EIGHT MONTHS. How long has it been since you lost a loved one? For Alex, a lead in the play “Reaching Orpheus,” it’s been only eight months since she tragically lost her husband. For me, it’s been one week and four days since my sister’s husband, my brother-in-law Dale, died of cancer.
Thursday evening I attended the dress rehearsal of “Reaching Orpheus,” a drama scripted and directed by Dan Rathbun of Owatonna. The six-member cast debuts Rathbun’s third original play this evening at the Paradise Center for the Arts in Faribault. When I settled into my theater seat, I brought the raw emotions of new grief.
The seasoned and talented cast brings that and much more to the stage as they share the universal experiences of grief, of loss. How we handle it. How we react to it. How we begin to live again in the face of deep loss. It’s there, all there, unfolding in dialogue inside a family brewery and in the mountains of Colorado. As director Rathbun writes in his director’s notes, “Rock climbing is an excellent metaphor for the struggle with grief.”
Like Alex, we all struggle to climb our way out of grief. Just as Sean, who plays another lead role and who has experienced the tragic death of his sister, Sara, does. Sean runs the brewery with his father and also teaches mountain climbing.
This is a play in which any of us could perform the roles, portray the emotions. Not because all of us are skilled actors and actresses—most of us aren’t—but rather because we have all gone through the challenges shared on stage.
Playwright Rathbun and his cast of six cover the stages of grief, of loss: anger, denial, guilt, regrets, a desire to handle things on our own, escape… So much. So authentic. So relatable.
Certain lines imprinted upon me. Alex, who claims, “It’s fine. I’m fine.” She’s not.
And then her intense, well-meaning friend Abby, who says, “I’m happy to help.” She wants to help, to fix things, to make everything better for Alex. She doesn’t. Not initially.
And then there’s Ian, Sean’s dad, who follows the coping path of picking himself up, dusting himself off and going on with life after his daughter’s death, all the while ignoring his feelings and his volatile relationship with his son.
Sean tucks his feelings inside, until he slowly begins to open up to Alex, whom he’s teaching to mountain climb. Their conversations include phrases we’ve all heard, thought, spoken or written in the midst of grief: “I know how you feel.” I’m so sorry for your loss.” “It’s exhausting to be the strong one.”
Even James, Alex’s deceased husband, and Sara, Sean’s dead sister (played by Paula Jameson), offer their observations and thoughts in several scenes. There’s value in hearing their perspectives, too.
This thought-provoking play offers so much. Even humor. We all need laughter in the heaviness of loss. And we all need each other in the heaviness of grief. We all need to think, too, about how we respond to grief, the often trite sympathies we offer, the words we say that perhaps hurt more than comfort.
Beyond that, the playwright reminds us, via Sean, “…to tell people how much they mean to us every day.” Sean suggests we hold funerals before a person dies. That, too, I understand as I think back to my own mother and how we celebrated her 80th birthday nine years before her January 2022 death. I remember the family and friends who packed a small town community hall to honor my beloved mom. She felt so cherished and loved. I remember, too, my last visit with my brother-in-law, 3 ½ weeks before his March 25 death. He was well enough yet to sit up, engage in conversation, share memories. It was a good visit.
And today I think of a dear friend, bed-ridden, in hospice and dying of cancer. Her family, even through their pain, has opened their home to everyone, anyone, who wants to see their loved one. Each time I see my friend, deliver a meal to her family, I stand by her bedside, tell her, “I love you.” We laugh. We cry. And we never part without kisses placed upon each other’s cheeks.
This is grief. This is loss. This is love. “Reaching Orpheus” brings that all onto the stage. Deep and real, like the mountains we all must climb, have climbed.
© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
That must be an incredibly powerful play and one the audience will think about for a long time to come
It’s a play anyone can relate to. And, yes, it’s powerful.
If I could, I would attend to see this play. Grief is debilitating. In my case add to that certain appliances around the house when trying to do maintenance have been found to be severely broke adding to my depression. (my new “normal”. However, I found a quote by Elenor Roosevelt to apply to men of which I have high associate to be exceedingly helpful, and a couple of old Country Western song to help me through my life and depression. The quote starts with “They have the cleansest bodies and the dirtiest minds ~ ” the songs are “Ghost Riders” and “Faster horses”” by Tom T. Hall. Faster horses is coming to this 78 year old in the form of a Yamaha 950 bagger motorcycle with a high end on the speedo of 130 MPH. It sounds good!. God Bless you all.
Gunny, I wish you could sit beside me in the Paradise theater and we could watch this play together. Many hugs to you as you grieve the loss of your dear wife. I am thankful you have found some comfort in words and songs.
Thanks for the kind words. Each of us in a Grief cycle have to find those threads that take us out of our grief and slumps. The answer for each is different. The grief will always be there but it is up to each individual to find what lifts them up. I still get teary eyed when I hear the song one guy broke into when we left Viet Nam. The song was almost demanded by 3 very upset “round-eye” stewardesses as they panicked after realizing the whole plane load of men (a fully loaded 707) had not uttered a word since quietly boarding the aircraft and we were getting close to cruise altitude. (he used his signing money on something other than Singing Class – out of tune – broken words – not properly timed) . when the stus stopped talkin, if it weren’t for the whine of the engines, one could gear a pin drop in the aircraft cabin
That is quite the story, Gunny. I can only imagine how all of you felt flying out of the horrors of Vietnam. And, yes, grief differs for everyone. Be gentle to yourself as you grieve.
One last comment from a movie that is a very good classic. Clint Eastwood as Josie Wale tells the Comanche War Chief, ”Dying is not hard on men like us, what is hard is living.” Something like that. God Bless you all.
Yes, sometimes living can be hard, especially during times of challenges, pain, grief… But onward we go with hope.
This sounds like an interesting play we can all relate to, and timely, especially for you right now.
Yes, “Reaching Orpheus” will be relatable for anyone. And, yes, with my brother-in-law’s visitation yesterday, the drama was, indeed, timely.
Condolences for the loss of your family member. This play sounds like it would benefit many of us going through the stages of grief.
“Sean suggests we hold funerals before a person dies.” This is something that has crossed my mind often. Because: you think you know someone; you spend lots of time with them, and then they die, and you read their obituary and you have to wonder if you knew them at all. I’ve read so many amazing things in obituaries that I wished I knew and would’ve loved to discuss with the living person, but now they’re gone. I wish we could celebrate people’s goodness and accomplishments more. Us Minnesotans are raised not to brag, but I love hearing about the good people do, it inspires me.
I agree with you, Rose. We need to celebrate people while they are still living. In a way we can each do that individually via listening, uplifting, asking, offering gratitude.
I appreciate your sympathies at the loss of my brother-in-law, whose life we honored yesterday.
Sounds like an interesting and powerful play. Thanks for the review.
Funerals before we die is a nice idea. I’ve heard this before. It makes sense.
Whoops, just saw your second comment and thought it was worthy of publication also.