Accidental Insight

Accidental Insight

My dad is 85 years old and sharp as a ginzu.  He and my mom are living a healthy life in South Florida and do a number of exciting thing.  They often go to Costco and zoom in on the free samples being given out by people making minimum wage.  Mom and Dad tell them stories which I’m sure these people find riveting.  On the way back to their adorable condo overlooking the water they often stop at Wendy’s for an order of French fries to share and a frosty that they freeze for later.  They wash down a Lipitor to make it all a healthy option.  I once said to dad, “You know that is not how Lipitor was meant to be used.”  He replied, “I’m 85, what can you tell me that I don’t already know?  Besides, I’m healthy and I’m still good looking.”   True.  He has a point.  As he always does.  My mom, who has always been gorgeous retains her beauty and humor.  Dad still has a full head of hair.  They read the paper every day and are up on politics and current events.  Who am I to question anything?

Dad is a computer whiz and spends time “surfing.”  Which is good because if he wasn’t busy with the internet, he’d have more time to drive my mother crazy.  He sends me e mails and I enjoy his views on a variety of subjects.   I like it most when he tells me stories about his life.   Today, he sent one that was filled with interesting tib-bits about his choices in high school.  Academia was not as interesting as other things like girls or other hobbies he had. Then, in the midst of his musings about paths he chose in his own life, he wrote: “Would love to know how Mike would have turned out.”

My brothers death at his tender age of 16 changed our family life in profound and irrevocable ways.  It  will never be fully sorted out or understood due to its myriad of subtleties and complexities.

My father’s off handed afterthought in an e mail reminded me of a few things I’ve learned about grief.

1)      You never get over it.  There are well meaning people in our lives that said things like, “Mike wouldn’t want to see you so upset.” Or “You need to be brave for your parents.”  I’m sure they told my parents to “Be brave for your other children.”  One that confused my ten year old Catholic mind was  God wanted/needed him more than you do.  Really? Is that how God works? When I heard someone tell my mom, “Mike is a better place.”  Which always got me to wondering where that place was.  The last place I saw him was in a box going into the ground.  All of these well meaning discussions were meant to help us get over it or get through it or make others more comfortable.  I realize as I have gotten older that the very best friend I can be when someone is facing loss is to just be there.  Just show up.  Without my own agenda, willing to deal with my own discomfort as my own.  When people cry, let them.  Hold them and now shush them.  There is no time frame.  There is no agenda.  Let them know, “You are not alone. I’m here now and will be whenever you need me.”  That is what my ten year old self needed and what my 55 year old self is willing to give.   I image my parents could have benefitted from that too.  Children and adults that are grieving don’t ever get over it.  But we can get through it and together is better.

2)      The loss of what might have been is never answered or satisfied.  Every holiday, birthday, graduation and special event leaves me to wonder, “What if Mike were here?” When my daughter was born I wondered what kind of an uncle he would have been.  Would he have been the guy that plays with the baby on the floor?  The kind of uncle that brought noisy toys just to annoy me?  Would he have been a more distant uncle that sent the occasional card?  Would he have had his own brood of kids? We will never know.  That loss of a future was difficult for me but it must have been especially brutal for my parents.  We raise our children to prepare them for their future. What a cruel torture to stop that powerful train in motion of what will never be.  Parents are left to wonder about a future that was never realized. 

I don’t know how much my parents think about that.  It is mentioned when we all get together.  For my mom’s recent 85^th birthday, we were all gathered.  My sister and brother were there as were the 4 grandkids.  At some point we mentioned that Mike was there in spirit.  And I believe he was.  It gave the grandkids a moment of pause.  They never met their uncle but his ubiquitous memory is alive in ways they have told and stories they have heard, pictures they have seen.   His ghost like memory has been a part of their childhoods because Mike was our childhood.  When the time is right, I will ask them what it was like for them to have grown up with parents who lost a sibling.  Did that grief affect their lives?  Another thing I’ve learned about grief is that the discussion of grief is not ever as painful as the deafening silence that sometimes afflicts those suffering.

I love getting my dad’s e mails are filled with interesting minutia.  Today his words brought about some accidental insights for me.   Thanks Dad!

I have to tell you that to have parents that are 85 and in robust enough health to drive the people at Costco crazy and mentally sharp enough to share memories, information and conversation is a blessing beyond words. 

Thank you God. Thank you God. Thank you God.