Upon the impending death of...
I have to leave for a while.
We got one of those phone calls last night…Well, I didn’t, my wife did. Our nephew phoned her to tell her that his brother had a stroke last night and is not expected to make it. We’ll be spending the day at the hospital, needless to say.
I will be away from the computer — but will be bringing my iPad with me.
When I first met my wife, Nickolas was three years old. He was the first grandchild and she spoiled him endlessly. She used to call him “Honey” before he could even talk, and as a result, one of the first words out of his mouth was Honey, which is what he called her. As a result, she is now called Honey by all of the nieces and nephews on the wife’s side. The nieces on my side know about it, and sometimes call her that as well.
This is just a brief note explaining that I will be attending to family matters, rather than spending my endless hours here. I may drop in here and there, but for the most part, will be absent.
I’m not expecting to have a great day. Not at all. Too many triggers, with my memories of Steve already coming out to haunt me. But hey, spilling tears over someone we love isn’t a bad thing. It would be worse if there was no emotion at all. I don’t think I have to worry about that. (If you son’t know who Steve is, that’s Okay. I accidentally deleted the story of his death, and I don’t feel sorry for having done that, either. He’s the man who died at work under the wheels of the machine I was driving…but that’s another story.)
This is a day of utmost sadness. I have to attend to the needs of the wife who is at a loss and needs an anchor to hold her in place…that’s what life is about: Births, and then deaths. I guess I’m at that part of my life now, because the deaths are starting to outweigh the births.
It is never an easy thing. I grew up in a funeral home owned by my grandparents - and instead of making me clinical about death, I became intensely empathic about mortality. Your wife is a very blessed woman, who is going to be hurting just like you are. Lean into one another, don’t hold back the tears but make sure you get her to a comfortable place while she sheds them. Let her know ugly being is okay, she will always be beautiful to you no matter what you face together. And love your family. It sounds like this is going to be a massive injury to all hearts. Encourage creativity in expressing each persons sadness, holding right to the memories which will each be like a dagger and a salve at the same time. Music, writing, finger painting…
I feel for you all, and hope that the tighter you pull together, you can weather the storm and not feel so alone or bear the crushing weight of grief without assistance from one another.
And talk to him before he departs! I hope you get that chance … play his favorite music, tell him it’s okay, you love him forever.
I am a Death Sitter, and these are my words to you. I know it is strange, but it is a part of me. And I am here if you need to speak.
So sorry to hear about this. We're at that stage of life when this occurs more and more frequently, and though it doesn't get any easier, there is solace in the love of friends and family, and maybe in spiritual beliefs.