Starting is often difficult, so I find it easier to begin with the end.

My great-grandpa—a World War II Navyman—died April 6, 2011. In the last months Papa had fallen into, what my older brother referred to as, the ending-stages of Alzheimer's disease. I spent my spring break in full company of the disease's effects.

"I don't need friends, I have my family,"
Joe Slaten, married 65 years, said.

“It was like he was uncomfortable in his own skin,” my cousin said a few days before he died. It was a sort of comfort that death came soon thereafter. In my mind, a well-deserved peace awarded to a long-lived man of 85.

 Death, something feared more than accepted, is a part of every life.  Every moment we spend living we spend dying--a rather morbid approach to life, much like the glass is half empty approach as apposed to half full, but nonetheless true.  Every second brings us that much closer to the end.  

The "tame" approach to death, the acceptance rout primitive cultures took, has long since been lost to pre-13^th century communities—before the Black Plague.

"Many died in the open street, others dying in their houses, made it known by the stench of their rotting bodies," poet and writer Giovanni Boccaccio reflected on the plague with a lasting horror and fear. This era, 1348-1350, left a lasting stain influencing the arts, enabling crafters to venture down gruesome paths of expression:

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An increased sense of the self narrowed the view of death to a more personal identity awareness. As it has morphed before, in the 19^th century, romanticism fancied death into something more about the survivors, or the significant others left behind. Graveyards, a place for mourners to congregate and pay their respects, were regarded as such (source).

Papa, when telling a joke, would
laugh the whole way
through.

Naturally, when the time for Papa's funeral came, I was brainstorming art within death as coffins, urns, the whole layout of the cemetery, the military send-off, the board my mom decorated, and the flowers. What really overtook me, however, was my family and their reactions. So, what I was expecting to research were the surface materials for a funeral, a death. What I came to research was the art in dealing with death.

The first of things I stumbled across were very basic: the five stages of grief. Reported in 1969, after working with terminal cancer patients, psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross noted these phases people experience when dealing with death: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance—in no particular “structure or timetable.” 
 

Grief-stricken significant others bare the heavy burden of physical, emotional, psychological and spiritual overwhelmings which can lead to feelings of helplessness, fear and isolation. While some withdraw and numb themselves to a disconnected drained space, others reach out for support (source).

My great-grandfather, Mervin and his father,
George King at Wrigley Field in Los Angeles.

What has amazed me most about my family, what has always amazed me about my family, is their willingness to come together for support. In sad times, despite all our individual differences, we find our way to each other. We find a way to cry and laugh with each other. We take the time to listen. We take the time to comfort each other, even in the stillness of apprehensive silence, through our acknowledgment and presence. We are family.

But there is only so far that silent support will take the grieving process. There is a certain level of personal dealings that a mourner must undergo. Everyone is different, and because of that, I can only give examples of how to bring oneself to that final stage: acceptance.

Most of my family turn to their religion as a source for comfort and peace of mind. Embracing a community of others whom share their faith and beliefs helps. However, when conversing with someone, Ann Kihara—a licensed marriage and family counselor in Pacific Grove, CA—has a few suggestions on what not to say:

“It's unhelpful, even callous, to say things like, 'This is God's will,' 'They would not want you to cry,' or 'They are in a better place.' We cannot presume to know the will of God nor the emotional state of our loved one who is grieving” (source).

I've found, if the urge to include the comment, “You are in my prayers,” comes to mind, it might be better just to keep it simple: “You are in my thoughts.” After all, a pray of any kind is thought. This world is full of individual spiritual preferences, and we cannot presume to know what and won't offend someone, even if it is family.

The power went out at my graduation party
so we pulled out the guitars.

My family has often come together, in times of happiness and sadness, to make music. All my life music has been the tool for expression, communication, and togetherness. Using music as a form of therapy, to let the emotions melt, are in some ways a more powerful technique than even talking (source).

 No one's the same in the grieving process.  Some days are better than others, and emotions come in waves. Speaking from my personal experience, it is hard. And I wish I could be closer to my family during my own process of grief. But, as it goes, I have people I can rely on a little closer to school and work.