......and another friend's mother. Of course this brings up memories of my own father's lengthy illness and subsequent passing. I remember the early morning phone call from Mr. Bill. I was at a conference for work in Las Vegas, and I couldn't imagine why my phone was ringing so early. The call was a surprise but the message was not. My Dad had been in and out of the hospital, it seemed, for years. I remember when he was in for one of many surgeries and we were watching OJ 's white Bronco fleeing from the cops. Yes, that's a long time ago...almost a lifetime it seems.
I flew home that day from Vegas - sure that the other folks sitting near me were wondering what my problem was. I pretended to read a book and was alternating between tears and chuckles as memory after memory sped through my mind - a lifetime of thoughts about my Dad all rushing in on me at the same time. I kept wondering how I was old enough to have a parent in heaven. When did I cross that line of no return?
I thought about when I first started at Manpower in the late 80s, I worked with a lovely woman who was about 10-15 years older than myself. Both of her parents had been dead for years at that point and in getting to know her, I remember asking her how she dealt with it. It was one of the few times I saw pain and sadness in her face, her eyes, the slump of her shoulders as if she was carrying a heavy physical load. She said to me, "Rob - you don't ever get used to the feeling but you have to move on with your life." And certainly she was right. Life cannot stop because of the death of a parent.
The memorial service for my dad, the funeral, talking with friends and family and sharing stories about my dad, trying to be a comfort for my mom (at which I failed miserably) and a comfort to my SBJ and Mr. Bill who were closer to my Dad than almost anyone...it all went by in a blur. And less than a week later, I was again in a plane, book in hand on my way (this time) out of the country for several weeks. I guess the bottom line is, I wasn't dealing with it. I hadn't truly broken down. I hadn't taken any time I needed to grieve. I was just moving on.
I think people who know me well, would say I don't deal well with death. Up until my dad's passing, I could count on one hand the number of funerals I had attended in my life - mostly because I can't deal. The first funeral I ever attended was for TDB - the boyfriend of my good friend T. He was a passenger in a car crash. I remember my parents waking me up early that day to tell me. I remember driving to T's house and hearing "Only the Good Die Young" on the radio. I remember holding T in my arms and I'm sure failing to provide any comfort. I remember going to J's house and holding him in my arms and I'm sure failing to provide any comfort. I remember the funeral. How T put symbols of their love in his suit pocket, I remember the service. All as if it was only yesterday and not over 30 years ago.
I remember when Mr. Bill's grandmother died. How I could barely sit still through the service. And how I sought out TDB's place at the Wisconsin Memorial Park. I knew T had been there. There were reminders. I remember running my hand over the name plate. Again avoiding the current funeral in process. Was it easier or less of an impact because grandma was older? Did I need to comfort Mr. Bill or his family? Maybe not. She'd lived a full life. TDB did not have that chance.
Funeral #3 - the son of my boss CHMyWay. Undiagnosed leukemia. I remember getting her phone call at the office that morning that he died. I felt the blood drain from my face. I couldn't breathe. I nearly missed my chair trying to sit down. My Shelle Belle came to me from across the aisle and knew something was wrong. I had to tell people - had to let them know. I was responsible for communicating that horrible information. I remember the MP folks showing up in droves for the funeral. I remember thinking - again - that a young life was lost and - again - feeling so helpless. I remember watching my boss and her husband and daughter and how they seemed to be comforting their friends and family and all I wanted to do was scream, "Let me comfort you...let me help," knowing of course that I would fail miserably to do so.
And then my Dad's mother. The funeral where the entire town of Montpelier, Ohio, turned out to pay their respects. My grandmother had lived a long happy life. I remember thinking the next time I would see some of those relatives would be at my Dad's funeral....and I was right. Oh sure...other people had died over the years but these were the only funerals I could attend - hating each of them and what they represented. I simply refused to attend any others. Last year, we said good bye to my father-in-law, Dick. From his diagnosis to death - less than a year. All throughout that time, I again failed to provide comfort to Mr. Bill. Everything I said seemed to be flat, without feeling...the same useless platitudes ("He's not in any pain, he's in a far better place," yada yada). Why did I bother saying those things, when honestly I didn't know if they're true?
Recently, a former co-worker and the son of former co-worker both took their own lives. I did not, could not, would not attend any service. SBJ had gone to school with the young man. They had been, when they were in grade school, the best of friends. As they grew older and eventually went to different high schools, they remained in touch but did not hang out the way they had when they were younger. Mr. Bill and SBJ attended the service. The former co-worker was facing a tough financial / job situation that she apparently could no longer cope with. In these two cases, I had to ask myself, "Was there something I could have done?" It is a failure to provide comfort to avoid an outcome that I'm still struggling with. If I could have done something to prevent these deaths, would I have been strong enough to do so or would I have tried and failed?
I've figured out that I am incapable of providing comfort because I don't know what to say to make it better. I don't know how to take away the pain others feel. I don't know how to deal with my own pain - if it could be called that. Actually, I don't know what I feel. How can I help others when I can't even help myself? My coping mechanism in any crisis or situation I do not like is obviously avoidance. The question is, can I change my behavior and reactions (or lack of) and learn to cope in a different way? Stay tuned while I try.....
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