It's true. Death will visit all of us one day. It may be a dark thought, but it's a realistic one. It's something that cannot be evaded. It's the common antagonist that plagues the story of all of our lives. Some lives have many chapters while others are cut short. Some of us are lucky enough to avoid it as long as humanly and medically possible; while others are unfortunate enough to have it lurk at their doors before old age can arrive and fully set in. Death is final. Death is the end. It's the end of everything –the soul, the body, the personality, the consciousness- it's the end of everything that makes a person, a person. Death is hard. It's hard for everyone, especially when it arrives unannounced. It's something that could knock at your door months in advance in the form of a life-threatening disease, or it's something that could occur unexpectedly-in a split second. Just like that. One moment you could be with your son singing happy birthday to your grandson as you both beam over him excitedly and the next; you could be finding your son's barely alive body in the trunk of a car. It's quick. It's sudden. It could come out of nowhere. Justin, a healthy son, a caring brother, a loving father, and a hardworking husband was taken from him –from this world- just like that. The man who was responsible for his son's death was taken away –unbeknownst to most- just like that. Death could occur in half a second. It's quick. It's straight to the point. You spend your life looking for its meaning, trying to understand your purpose, working to accomplish goals and actually be somebody while building family, friends, and endeavors, only to have something, such as death, be the final thing. We all die. It's the same ending to everyone's story; death, it will eventually visit all of us one day.
Along with death, comes a mourning process for everyone to eventually move on; to allow us to grieve and come to terms with the loss life. There's an understood procedure –the five step grieving process- that people go through when death falls upon a loved one. Everyone's different. Everyone reacts differently. There's no right or wrong way to grieve. You can't grieve wrong; it's impossible. You may touch every step in the process, or you may skip a few. You may settle longer on the first step while briefly surpassing the next one. There is no finish line; grieving isn't a race. We all have our different ways to cope with death. There are many books written about it, but nothing and no one can prepare you for the day it inevitably happens. Nothing or no one can rush your grieving process. It's all up to the person; we're all different, we're all made to be different, and with that difference comes a diverse way of reacting to the good and the bad. With that difference fused with the occurrence of death, comes the possibility of denial. It's the first step of the grieving process, but really, there is no specific direction. Some people may jump to the third step before going back to the first. There's no right or wrong order. It's just a process. It is emotions listed out in a five step method in order to label what someone is feeling as they're faced with the death of someone close. It's what is told to us so that we know what we're feeling and why we're feeling that way. And for the sake of the written five-step grieving process, denial is first. It's the first feeling we get the moment we hear the news; someone close to us has died, and in order to cope with the quick unexpected news, we fall into a mental pit of denial, the rejection of reality –of the truth- in hopes that it isn't.
Denial; it's an avoidance. It's a mental and emotional escape. It's a way to help us survive the unavoidable loss of a loved one. It's where we question everything. We don't care about anything. Work becomes meaningless. Tasks become overwhelming. Life makes absolutely no sense. What's the purpose of it anyway? Are we born just to die? We are in a brief state of shock. When the loved one isn't beside us, we assume they're out living their lives, until we're reminded of what happened. We forget. We go numb. As a father, you are left sitting at your dining room table, drinking a cup of tea, wondering how you can possibly go on. Voight found himself doing that for the last five days-since Justin's death. It's only been five days. Five days felt like a lifetime; it felt like forever. Five whole days without his son and he already wondered how, if possible, can he go on. Why should he? It's been five days since the unimaginable happened, and realistically thinking, Voight doesn't know if he can bring himself to leave the dining room table, let alone the house.
Hank's rough hands surround the mug of tea; they're clasping it. His coarse hands –the hands of a killer- are delicately shaking. He brings the cup to his lips and he drinks the bitter tea. His eyes are glazed over as they stare at the photo held up by a magnet on the refrigerator. It's a photo of him, Camille, Justin and Erin. It's a photo of his family; the family with two less people. Voight's eyes focus in on the picture; the age wears against the corners and it has faded over the years. It may have been worn down with time, but it was precious. It was one of the few things he had to remind him of everyone he cared for in one piece. It was his routine. It helped pass the time. If he focused in on the photo, he could envision that day. He could think back to the day both Justin and Camille were alive; the day his house was filled with voices and laughter. Looking at the photo was his method in simply getting through each day. It was how he coped; pretending that the past was present was his way of carrying on. Voight was content with it. He didn't mind spending his days in denial if it meant he was going to feel good. Denial helped him. It got him through the day. It helped him function. It pulled him out of bed, and into his usual seat at the dining room table. Denial felt good to him and he no reason to end it.
Voight blinked slowly –his eyes remain focused on the picture- he blinks again. And again. He blinks to hold back the tears. Blinking has a way of keeping them away. He brings the mug towards his lips; the second he prepares to take another sip, loud knocking rips against his front door. He jumps; it startles him. A few drops of his warm tea falls onto the knuckles of his hands. It catches him completely off guard. He wasn't expecting company. He hadn't had visitors since Justin's death. He hadn't answered phone calls or text messages. Voight had completely shut himself away from the outside world; not wanting company from anyone, yet someone is outside knocking at his front door. Hank reaches over and grabs his shotgun leaning against the wall. He takes the fully loaded weapon, walks down the hallway and approaches the front door.
"Who is it?" Voight positions the weapon correctly in his arms.
"It's me," he hears the familiar voice of Erin.
Hank lowers the weapon and uses his free arm to unlock and open the door. Erin closes the screen door behind her as she steps into the house. His eyes watch her; they take in the sight of her red and puffy eyes. He sets the shotgun down, "Why didn't you use your key?"
"I didn't want to get shot," Erin muttered as her line of vision focused on the gun he set down on top of the mantel.
Erin follows behind Voight; he doesn't speak another word. The two haven't seen each other since the night he killed his son's murderer. She needed her space. He accepted that. He needed his too. She also accepted that. They both lost someone they love and they're both grieving in their own ways. Erin follows him into the dining room; he retakes a hold of his previous seat and his eyes find the picture his days has been filled staring at.
"I'm not here to talk about it," Erin's raspy voice is low; the peak of her nose is red as she uses the back of her hand to rub it, "I don't want to talk about it," he automatically knows what the 'it' refers to; it refers to what he did, the act he committed, the unthinkable deed he has done, "I'm not here to talk about any of that."
"What are you doing here then?" Voight brings the mug of tea up to his lips. He slurps up the chilled beverage before clearing his throat, "…not that I'm complaining. It's just I haven't seen you in a while. I thought you forgot about me."
"I didn't."
"So," Hank's hands unwrap around his mug, "what brings you here then?"
"Olive wants us to take care of the funeral plans."
Voight's eyes rise to meet hers, "Do we have to do that now? Now is really not a good time."
"There's never a good time," She pulls out the seat across from him and sits down, "It's almost been a week. Justin deserves a funeral Hank. Everyone who loved him deserves to say goodbye. Olive wants the funeral as soon as possible and then she and the baby are moving to Minnesota to stay with her mom."
Sometimes living in your own realm of denial creates a perfect and peaceful atmosphere. Sometimes that realm is disturbed or ruptured by outside forces. People don't want you living in denial. Everyone wants you to face reality even when you're not ready to approach it; denial helps us avoid it. Denial helps us pace our emotional state of grief. It is our body's way of letting in only as much as we can handle. Piece by piece; we only let in what we are physically, mentally and emotionally able to bare. It's a protective mechanism. Voight stares down into his cup of cold tea –he doesn't want it anymore, his thumb brushes around the rim of the mug, "I don't want to talk about this!"
"You need to! We both do!" Erin's voice pleads with him; she leans across the table and covers his hands with her own, "We can't just pretend that everything is okay!"
"Why can't we?"
"…because it'll eventually catch up to us Hank. We can't ignore what we're feeling. We can't try to bury our emotions. Take it from me! Take it from someone who knows loss! Trust me when I say you don't want to do that. You don't want to crawl into a hole and bury yourself there. You don't want to ignore your emotions and settle for a brief substitute of feelings just to disregard your true ones. You don't want to push me away; your foster kid who loves you and is there for you, regardless of what you've done, I'm here for you."
Erin feels Hank's hands slide from beneath hers as he sits back. He has been content in his house for days without the bother of anyone, and now Erin was ruining all of that. Erin was trying to force him out of his realm of denial –out of his comfort zone- she's trying to bring him back to reality, back to the fact that his son is dead. Justin is gone and he's never coming back.
"He died too young," Hank muttered; his eyes are glazed over as his attention focuses back on the photo, "He died so unexpectedly. And now all I'm left with are memories of him in a framed photo. That's all I have left of him."
"No," Erin rises from her seat and approaches the side of Voight, "you have your grandson. You have the memories in your mind and in your heart. Those will never go away." Her arm wraps around his shoulder and she leans into his seated form, "Justin is with Camille now. He's at peace. He's resting in peace. They're taking care of each other."
Voight shrugs her arm off his shoulders, "…yeah, well, who do I have?"
"Me," She answered, stooping low. With her knees bent, and her eyes staring into the man she considers her father figure, she takes another hold of his warm hand. His eyes meet hers and he gives her a small smile; an appreciative grin. It's comforting, and it relaxes her tense shoulders.
Lindsay rises, straightens her legs and without pulling her hand from Voight's hold, she walks to her seat. She retakes her chair –sitting across from him- and her eyes fail to maintain the hold they had with one another. His eyes focus over her shoulder; they're staring at the picture hanging upon the refrigerator. He's calm. He seems to be somewhat at peace, and Erin uses that to approach the subject that brought her to his house in the first place.
"Justin is going to get a military sendoff so there's not much for us to plan," Erin begins speaking; she intertwines her fingers and leans her arms against the wooden table, "I have that already taken care of; we just need to pick a date, a location, and then inform those who we want to show up to the funeral. I was thinking we-"
"Erin, whatever you decide I'm perfectly fine with."
"This is your son Hank, you should have a say."
"And I say that I'm okay with whatever you decide."
"Hank-"
Voight interrupts, "I know you loved Justin like a brother and I know that however you plan this funeral, it'll be perfect. It'll be just what he wanted. It'll be closure for all of us."
"I need your input." Erin nervously bites down upon her lower lip, "I don't know the first thing about planning a funeral. I don't want to make the wrong decisions. Justin deserves the best. He should get the best and by myself, I don't know the first thing about giving it to him."
"I can't think about that right now Er-"
Lindsay cuts him off with the quick shake of her head, "You can grieve Hank. I'm not trying to tell you that you can't. You just can't avoid reality. You can't avoid what needs to be done. It's okay to have grief; it isn't a sign of weakness, it's just the price of loving someone." Erin immediately jumps back as Hank hops to his feet. He discards the mug of tea in the sink and turns on the faucet water. The loud blare of waterfall fills the cup and he turns it over to allow its contents to go down the drain. She hears dishes clattering behind her; each bang being louder than the last. Hank is upset. He's angry and he's frustrated.
Erin turns in her seat to find him aggressively washing dishes. The heat from the water emitting a steam that rises up to dampen Voight's reddened forehead. The back of his hand momentarily presses against his forehead; he's sweating, and after picking up the dish towel and drying his hands, he throws it onto the counter, "What's the point in even having a funeral?" Voight turns to face her; his back leaning against the countertop, "He won't be there. He's already gone."
"Funerals aren't for the dead; they're for the living." Erin responds, slowly rising to her feet. She approaches Hank, and leans beside him to turn off the water, "It's a way for everyone who loved Justin to say goodbye." She leans her own back against the countertop; her form positioned comfortably beside him, "It gives closure to all of us. It's a sendoff; a celebration of some sort. It's a celebration of his life and a see you later kind of thing."
"It's not mandatory to have one."
"…it's not, but it helps."
"Helps who? Not Justin, he'll still be dead! Not us, we'll still be grieving. My grandson will still be fatherless. Olive will still be without her husband. Who does it help? Tell me." It's the first time he looks vulnerable; it's the first time she sees him in all the years she has known him as some delicate person who could break at any second. When Camille died, he had chosen to grieve in private and be strong for both her and Justin. However Justin's death brought out a different side of him; it brought out a side that worries her. It's unfamiliar and unfamiliarity is scary. It's strange and unexpected. She didn't know how to respond to his question. She didn't have all the answers. She wasn't expecting any of this. Erin had thought that once she came over to Voight's, they would get straight to planning the funeral so she could leave. She needed time just like him. She needed time to grieve herself and to come to terms with what he did.
Lindsay had wanted to pull Hank out of his realm of denial. She had been there before and the longer you put off reality, the harder it hits. Life is a bitch, and it doesn't take pity on anyone. It doesn't care what you've been through. It doesn't care about the number of hardships that have been placed on you and in your life. Life is set up to be an obstacle course. Some people make it through and some don't. Life's a bitch. It doesn't care about anyone. When Hank killed Justin's murderer, she had fallen into that realm of denial. She had used the days following his death to pretend that it never even happened. Hank didn't kill anyone. It's what she told herself when she woke up and it's the last thing she told herself before she went to sleep. She used those days to focus on grieving for Justin, not on the actions Hank decided to take to get justice for his son. However, ignoring the truth, ignoring the reality, just made all the emotions that much harder to get through. She had to split her time between grieving for Justin and coming to terms with the cruelty of Voight's actions; he did something despicable that could never be taken back.
"Erin, I'm fine," she breaks out of her reverie to hear him continue his spill of emotions, "I'm," he looks up and meets her eyes –completely forgetting where he left off, "Why is this happening to me…to us? Why must I face burying my son?"
"…to get closure," she rests her hand upon his shoulder.
"If I can live in denial, why do I need closure?"
"…because you can't live in denial forever," Erin asserts; her loud voice pulls in Hank's undivided attention. He's no longer focusing on minor tasks to pass the time or to keep his thoughts off of reality. He's focusing in on her. And the moment she sees she has his attention, she calms, sighs and responds, "It's easy. Denial is easy; it's an easy temporary cure for pain. However Hank, one day, you'll be forced to face reality and that's when the perfect world you imagined based upon the self lies you told yourself will fall to pieces. I don't expect you to get over it because I know I won't. You can't just get over something like this. When you love someone and they die, there is absolutely no getting over it. You just learn to get through it. You learn how to live your life without them. And together," she takes a hold of his hand, "we will."
The second you accept reality of the loss you experience, and began to ask questions, you are unintentionally beginning the healing process. Voight breathes out a breath of air that he had been holding in, "Are we doing burial or cremation?" It hurts to ask but he manages to get it out.
"I honestly don't know his wishes. I don't know which he prefers. Neither does Olive; I guess we all assumed we had," her voice breaks and she finds herself struggling to finish her sentence, "I guess we all thought we had more time. I was older than Justin; I never assumed I would have to bury him. He doesn't even have a will. We have nothing to go on Hank…that's why I need your help planning this!"
Voight gently squeezes her hand, "We'll figure this out."
You become stronger; the more you focus on reality and work to get through the grieving process, you grow tougher. You work together along with others who feel the same way as you do in order to move on. And as you start to embrace reality –ask questions and involve yourself in productive daily activities- the denial will begin to fade. But as you continue, all the feelings you were denying in the first place will begin to surface. It's inevitable. You have to feel. It's a part of what makes us vulnerable humans. We all have to feel. We're not supposed to ignore our feelings; what's the point in having emotions if you can just ignore them? When reality becomes too uncomfortable to accept, we deny the validity of it. It's easier than facing the truth. However, with a strong foundation and loved ones who refuse to give up on you, accepting reality and working through the emotions of grief can become a little bit easier.
There was no mistake. There is no reason to cling onto a false reality in picturing Justin still being alive and well when he's not. He's not here. He's not coming back. There's no reason to fool oneself into thinking he is. Erin wrapped her arms around Voight, and pulled him into a tight hug, "How are we supposed to figure this out if we don't know what he wants?"
"I'm sure he doesn't care about the minor details," Voight whispers; his hand reflexively running through her brunette hair, "I'm sure he would be happy in knowing that the people he loves showed up to send him off. And remember, you said this is more for us than him. His soul is gone. He's resting in peace. We choose what we feel he would want; there is no way in knowing whether it's the right decision, but as long as we're comfortable with it, then its fine, right?"
"Why are you asking me?"
"You always know what to say. You seem to be good at this."
"…that's not something I'm proud of," she gradually pulls from the hug and smiles, "After Nadia's death, I tried to bury my feelings and everything else in drugs and alcohol. It wasn't one of my proudest moments, but I moved past that. I got better. I got clean. From my personal experience, I know that denying everything is bad, and pretending that everything is okay is even worse. We have to take our time and grieve. We have to do what's best for us. We have no way of knowing what Justin wants, so we have to do what we want and hope –pray- that it was his wish. Life is so short Hank. We shouldn't be spending it on the minor details of a funeral, we shouldn't focus on regrets or what ifs; it should be spent celebrating the lives lost and the lives that are still here. We should be telling our loved ones how much we love them. We should tell them just how much they mean to us because we never know when it's their time to go"
"You're right," Voight pulls her into another hug, "I love you kid." He pecks the side of her forehead.
"I love you too Hank," Erin sniffs quietly, "so much."
