The Notion of Grief

In loving memory of Thomas Burke Sr. and Mary Barbara Burke, October 21, 2024, Troy, New York

A single gravestone at Oakwood Cemetery in Troy, NY

We all learn and experience grief differently, whether why or when. Up until the time I started college grief was defined in my studies and only touched on it briefly as a personal experience. This was limited to two different circumstances. The first was that of my friend when were just 6 and his father suffered a stroke or aneurysm. It was sudden, but it all felt more like a blur and if there was grief, I had hardly noticed it. It was more my first exposure to the nature of death with the funeral being the sombre, black, and foreboding sense of fear. Certainly a catafalque with black drapes didn't help and only served to form a kid's first impression of what comes with death. As an expat family, my friend left in short time to never return and we never got in touch again. In retrospect it was me who longed for the friendship we had and that was probably just another form of grief that a kid could have although I was too young to see it that way. I spent years feeling the victim and searching for other friendships to fill the gap. I was angry for being so unable to control how things turned out.

The other was that of Francesco and Giulia, the Italian family that I came to love as if she were my Nonna. They had lost their oldest son in a car accident a few year earlier and such a loss is complicated. While they both lead simple life making an honest living of laborers of limited education, I can only imagine it was hard to make ends meet with three children to feed. They didn't live in the many shanty town areas of Rome of the poor post WWII, so they were at least a little further up. In the early years of the tragedy they made the daily pilgrimage to visit his grave, not an easy feat considering the public transportation they had to take. On the occasional visit as Giulia would be my babysitter every now and then in conversation there would be those awkward moments as something would trigger a memory and they would be awash in silent tears. It was never for long and I suppose only because they had another son and daughter in the family. They still had a sense of purpose and that was their way of rationalizing.

Going to college in the US as a freshman was bound to be traumatic and challenging in many ways. First time to actually leave, to travel alone, and literally be on your own in very unfamiliar surroundings, both physically and in mundane ordinary everyday things. It wasn't an era of internet so the nature of a constant link with family was unheard of. Then going somewhere without relatives or a familiar face would have been daunting under any circumstances.

I was fortunate enough that a couple would be there to greet me once I arrived across the Atlantic ocean. While my parents knew Thomas and Barbara Burke, they had never really met in person. They were the parents of Thomas Burke Jr, my brother's closest friend and fraternity brother at the same university I was headed to. But there was a but.

My brother, Sivaporn, and Thomas J. Burke at graduation ceremony at the RPI Fieldhouse 1968

Their only son,Thomas Burke Jr., had died a tragic death just three years before I made this journey. A simple fact, but although I knew it was a sensitive point, I had absolutely no idea if there was anything I was to do or observe as would be customary in such situations.

Since the transatlantic flight was delayed I ended missing my connection but lucky enough to take the next flight putting me in at the final destination closer to 10pm rather than the original 7pm. I had no idea if and how to advise the Burkes that I missed my original flight and coming on a later one. I must have had some sense of a guardian angel as I do recall not really being fraught with desperation on the turn of events.

I can't even remember if I were ever shown a picture to recognize them, but I suppose for them I would have stuck out as a sore thumb. Well, the destination was a rather small airport, and before I knew it an elderly couple quickly greeted me. I must have been surprised but I only recall the sense of immense relief, the sense when you come into safe hands.

It was the first night I had spent away from home and it was the first time in an American home. I was simply too tired to take any real notice. Indeed the following day brought a hearty American breakfast, something that had existed in my imagination. The Burkes were warm and most welcoming. There was no mention of their painful loss as the encounter was really brief and I simply tried to be as proper as I could. Even so, while pleasantries went around and they continued to praise me for the courage to undertake a path far from home, there were moments that their eyes told a different story. Every now and then they would make a simple remark between themselves which for me felt like a coded message. It would trigger a momentary silence, and their eyes would glisten with a slight tear as their minds probably went back in time. It was probably for a few seconds, both those moments of silence felt like an eternity.

After breakfast they brought me to campus to start my registration process and to move into my dorm. It would be weeks later before I saw them for dinner and this would be our regular way of having some Sundays together over the ensuing years until I graduated from college.

I would come to notice the heavy sense of emptiness even if they smiled and laughed. It was like they lived in juxtaposition to what was missing, not a coexistence. Seeing me as young man couldn't have been easy. Any of my words, action, or simple movements could have triggered a wave of memories. It wasn't a loss they spoke about, but the pain was a constant throb, much like an elephant in the room. Eyes would glisten but they really never shed tears. They must have wanted to, but maybe felt they shouldn't.

Losing a child is painful. A parent that has to bury a grown child is destroyed. An only child makes the pain indescribable. The sense of loss, the sense of responsibility, the loss of meaning, an entire world that is shattered and becomes meaningless, what is the future to hold? While Francesco and Giulia had a more outward display of their grief as Italians, the Burkes' pain was many more times palpable as it was also true that they were now all alone.

On some of the Sunday afternoon visits I would accompany the Burkes as they visited the grave site. It was mostly silent and they must have felt at ease that my own silence did not invade their privacy and personal pain. Somehow to share in the silence may have been a moment of comfort.

Whether it was subject to be touched or not, I learned quite quickly at the first Thanksgiving dinner I spent with them at their home. There were some friends and maybe a distant relative or two. An off handed remark by one of the guest prompted tears from Barbara and as if on cue most of us retreated to the kitchen. There one of Barbara's close friend told me how a seemingly innocent remark could make a difference, and the best thing was to leave Barbara quietly for a few moments rather than to talk about it any further.

So this is how I learned of a grief that was heavy, that left no room for escape, that literally takes your breathe away even if the actual reality fades into the past. It is a grief that is every present, one for which co-existence has no meaning. It is not the kind of grief can that be described in a movie, a play, or a book. You must be present to literally feel the air around you and see all the subtle hints. It was the kind of grief that is gloomy, sad, that one despairs, even regret and remorse of maybe things that should have been done or said. Perhaps the darkest aspect was - what could one ever say that gives hope to future under such dire circumstances?

Still in all this one couldn't help but be amazed at their strength and will to not give in. It couldn't have been easy. Why I never found out, but I think that was more due to my shortcomings. When you're 18 life is different and sense of priorities and importance are like through a prism of different context. I was probably terrified of causing tears and simply chose to skirt around the grief. Maybe I could have been a good listener but I was too young to understand this gift in any relationship.

While the Sunday visits were never celebratory in nature or one with a sense of joy, they were those moments where a passage of time was witnessed. I never went away with any dark sense or a heavy heart, quite the opposite actually.

This was my introduction to grief as a human response and one that is most difficult to appreciate. Some advocate coping with grief as if it were a malady, I would say it is a human dimension that we learn as part of life, some early, some late, some as surprise, some with some forewarning. It is not a single dimension and it is different for everyone.

Thomas Burke Sr passed away in 1983 and I last saw him in 1982. Mary Burke lived for another 14 years passing away in 1997. If I am visiting Troy, I try to take the few minutes to visit their grave site at Oakwood Cemetery in Troy, NY. I will remember them for the warmth and care they extended to me for many years. Knowing what I know now maybe I could have done more for them, but lessons learned are never retroactive.

1980 graduation from RPI with the Burkes and my folks