Handling the trauma of a life lost affects us all differently and there is never a perfect time for one to say goodbye. How long will it take to heal from the heartache or understand what message the deceased passed along to our lives in growth? Our immediate response to a passing is ‘sorry for your loss’ but it doesn’t carry weight with me. I don’t like the mantra of ‘loss’ or feeling ‘sorry’. Death is a natural part of life, there is no reason to be sorry or think one is lost after a loss. I understand others are doing their best to show empathy when they utter that phrase because they really don’t know what to say, it’s a touchy subject.
I heard my mother’s voice crack on the other end of the phone when she informed me my stepfather was in critical condition days ago. For almost 6yrs. he’s been under the care of professionals at a nursing home, a long pause in a marriage. The emotions of the past resurfaced when he was moved to hospice and receiving the care of comfortability in a coma. The time to cross over is of the essence and real.
When my father passed, my grandfather was in disbelief, which I didn’t understand since we were attending the facility so frequently. He was too weak to get out of bed and his last request to me was that of a Coca-Cola. He slammed it down and he said, “they treat you like a king” referring to his caregivers. This was welcoming since I cared for him until I was forced to put him in there. But the healing didn’t occur until much later for me.
My grandfather, Papa Jack, watched his wife then son pass in a matter of months. He went to the nursing home and held Mary’s hand, sitting bedside 5 days a week. For 7 decades these two souls were his foundation and now he was alone. ‘Sorry for your loss,’ doesn’t seem like something he wanted to hear, I know I didn’t. But I don’t think I’ve ever been coached to respond in a different capacity.
When exploring life and death one has to tread lightly and obviously feel empathy to the best of their ability but how? Using logic is not the best path because of the intensity of emotion. I think a well-intended hug speaks louder than any phrase that could be uttered. The action translates with a stronger transmission.
I suppose the uncertainty of facing the waking hours without family has an individual feeling incomplete and alone while the loss swirls in the mind. In-addition to absorbing the fact that death is out of their hands and they feel helpless as they watch and now repeat the episode emotionally at a ten. The phrase ‘sorry for your loss’ doesn’t aid an individual in changing the direction of their thoughts and emotions.
When my cousin passed, who was just years older than I, the family was gathered and mournful as expected so I decided to interject and asked everyone to tell their favorite story of her. It was received well and brought joy to see how she effectively touched each of us with a lesson. Maybe I’ll try ‘sorry for your loss,’ why do you think the deceased came into your life? We were all lucky to have known them but your relationship was so much stronger. And you know that he or she will always be with you, especially when you share the blessing they bestowed upon you. Can you think about why this person loved you so much or why they were sent to be so impactful?
When I experienced loss, I found the best cure was to talk more about it, let it out. I think you should let a person rant until they run out of hurt then you can fill the cup up with the above. You’ll never get through to someone who doesn’t feel heard about the most serious consequence, death. But this will not be done quickly or without more upsetting experiences.
For me I did my best to ignore it by staying as busy as possible with school, work, and the drugs and alcohol to suppress the hurt, anger, and sadness. It took much longer than I anticipated to forgive my father and understand I wouldn’t be who I am today if he didn’t play the role he was meant to because I refused to confront it. I remember my Aunt Jo advised that I go see a shrink and I thought, I’m good but this person I look up to and respect, maybe I should and I did.
I was tough on the guy and he said right away, “I’m not here to solve your problems. I’m here to listen.” With my walls now down he probed and I spoke. It became clear that there were many things I was still holding onto that I reaffirmed as unjust. So if a person can hold onto these negative events, making them real at their will, how come they can’t hold onto the love that was expressed when the fallen were by their side?
Short answer, it’s very hard to overrun the emotional pain that is blaring and take the other road to live in a place beyond the physical. Love is the highest emotion and we have unlimited access to as much as we want but it’s tough to say the least, when your love has been taken. To lose a partner, son, or father pains an individual to a measurement far unto another to understand. So we carry the spiritual baggage in reality declaring it’s not fair saying things like ‘what kind of God would allow this?’ Making it real we become very black and white.
A quick Google search reveals birth rates are 2 to 1 to deaths a day with 360k babies born each day. There are many parenting classes, books, and seminars but not many on death. The only coaching I received was that of Heaven and Hell period. That should change because of the gravity loss has on family becoming misunderstood. We can look at changing funerals to celebrations of life as a step in not woke but forward thinking. It seems more proper to embrace how lucky one is to even have the chance living because life is fragile.
With my stepfather, Bob, approaching the crossroads I’m reminded of how he came into my life and why. I wasn’t psyched about my mom remarrying and I didn’t like putting on pants on a humid summer day without A/C because he was coming over. He had worked his way through the single mom pool after dating a friend’s mom and found mine. With two kids Bob and Candy with her two made a Brady Bunch in 1992. The wedding chicken in the freezer was on constant rotation for dinners with 6 of us in a joking made serious manner.
I recall my dad dropping me off seeing him in the drive and saying, “I think he’ll make a good role-model for you.” Something I didn’t want to hear because I wanted him to fight for that job but looking back on it today, I could see this was major growth for him. For Bob, myfather, to be positive and not negative talk Bob, my stepfather, as he did my mom at times was quite something; swallowing his ego.
Bob never tried to be my dad but he knew the pecking order, don’t upset the #1 son, and he rarely did. There was a mutual respect that formed a bond between brothers so to speak. He really put in work now that I can interrupt situations from a grown man. Bob was the only man to show up at school field day and refed our basketball game when I was 12 before the marriage. He stood up to a kid who was pushy about a shooting foul, nope, not having that, ball out. Even though the kid was as avid about St. Joes as Bob. “Mighty St. Joes,” he’d say shaking his fist.
He had many catch phrases that were amusing like, “get over here flee,” “the gooch,” or “midnight snack.” When I graduated HS and was working full-time at the grocery store, we had breakfast together, working men and I was considered a ‘scientist’ due to my protein utilization techniques. But the mooching and the free ride was over for me at 18, something I fought but he was right.
The time he walked in on Jesse and me watching a Girls Gone Wild video or helping Pat clean the computer after a porno blast where classic. Or when I would have 4th July parties at the property, (a vacation farmhouse aka workhouse) and bought us smokes because “I don’t want you guys to burn yourself with lighters,” was him doing his best to show that we weren’t that different.
He loved helping with Algebra, the word problems really got him excited but he hated when I would blare Juvenile or Man-o-war while making dinner. I’m sure more than once he must have said ‘what I’ve gotten myself into here.’ Is the juice worth the squeeze? I mean four teenagers and a job he did not like. He was grumpy at dinner. So why did this man come into my life?
He didn’t to be a dad, he already had two kids. So if he wasn’t to be a father figure than why? We all seek a partner to be strong where we are weak and share our days with but I was a remainder along with my sister. I remember telling mom years ago that I never considered that he makes you so happy and I never looked at it like that. Balancing my mom out made her a better mother with backup. He was dependable.
Having an older brother was another. Someone to look up to and teach me what was instore through beat downs, skating, and concerts. Without my father filling that hole Ed did. He made me want to impress him and the older crowd I was inducted into. I felt special having him unofficially as my brother.
I think another lesson my stepfather bestowed on me is how to be a man in a marriage. I don’t recall him ever yelling at my mother. He kept the FU’s under his tongue, something I still have trouble with but he showed me what comprise looks like.
When Bob, Ed, and I took Ed back to Kent for school I knew the D.A.R.E. talk was coming on the way home because I had recently been arrested at school for pot. “Your mother wanted me to talk to you about your marijuana habit, made me hungry,” he said with a chuckle. He knew why burned so much incense. Imagine knowing your stepson is blazing the hash and keeping your mouth shut because of the unsettledness that would come out of that confrontation. Cross that bridge when it’s burning, ha.
Fast forward 20 years and the three of us take a road trip to Cooperstown and the Baseball HOF. Both Ed and I were taken aback by his decline but he showed us he was willing to do almost anything for us because leaving the safe confides of home to be with boys was worth him being scared and unsure. That really shows courage looking back on it today given his diagnosis. But he and us knew such things are worth it to strengthen bonds, support, show love, and be recognized in one another.
He, like my father couldn’t say I love you to Ed and the one time I said it to him with a hug was awkward; a common flaw of fathers from the North Coast and boomer generation. My father reacted in the same manner, made him feel gay I suppose but really it was vulnerable. And I get they didn’t hear it from their fathers but I find another lesson in knowing I can say it to almost anyone with heart and understand, feel, and accept that’s its been there the whole time; expressing it is natural, beyond what mortals may believe from a tough guy male perspective.
When one passes and deals a crushing blow to our well-being let us be reminded that they played their part and if you think you’re resting in peace, nope. There’s the job of looking out for us still, guiding, reminding, and reassuring us that we are on the right path. And that you’ll be there to cheer us on.
I said a prayer and asked for him in a dream the other night, he showed. Chucky, my best friend, and I were planning to fake our deaths in a home explosion. Bob and Chucky were talking Christianity before the boom but Bob was in charge of our escape plans. When the wheels arrived that he ordered with an unapproved individual having knowledge of the facts in the car he lost his shit on them. I thought maybe we shouldn’t follow through with this and awoke.
The last time I saw him at the facility he said, “yeah that’s Steve. How you doing?” Being blind from the Benson’s disease I said, “what can you smell me Bob?” “No, mom told me you were coming,” he responded with a smile. The impressions we make on one another are greater than we can imagine.
When our family leaves the body and we can’t touch, smell, hear, or see them in the physical but we can always make them live again through our experiences even when they seem mundane. The little things bond the big ones with insight of perspective if we put awareness on it. I realize how hard it is to listen because they whisper and you’re not sure if that’s your thought or theirs’s but with practice a sense of knowing calms.
“The dudes,” ha, you know. Since the guy was so into music and a college D.J I suppose I should include the lyrics to what was just playing by the Beatles.
“Blackbird singing in the dead
Of night
Take these sunken eyes and
Learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for
This moment to be free
Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark
Black night”
That’s how. Thanks, Bob, for reminding me; in love and light.
