This week has sucked. I know “sucked” is overused and it’s still a bit early to declare this – but I’ve thought about it and there’s simply no better way to state it. It sucked. It really, really officially sucked.
We lost a close family friend over the weekend. After defeating cancer and battling heart problems for several years: GK passed away doing something he loved to do. For this, I am pleased as this tenacity, energy and grit was simply befitting of his character.
GK was undoubtedly one of the finest fellows you’d ever care to meet. He was good-hearted, hard-working, honest, dedicated and loyal. He was a damn good friend to my Daddy and so many others. I came to admire and respect him a great deal.
Yet I grieve mostly for the grieving as this is more their loss than mine. I feel a great deal of sorrow for his family, whom we claimed as our own years ago, and for Daddy, who faces his loss stoically as men are wont to do.
He served as a pallbearer when GK was laid to rest on Tuesday. The act, although an honor, was hard. I could tell. I can always tell. The loss pains Daddy deeply. He breaks off conversations of memory abruptly and wanders off to some place by himself or engages fully in some activity which is neither as necessary nor as important as he seems to make it.
He will do this for a week, a month or however long it takes until he deals with his grief and pushes beyond the fact that he is bidding more and more of his lifelong acquaintances farewell. Meanwhile, I wonder if in some ways we have forced Daddy into the shadows to deal with sadness on his own – because it scares the shit out of us to see him struggle. Perhaps this is because we’re not accustomed to the sight or because somewhere, in my mind anyway, I continue to believe (yes still) that my Daddy is strong, invincible and larger than life – yes, my daddy could beat up your Daddy if he wanted.
On Tuesday night, after Mamma announced that Aunt Emma has lung cancer and will be undergoing testing to see if the cancer has spread, Granny took a turn for the worse. She has lost nearly all kidney function: and the family has transitioned into a deathwatch without the admission of such. My mother-in-law has cautioned all that we should be ready for the inevitable. I think she says this more for herself than for others.
Then yesterday, Daddy tells me that Grandmother J. had been taken to the hospital because her blood pressure and sugar were all out of whack. I didn’t ask questions because I know “out of whack” is about the most descriptive medical terminology I’ll get from Daddy.
Although she was later released from the hospital: my mind kept wandering back to last week when I thought about visiting – but didn’t. I was too tired, at the time, to chase the children away from her knick-knacks.
Of course, I realize now how monumentally stupid this was. Had something happened, I would have missed our last chance to visit because I feared broken things.
You know, it occurs to me that I can only vaguely remember the last time I saw GK or the last real conversation I had with Granny – these occasions were not memorable for I had no way of knowing they would be the last.
I assumed there was more time. There’s always more time.
As adults we know that sorrow and loss will come to us again and again – but we also possess this childish notion folks go when the time is right, when we’re ready, not yet but later, just a few minutes more because there’s still stuff I needed to say or do… so when loss comes, it’s always untimely.
For all of our damned blather about being prepared, death remains unacceptable until we are forced to accept it.
Anyway, I plan to go visit grandma this afternoon after I clear my desk because – unfortunately, amid the death and illness and the loss that we face – life keeps marching on.
It progresses loudly, boldly and seems quite determined to carry us beyond sadness or distraction with its demands, laughter, squeals, screams, ringing, roaring, fist-fights and all of those obligations we’ve wrought out of love. However, the difference is – we are more mindful as we proceed. Our gait is slower as we have been reminded to cherish the journey and all those who continue to march at our side.
