Today marks the 47th anniversary of my first grave encounter with death. In the fall of 1970 my best friend Ingrid and I embarked in a camper van we bought used in Edmonton for $1,200 on an adventure across the U.S., from the Pacific coast to Key West in Florida. On our return in the winter, driving west on Route 66 through Arizona to the Grand Canyon, I hit a patch of ice, spun wildly out of control, and flew 12 feet from the van. Ingrid died at the Holbrook Hospital on February 1, 1971, 11:45 a.m., the day before her 19th birthday.
After relating the outcome of his efforts in the ER, a doctor injected me with a drug that stupefied me. I phoned my Dad’s office only to hear he was driving home from his Father’s funeral in Winnipeg. What? Just two months prior, Grandpa had marched Ingrid and me around San Diego, his winter residence, appearing in robust health. The RCMP pulled Dad over on Highway 16, west of Saskatoon, to deliver news of my tragedy. He came to Holbrook to manage the business of death (filing a police report, collecting my belongings, disposing of the van, etc.) and to accompany me home via Phoenix, where friends from California met us to commiserate. By the time we reached Edmonton, a memorial service for Ingrid had already taken place. I missed two occasions — in the hospital and in the church — to say farewell to my soulmate.
As the driver in a single vehicle fatality, I was swamped by guilt. I could not bear living in our house, in the neighbourhood, in my hometown. Insomnia clutched me. For 15 months, I functioned on one to two hours sleep a night, all the while working to support myself as I moved from place to place. I escaped into the bottle, a cliché, yes, yet I couldn’t conceive another remedy to numb myself. I made a drinking buddy, Jack, also lost, and together for four years we tried to find ourselves. Thank you Maharishi Yogi and transcendental meditation for the gift of sleep. And thank you remote Seymour Arm BC for being a refuge for us to take solace in nature and to dry out.
Grief and guilt were my constant companions as I careened through my twenties, until… Ten years after the accident, a psychiatrist’s counsel (not a psychologist who failed me miserably years before) led to my healing. While I’d attempted on my own to pass through Elizabeth Kübler-Ross’s five stages of loss — denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance — apparently I misunderstood anger. He advised me to get angry, fiercely so, with Ingrid for dying. Although his advice seemed counter-intuitive, the perpetrator angry with the victim, I followed it. And the dark cloud that had hung palpably over me for so long drifted away.
Why am I writing about death? With aging comes the inevitable deaths of people we love. We need to give them their due.
GRAPPLING WITH GRIEF
My young self mourned the fact I had no chance to prepare for Ingrid’s death. I’ve since understood we cannot prepare, emotionally, for death. In reality we’re seldom ready to say goodbye to our loved ones, whether they die from old age, an illness, an accident, a suicide. Perhaps, however, we can learn about grief and how to endure it.
- Grief is a process, not an event. Be patient and tolerant. The death of a loved one changes our life forever.
- Take care of our relationships. Express often our feelings for those we love in life. They won’t hear us in death, and we’ll regret sentiments unspoken.
- If someone tells us how we should react or behave, pay no heed. Grief is personal, specific to each individual. There is no right formula to follow.
- Given the circumstance of Ingrid’s death, I learned about forgiveness, in its profundity. I went through an arduous process to forgive myself so know how to forgive others.
- I also learned about choice. Guilt inhabited me for ten years but, in recovery, I realized I could choose to live without its debilitating effects.
- When well-intentioned people say of our grief “this too shall pass,” ignore them. Grief wants to ebb and flow within us for the balance of our life.
My first journey of grief began long before the Internet dominated our world. However, I would have benefitted from articles on the website of Dr. Alan Wolfelt who says we all must face the “six needs of mourning”:
- Acknowledge the reality of the death.
- Embrace the pain of the loss.
- Remember the person who died.
- Develop a new self identity.
- Search for meaning.
- Receive ongoing support from others.
Later in my life, I took two trips dedicated to the memory of Ingrid: in 1993 I made it to the Grand Canyon and in 1999 Glen drove us by the fateful site. And so I closed the circle… ♥
P.S. Early on, Dad recited (and I memorized) Alfred Lord Tennyson’s immortal lines from In Memoriam (1850), but considerable time passed before my heart affirmed the poet’s belief:
“I hold it true, whate’er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
’Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.”
Judith A Frank says
Thank you for sharing your experience and perspective. This is a beautifully written piece.
Pam McPhail says
You planted the seed for this piece, Judy, by suggesting some time ago that I write about loved ones dying. Thanks for the idea and your praise.
Glen Wickens says
A most moving account of losing a loved one at a relatively young age. In this you are like Tennyson who spent much of his poetic career writing directly in In Memoriam about the loss of his friend Arthur Henry Hallam or indirectly in the Idylls of the King, another series of poems about Arthur, that is, King Arthur.
Pam McPhail says
As you well know, it’s worth reading all 133 cantos (including the prologue and epilogue) of In Memoriam — and other poems by Tennyson.
Grant says
Wow. I had forgotten about that part of your life. Very powerful story. Thank you for sharing this. Hopefully it also gives you additional strength. ❤
Pam McPhail says
I admit finding it rather cathartic to write rather than speak my story of long ago.
Pam McPhail says
I should add, Grant, that I talked to your Dad on the telephone when unable to reach mine, and he offered to come and rescue me (I was staying at the local undertaker’s house). A generous offer, but I needed my Dad.
Ken McLean says
My condolences Pam on the loss of your beloved friend
Pam McPhail says
Thanks, Ken.
Tim McPhail says
Very well written and moving Pam. I have always been aware of your pain and torment, yet only now realize how difficult a time it must have been for our Mom and Dad. I needed your retelling to reveal that to me.
Pam McPhail says
Dad had just turned 47 when his father died suddenly and then Ingrid, of whom he was very fond. His first heart attack occurred two months later, in part I’m sure because of his own sorrow and witnessing mine.
Marie McLean says
You are very brave to share this, Pam. It must have been a painful process. Thank you for your insights.
Pam McPhail says
Thanks, Marie, for your kind words.
Nina says
I haven’t the words to express how beautifully you have written about this life altering event, Pam.
Pam McPhail says
Thanks so much, Nina.
Al Frank says
A very powerful and courageous post. How fortunate for those around you that so much wisdom and compassion resulted from such a tragic event.
Pam McPhail says
Oh Al, thank you for your lovely observations which I hope ring true to even a small extent.
Patricia B says
Very moving. Very beautifully written.
Pam McPhail says
Nice of you to say, Pat. Thanks.
Linda W says
Thank you for sharing your very painful memory Pam. I know how it feels to experience this blame and loss, albeit not a life. I am sure Ingrid is with you to this day.
Pam McPhail says
Indeed she is.
Patricia Young says
This is the perfect way, Pam, to mark the anniversary of the death of, and to honour, your dear friend Ingrid. You have articulated, bravely and beautifully, the wisdom it took you decades of personal struggle to attain. This is a post many of us will return to in the future. Thank you.
Pam McPhail says
Thanks for reading my story and writing your thoughtful, caring observations, Pat.
Bruce Stevenson says
Pam, I do not know the size of your readership but I’m willing to bet there wasn’t a dry eye in the group after reading your post. A difficult topic, to be sure, that you have articulated as only you can do. This must have been a tough one. Thanks for sharing …and I know why so many are proud to count you as a friend. As for your family-they are just lucky.
Pam McPhail says
Wow. Thanks for your compliments, Bruce. I hope there’s some truth in them.
Roy says
I would have been in the car when Dad was given the news, but that is not an accessible memory. I do remember the memorial service, and visiting the Dowsetts with you once you were back home. The pain was palpable all around.
Dad’s quoting of “… loved and lost …” has stuck with me throughout my life as well. In times of trouble, I also reach for The Prophet, which bears Dad’s inscription within. Its stanzas on Death end with “And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.”
Thank you for sharing.
Pam McPhail says
From what I heard the memorial service at St. Mary’s Anglican Church on 68th street and 112th avenue was packed to the rafters. Everyone liked Ingrid.
Vicki Smith says
Pam , this blew me away. Your bravery on sharing such a personal journey. I cannot fathom it. I hope your words are helpful to the many who need a foothold in understanding their grief, losses and the road ahead. Sat nam and be well .Vicki
Pam McPhail says
Thanks, Vicki. While there are no shortcuts to take in the grieving process, understanding it can, I think/hope, be helpful. Take good care. Pam
Linda Richardson says
Pam, you are so brave to write publicly and honestly about this tragic event and its impact on your life. As you say, grief is very personal but your thoughts on the process provide thoughtful advice for all of us as we face the challenge and inevitability of losing loved ones. A beautiful way to honour your friend.
Pam McPhail says
I couldn’t anticipate how readers would respond, but your compassionate comments — and those of everyone else — hearten me. Thank you, Linda.
Ian Wallace says
Pam, this tragic story from your teen-age years is one I will never forget and I suspect I am not the only one of your readers to wonder: “How would I ever have got through an awful event such as this?” You have done very well indeed in your journey from 1971 to 2018 and deserve praise and thanks from all of us for having the courage to tell us your story. In life, you never know what lies ahead, but it is always best to brace yourself, if at all possible, for the unforeseen. Thank you for this excellent post!
Pam McPhail says
Thank you, Ian, for your sympathetic understanding.
Tanya Loretto says
Dear Pam;
I love this post. It reminds me that we cannot ever really know what others have gone through or are going through. Outward appearances are often deceiving. Sharing your courageous story helps us to remember to be gentle with others and ourselves as we journey through this life that is so filled with potholes.
Be blessed, Tanya
Pam McPhail says
So nicely said, Tanya. I like your advice to be gentle, as well as your metaphor of potholes.
Margaret Hogue says
It’s so funny I was thinking of Ingrid and you came to mind so I googled Ingrid. Just yesterday I was thinking about your wedding at Highlands church. And “ We’ve Only Just Begun” was your wedding song. Time has marched on. I’m glad to hear that you’ve come to terms with your tragedy. We all had some good times. Keep well Pam
Margaret Hogue
Pam McPhail says
I am astonished and happy to hear from you, Margaret. My “starter” marriage of 1973 ended amicably in 1976. I remember the dreadful song. Rather embarrassing — in hindsight — to have chosen it. You’re right we all had some good times. I will send you a private email in hopes of hearing about your life. Pam
Iain MacCrimmon says
Pam – Dear ‘lovely person’! I’m an old acquaintance and personal friend of you and your family (including Mrs Beans!!) and would like to share some memories with you, if you wish!? Talk to me! Iain
Pam McPhail says
I sent a message to your email address, Iain. I am delighted to hear from you after all these years.
Karen Scraba says
Hello after many, many years, Pam! I remember the time you described very well, but the details were scarce. I have wondered how you are doing many times, and am glad to read that you are as I remember you: grounded, conscious, communicative. You have expressed this through your wonderful writing. And you look fantastic, Pam!! I would love to connect again and catch up. Btw, I got your link through Gerry Kordoski via Ron Charuk..nice to still have a communication pipeline to Pam! Nice to see that Iain is still connecting too! Our connections still run deep. All the best, Pam.
Pam McPhail says
Oh Karen how great to hear from you after all these years. Thanks so much for getting in touch. I will send you an email with my news and with hope of getting yours.
Chris Krueger says
What a lovely tribute and expression of your tragedy and love!
Pam McPhail says
I appreciate your kind words, Chris.