When Death Interrupts the Conversation
Article published in Northampton Living
(September 2023)
EXPERT CONTRIBUTOR
ROBERT ZUCKER
Grief Counselor, Consultant and Trainer
Consulting for the Journey
413 695 4572
robzucker@gmail.com
robertzucker.com
When I was 20, my father threatened to disown me if I didn't transfer out of the music composition track I was on at college, and get a “sensible” degree in elementary education. Out of pure fear, I did as he demanded. Three years later, when Dad was seriously ill, I landed my first teaching job at a private elementary school on Long Island, moved back into my old bedroom at my parents’ house, and hoped to find the courage to have it out with Dad.
If parents are fortunate to live long enough, they're likely to face some kind of reckoning with their adult children. Whether presented as passionate accusations or couched in passive-aggressiveness, these encounters are opportunities for healing and reconciliation. That is, if the adult children are brave enough to say the tough things that need to be said, and if parents listen with an open heart and a willingness to face their own fallibility.
For weeks, I rehearsed our talk. “You bullied me, Dad. I'm confused. I'm hurt. I'm angry. You sent me a letter threatening to disown me? You didn't even have the guts to say it to my face.” Finally on a cold January evening after I returned from work, we talked. He denied everything. Even the letter. He claimed that he never wrote it. Dad and Mom left the next day on vacation. I refused to come downstairs to say goodbye. A day later he died of a massive heart attack.
And I was left overwhelmed with unfinished business.
I often counsel the bereaved, who may be haunted by unanswered questions, searching for someone to blame, carrying lingering self-doubt, or still feeling guilt for the things they said or left unsaid. The things they did or didn't do. Their imperfections. Their failures. Their shame.
Desmond Tutu, who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for leading a non-violent campaign against apartheid in South Africa, offered these thoughts on forgiveness:
“There is a special kind of magic that happens when I become a more forgiving person. What was once a reason for rupture and alienation becomes an opportunity for repair and greater intimacy. A life that seemed littered with obstacles and antagonism is suddenly filled with opportunity and love.”
But what if death interrupts the conversation?
After Dad died, I thought I'd never repair our relationship. But somehow it was surprisingly easy for me to forgive him. Not right away. But in time. I wrote to him in a journal, and invited him to write back. A dialogue ensued on the page and we found our way back to each other. I still feel his kindness and his forgiveness, often in magical ways. Fortunately for me, he was a good father most of the time, so I had lots of love to draw upon. I know that's not always the case. But I've learned that conversations with the dead are possible and palpable. Even after a loved one dies, relationships can heal and grow.
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