Just over a week ago, when he would normally slip into his favorite chair to enjoy a game and a Bloody Mary, the father of a girl I once knew passed away from cancer. Before Sunday, I had not seen Jenny, the girl I once knew, in over 25 years, but since her father was a long-standing Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion (commonly known as a Eucharistic Minister) at our church, the priest said a few words in his honor after mass and her mother stood up to thank the parish for their prayers over the last nine months. She was there to support her mother and remember her father.
From the corner of my eye I could see The Mister quickly wipe away a few tears. I just sat there, steeling myself inch by inch so that by the time her mother finished speaking, I was a block of ice from heart to limbs. Sometimes, a lot of the times, I almost wish everyone I love would just die and get it over with. The pain of the anticipation of the pain will kill me long before anything happens to them.
I lay awake at night and worry about who might get sick or might get hurt. And then, because I am almost asleep and am perilously close to losing the ability to control my own thoughts, a flash: all of us in a horrible car crash; The Mister dying of a heart attack while we are sitting at the dinner table; a car barreling out of control while Mikey and Nico play in street. It’s always the same ending, even if the scenarios vary. The seat belts break apart in the crash; I can’t find the phone to call 911; I am too late to pull the boys out of the street.
As the endings play their familiar end, I shake my head, sometimes violently. If it’s an especially bad one, I’ll knock the heel of my hand against my head as if I can shake out the grit of my thoughts like an errant pebble in a shoe. Death is the control freak’s greatest nightmare because we have no way to predict or diminish our imminent agony.
I spent the weekend clearing out my parents’s storage unit. Piles and piles and piles of 70s and 80s memorabilia, most of it hilarious. At around box 7, I found pictures of me and my brothers when we were still kids. My parents, just ten years older than I am now, looked like children caring for infants. The outfits were priceless, and they had a good chuckle over them last night over dinner. Thankfully, the boys were able to recognize a few of me as a teenager because I can only take so much devastation in one weekend.
There were a few pictures of me in my prom dress. When my parents put their heads together to look at it more closely, I stared at them and tried my best to memorize every feature, every wrinkle, every hair on their heads. Then I steeled myself before the tears came on and gave a prayer of thanks that I have them both here with me.
I absolutely love that picture!
And I know what you mean. Life’s pretty darn good until you have to say goodbye… sigh. It always reminds me of the words of C.S. Lewis, “Our Father refreshes us on the journey with some pleasant inns, but will not encourage us to mistake them for home.”
I guess that’s why we have to grab the little moments with both hands–to laugh and love and celebrate as often as we can!
“I�ll knock the heel of my hand against my head as if I can shake out the grit of my thoughts like an errant pebble in a shoe” I love this image.
Beautiful post Jules….I purchased a card last week to mail to Jennifer and each time I sit to write my hand suddenly becomes paralyzed and words completely escape me.
Beautiful, as usual. I don’t want thoughts of death and dying to consume my every day, but I also don’t want to go through life taking it all for granted. I think God gives us these little moments where it hits us that this life is all going to fly by, and His desire is that we enjoy every second and every blessing that comes with it.
I think it’s the plight of a mother.. always worrying, anticipating the worst. I do the same thing, usually late at night when everyone is peacefully sleeping. I try and watch old episodes of Seinfeld or an old movie to get it out of my head. But the only thing that works is to pray for them all, and for myself….
Also… can we see the old photos??
Our family seems to be racking up the losses the past few years and I can’t say it ever gets easier. Each death hits a little closer to home. All we can do is pray and hope God’s plans include long and happy lives for our nearest and dearest.
“Death is the control freak�s greatest nightmare because we have no way to predict or diminish our imminent agony.”
oh my, there is so much truth to that. I totally agree and I lay in bed and worry about the same.
a (very) young mother of 4 passed away this weekend. she went to church with us. it reminds us all how fragile it is I think.
Lovely picture.
As a fellow control freak, I can totally relate to your thoughts. Being pregnant only makes it worse on me right now. I think I’ve cried about the possibility of somebody dying AT LEAST twice a day for the last few weeks. Which I sort of take as a good thing – to know that I realize that I value life and love these people I share it with and so on. But it is very hard.
I try to focus on the little one to come and all of the joys that will come with her, but there’s always sadly that little possibility that things won’t “work out” as they have the other times I’ve gone through the ring of fire and delivered a child. Oh, Lord, please help me to be hopeful!
Really beautiful post. Only my good friends know this (and all others wouldn’t be reading this blog.. :).. ), but I’m not close to my mother. In fact, we haven’t spoken for many years or seen each other. No calls on Christmas or birthdays. That’s not the secret. I act as though time has healed, as though it doesn’t bother me…but it does. That’s the secret. Every day that passes, every holiday, every joy and I wonder how different it would be if she were in my life. Then I become very thankful for my grandparents who were [in] my life, and my father who is really all I have now…then my own fear of the unknown. I have sudden thoughts of him dying, of me dying.
It is this very chilling, scary and vicious cycle of thoughts that bring me back to reality; reminding me to be thankful everyday for those in my life, friends and family, that I love. Loss helps us to see everything else around us clearly.
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