The Power of Sentimental Symbols After Loss

In the last ten minutes or so of a recent Drama 101 class, we were discussing genres of plays. I defined tragedies for my class and shared with them some examples. Because I am more aware and sensitive about how suicide is portrayed in plays, movies, and television, I used the opportunity to discuss how suicides are often used as plot devices in stories, which perpetuates the myths and stigma around why people die by suicide. We had a great discussion about both the genre and mental illness.

We then moved on to the genre of tragicomedy. I defined the term as a play which usually starts off funny but during which there is often significant loss. I included a quote from our textbook which defines the genre as, “A tragedy which ends happily.” I pondered a moment and said, “As I think about it, I guess I would define my life as a tragicomedy. I have experienced some tremendous losses, yet, I am still able to find joy and laughter in my life.” As soon as I said it, the lights in the room started turning off and on by themselves. The entire classroom was still as we all looked up at the lights and each other.

I asked the students if I had shared with them my story about Tom and blinking lights. They indicated I had not, so I told them when my boys were young, we would wake them in the morning by blinking their bedroom lights on and off while we sang “Reveille.” I went on to explain in the last few years of Tom’s life, when we would retire to bed before he did, he would open our bedroom door and turn the lights on and off, often mischievously leaving them on so one of us would have to get out of bed to shut them off. I explained that in the early days of my grief journey, I decided any time lights around me flicker or blink, I imagine Tom there, playfully reminding me he is still with me, and that I also decided I would verbally acknowledge him.

Throughout this explanation, the lights continued to turn on and off by themselves. When I finished telling them the backstory, I explained Tom was my student in this same Drama 101 class which was held in this room in the fall of 2014, and that there have been a few times the lights have blinked in the room since he died. I told them, “When this happens, I usually take a moment and acknowledge him by saying, “Hello, Tom.” So I looked up at the lights, and a handful of students joined me in saying, “Hello, Tom.” Immediately the lights stopped blinking and stayed on. There was a heavy silence as we all looked at one another in disbelief. After about 20 seconds they started turning on and off again. That seemed like an appropriate time to dismiss the class based on the clock and the experience we all had just shared.

When I write about experiences like these, I always feel the need to tell skeptics that I realize there is likely a logical, mechanical explanation for these kinds of occurrences. But I appreciate and value that I have chosen to use these moments to remember and acknowledge the joy Tom brought to my life and the possibility he walks beside me even now. Perhaps making this choice is why I can see my life as a tragicomedy – a tragedy which ends happily.

© 2018 Kimberly A. Starr