The Core of Grief is Love
By: Akos Peterbencze
Tags: Relationships, Love, Memories, Movies, Family

FAMILY I RELATIONSHIPS

The Core of Grief is Love

Mourning is to love someone eternally

For most of us, grief is a quiet act; it’s like a process of soundless pictures popping up in our minds. With it, there comes a heavy, almost palpable, silence that whispers: “you’re alone.” No conversations and no laughter. When that silence becomes your company on most days, you know you’re old. You’ll start to appreciate the nature around you more; birds chirping, dogs barking, and the breeze tickling your skin. There are little telltale signs among grandma’s wrinkles that I see every time I visit.

Your absence is accepted by now. What’s it been, like seven years? Time flies, huh? You’re not here anymore. We know. I don’t talk about you as much as I think of you because I don’t want to upset her and Mom, although they both accepted your absence, too. It’s just harder for them. They understand that time is only moving forward; hopefully, not too fast.

It’s been a few days now that I can’t stop thinking about those summers you and I spent together fishing. Long, hot days out in the meadow surrounded by the lake next to you and Bobi, the dog you tamed and kept for seventeen years. If I close my eyes and concentrate hard enough, I can smell the mixture of old leather, dog hair, and the aftershave that filled up the interior of your pickup truck. I remember the trips to your beloved farm where you used to harvest grapes with the passion of a campesino.

I was a boy hungry for adventure in those summer breaks that felt long enough to think they’re never going to be over. I only realized when I got older that summers are getting shorter simultaneously with age. Sometimes I recall them when your absence becomes hard to bear. No, I’m not sad because, in those memories, I hear you call me by my name as if it belongs to a Crown prince. Your voice was soothing when I wasn’t about to be berated for some prank like fighting with vines pretending they’re devilish monsters from the underworld that are needed to be killed.

Grandma doesn’t say it, but she misses you too, you know? She pays visits to you every week, yet she hasn’t given up on living. She looks after the flowers in the garden, the corn in the backyard, and of course, the two dogs. She’s still not a fan, but she pets them more often now.

My brother moved in with her after he found a job in the village. She was happy for him, but was also worried because she knew he’s hard to control and look after. Mom visits them frequently, so I guess she feels relieved not having too much responsibility weighing on her over him. Me? I’m fine, I’m still in London, don’t worry about me.

“You know what I wish? I wish we could do that all over again. It’d be a little more deliberate. Take our time, and take a good look at stuff.”- Del (Brian Dennehy), Driveways

I was just watching this movie the other day called Driveways, and it reminded me of our memories. It’s about Kathy (Hong Chau) and her 8-year-old son Cody (Lucas Jaye) going on a trip to her late sister’s house in a small New York town. She was estranged from her sister and knew very little about her.

Kathy learns that her sister was a hoarder who kept everything in her house from top to bottom; boxes, magazines, dolls, and a dead cat.

Cody is a lonesome boy much like I was at his age, who keeps to himself and is not a fan of crowds. He finds a friend in the widowed Korean War vet Del (Brian Dennehy) who lives next door and spends his days out on the porch or at a community center playing bingo with his pals. His wife is long gone, and his only daughter lives far away. He enjoys the company of Cody because it makes him feel lighter, exempt from the burdens of the past.

He reminded me of you because, in a way, Driveways is a letter to the past. Eventually, Del needs to leave right after when he and Cody bonded and found a true friend in each other. Before he goes, they have a conversation that’s heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time.

I guess, seven years ago, you had to leave too. I just wanted to thank you for waiting for me. It broke my heart to see you suffer, but at the same time, it was beautiful having the chance to say goodbye.