On Grief, “The Price We Pay for Loving”

My uncle Max died last week. 

He was sick, quite sick. We spent October 30 at the ICU, held his hand, told him he was loved, and watched helplessly as his breathing got more and more laboured. The immediate family arrived from near and far, and over the next 12 hours or so everyone got to say their sad goodbyes. 

Outside of his ICU room there was a poster for a Halloween costume contest being held the next day on the floor. The sign said there would be prizes for the top three costumes. At the bottom of the poster was written “No grim reapers, please.” 

He died very early the next morning. That night, I had tickets to see Bruce Springsteen, a man who brings me to tears on the regular, let alone on the day that I lost my uncle.

I dug out my late grandfather’s old leather jacket, put on a white t-shirt and blue jeans, and did my best to look like The Boss on the cover of 1977’s Darkness of The Edge of Town, although in retrospect I think I might’ve looked more like another 1970s American hero, the Fonz. If my uncle had lived one day more I think I could have won one of the prizes for the top 3 costumes at the ICU.

Springsteen delivered, as he always does. And watching him live made me very emotional, as it always does. He spoke of loss, eulogizing his bandmates from his first high school band, of which he is now the last man standing. He said that “grieving is the price we pay for loving,” which I guess is why we all think he’s such a great Boss. 

This week has been a gigantic rollercoaster of emotions. ICU. Halloween. Springsteen. Funeral. Shiva. And of course, the American election. 

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Like most Canadians, I have family, friends, and inseparable ties with the United States. I’ve studied their history and have spent unhealthy amounts of time obsessing over their politics. I covered the initial rise and spectacular fall of Donald Trump. I’ve paid very close attention for as long as I can remember. 

That said, I’ve been dreading this election. I told friends I wanted to experience the 2024 US election night from a cabin in the woods with no access to the internet. No such luck, Montreal it was. I spent much of the early evening at my late uncle’s house, surrounded by my family. 

And it was really only the immediate family that night. Attendance at the shiva was sparse, which we had all expected. I sat glued to my phone, refreshing the Associated Press election map every few minutes, and telling anyone who would listen that the early lead wouldn’t last, that this is what it looked like last time, that it’s still good, it’s still good. It’s just a little airborne. 

It was still early when I left the shiva, but by the time I got home and turned on CNN, I knew it was over. With the writing on the wall, I was in my bed before he claimed victory. Unlike when he won the first time, this Trump win doesn’t feel surprising. It’s more like the natural order of things in a world that seems so hellbent on maximum chaos. Chaos, apparently, is very good for business. 

The day after the election was a blur, shiva was a daze. My cousin who lives in Germany wondered what the result would mean for the future of a free Europe, others bemoaned the fate of Ukraine, which is surely fucked. I wondered if the fate of Palestinians would be worse under Trump, but really, what’s worse than what we’ve seen?  

And of course, America. What will happen to them? What will happen to women’s rights? And to the progressive movement? Or to the free press? Will we see mass deportations? Will there be concentration camps? The stock market seems to be betting on it, private prison stocks have gone way up in the last week, even eclipsing the post-election boom of Tesla’s stock. 

Will things be as bad as advertised? If so, what will become of America? What will become of us? 

Former Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau once said of America that “living next to you is in some ways like sleeping with an elephant. No matter how friendly and even-tempered is the beast, if I can call it that, one is affected by every twitch and grunt.” 

I think that we’ve already been greatly affected in Canada. Listening to our elected politicians rail against immigration proves that we are no less immune to the allure of populism and nationalism. We are at full speed on a dangerous road, and it feels as if we have missed the off-ramp. 

Will every twitch and grunt we see in the next year affect the choices Canadians make in the next federal election? It has looked like the Conservatives will steamroll towards a majority government for well over a year now; while at the same time the Liberals appear Biden-esque, happily playing out the stretch, telling Candians that things have never been better, and that our ways are still the sunniest. 

It is a pattern of failure that’s so entirely predictable. 

Shiva is over now. So is Halloween. And the American election. No more grim reapers, please.

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