can answer with pride
that I lived as they lived

Gorm.