What is “it”that we all know will happen, it is never expected – even when we know it’s impending, it’s always a shock when it happens, and when it touches our lives – even indirectly, it shakes up our “id” and our spine shivers?
Death – we all know it will come for us and for those we love or know. I hesitate to write about it at all, the instinctive fear of bad luck to speak of such. No need to taunt the grim reaper. And, if someone close to me expires soon after writing this, the words would lie like a lie in my heart, the grief would be unspeakable; these thoughts would haunt me like a spectre.
Lately, some deaths have struck a chord in the depths of me and really have me wondering about timing. I’m not young, not middle aged, not old, but yeah, I’m a later baby boomer. Several people I knew under the age of 65 have died, (not that 65 is a long time to live now a days) I’m really startled. I am fast approaching the big “6 0”. Just thinking about how fast my life has gone by so far has my head spinning. I still feel like I did in my twenties.
A woman who played Barbie dolls with my older sister just died, a young woman in her late 30’s – friend of my daughter dropped dead from an aneurysm, another woman in her 50’s damaged emotionally years ago when her young son died as a teen. Their passing-over and physically leaving the planet triggered my reflection on my own life, where I am, my bucket list, my dysfunction, and my loved ones. I reflect on where goes the soul that has just left the body, traveling into the light?
Thoughts such as comforting others when their loved one dies is a magnificent deficiency in me. Words fail me, I feel like a blundering illiterate, and I can’t figure out what is appropriate. You know when you’re pausing and stuttering, but words don’t come, you appear to be a damned fool. Maybe rituals today don’t seem to satisfy my grieving.
I remember when my dad’s father died, I was about 16 years old, and it was the first death of someone close to me. I could write a short story about the whole experience, but, what lingers is, although I was sad, I drove my younger brother and myself to a Pizza Hut for dinner – the grown-ups were taking care of my grandmother and all that goes with death. We toasted our Dr. Pepper’s to Grandad Gray and ordered a large cheese pizza. We joked and laughed about things that went on that day, although we were really sad.
Several years later, my Mom’s mother passed, and it was a very different affair. I was very close to my Grandma Mac, and was very depressed. At her funeral, my sister gave me about 3-4 pills of valium to help me cope. I didn’t realized that only 1 pill was a dose – I took about 3 pills and ended up falling asleep at the wheel driving the long way, back home. I drove my car into a truck in front of me – I was told I was driving about 90+ miles an hour. My Maverick spun off the road when I grazed the pick-up’s fender and landed in a ditch, or maybe I was already headed for the ditch! My Sister passed me on her way back to the house. She was later accused by my father of illegally practicing as a pharmacist! How I escaped without injury is anyone’s guess – I like to console myself with the thought that Grandma Mac intervened!
Patriarch of my family, my own dad passed away after great suffering. Although the family knew his death would come early rather than later, (though no one knew when), it was still a great shock. I was glad my father and I were on speaking terms when he left. His death was cathartic – a release from many years of fear, pain, desperation, broken dreams, disappointments, and whys. Laying him to rest was like a purgative for me. He was buried on a cold, dreary, cloud covered New Year’s day. Being on the receiving end of sympathy, even then I felt inappropriate. My eldest daughter’s gesture of placing a golden box of Godiva chocolate’s in his casket seemed most appropriate of all somehow. My father always gifted those chocolates in everyone’s stocking every Christmas.
I hope this is not an intuitive blog, because I do believe in coincidence, second sight,and the majic of a 7th son of a 7th son. I’m open to possibilities about where we all go after the fat lady sings, and what happens after we go toward the light. Whenever it is, when I depart I desire that those left in my wake will play music, feast and celebrate –a grand going away party. If it can be done, I will be the wind at the back of those I love.
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