Trigger warning: themes of death & grief
I would consider myself a fairly morbid person.
I have spent hours thinking and talking about “what comes next” with close friends and family, I have my entire funeral planned, along with both my parents’ funerals, and I still secretly hope my job in retirement is a funeral home director.
The concept is death and subsequent grief is one that truly boggles my mind.
By no means does this mean I am desensitized to death, or detached from the raw emotions that come along with it. I just spend a lot of time thinking about it.
I’ll be honest, I don’t have the most experience with grief (not that it should ever be a competition). I know I am lucky in the fact that I have one grandma who died when I was eight and one great-grandma who died when I was 10.
However, I have spent much more time dissecting my own personal view of grief since my friend, Fr. Dan Riley, died this past July.
This week in particular, for some unknown reason, his death has been weighing extremely heavy on my heart.
I have found myself getting more emotional than usual when looking at old photos and listening nostalgically to the one voicemail I have left of his.
Now, before I talk more about my grief when it comes to Fr. Dan, let me tell you more about our relationship.
I met Fr. Dan in September of 2021. He welcomed me to Mt. Irenaeus with the most open arms, the first quote of his being, “Oh, your name is Claire! That means you’re meant to be here!” After that, almost every conversation we had referenced Saint Clare.
As the months went on, I would frequently visit his office and cry tears of joy when he gave me the most needed motivation. I was later invited to join him (and more of the Mt. Irenaeus team) on road trips across the East Coast; I even lived at the Mountain for two months.
Simply put, we grew close after many chats over dinners and ice cream.
However, as we grew closer, especially while living together, tensions naturally arose.
We became a bit more snippy with each other. He struggled with feeling left out of my relationships with the other friars and subsequently took it out on me. I struggled with not feeling intelligent in our relationship and subsequently took it out on him.
Because we became closer, we became a bit more comfortable being… let’s say… passive aggressive with each other. Phone calls were often ended with annoyance, on both sides.
However, during all of these disagreements, I never lost my awe of him.
He was wise and brilliant. I am a better human being because I knew him, and I could only dream of having a mind like his. His paintings still help me to envision Heaven, truly.
We could separately roll our eyes at each other while still sending “this reminded me of you” texts back and forth.
On July 24, the day he died, I received a text from one of my friends:
I know you and Father Dan didn’t always see eye to eye, but I’m really sorry. I know it’s still gotta weigh on you. Love you always.
A text from July 24, 2024
It was the perfect text. It was too true.
We did not see eye to eye, she was right. But, you can ask everyone I studied abroad with; July 24 was hard for me. And so were the 25th and the following days.
So began my lesson of 2024, letting my emotions become complicated.
I felt immense grief when I found out, on Instagram, mind you, that Fr. Dan died. I can feel the same pit in my stomach that I felt in July.
But then I felt guilty.
Because we would bicker, I felt like I did not deserve to cry about his passing.
So many people viewed Fr. Dan as God, a perfect priest, and a mystical visionary. Now, he was amazing, and I never lost sight of that. But I also knew the layered version of him, the good and the bad. The type of knowing that you discover when living together or on a 15-hour road trip.
Did I deserve to grieve him when I still can think of “negative” traits of his?
As time went on, and I was able to talk about this all with Karen Pulaski, I have slowly started to let my grief be messy. It’s still a process.
I think back on our ‘date’ to Grand Slam and smile. And I think back to our lunch at Sprague’s and roll my eyes. And I think back to this October when someone else wore “his” apron and cry. I think back to him calling me “Claire with an ‘i’” and my soul lights up.
I used to feel all of these separately.
I miss him so much. But his passing does not negate my full, nuanced relationship with him.
I’m letting my grief be messy.
Now, I let myself joke about his laugh while reveling in his artwork. I squirm when I think about a few of our late-night chats in Dev, and I’m letting myself cry at his memorial site on the Mountain property.
I will love him and carry pieces of him with me for the rest of my life. And this era of grief has taught me so much.
How can I apply this to other emotions?
LET YOUR EMOTIONS BE MESSY IF YOU WANT THEM TO BE! Make them nuanced. You are not a robot; two things can be true at once.
Let yourself be ‘complicated’. Feel two, three, fifty things at once.
How beautiful is it to be so human.