Grief

Prologue

Was reading blogs at my brother's house in Denham Springs, LA, using Lisa's laptop and a mini-mouse-- instead of her headband laser beam mouse. Bruce and Lisa have WiFi, which allows one to wander from kitchen to living room to bedroom, dropping in on various conversations and various activities going on throughout the house. WiFi is really the only way to go.

Alice(Bacchini) in Texas directed me to Seraphic Secret, which is written by Robert Averich, with contributory comments from his wife, Karen. Robert and Karen lost their beautiful college age son to a long term disease. I was touched by their story, their courage, their love for their family, their tenderness, their wisdom, and their ongoing grief. Reading Seraphic Secret, I was overcome by grief. I felt a tangible, physical urge to flee their blog, but remained riveted through a decent bit of their archives. God bless them.

Alice made a comment which stuck with me:
"...grieving, which may be tabboo but is actually part of life, all round the year."


Grief

Travelling to Texas, we jumped off HWY 190 and onto Interstate 49, which is a pine tree lined straight shot across the upper of Louisiana's boot, angling from southeast to northwest. Beside me in the front seat, Jake assumed the "teenager position", which is slumped down with earphones on and eyes closed, only stirring every 40 minutes to change the CD. Nancy and Vachel assumed the "AARP position", which is eyes closed and asleep in the back of the Yukon. I had lots of miles to drive quietly, and lots of time to let my mind drift. I thought of Alice Bacchini.

Alice will soon load her ark with children and move back to Britain. She will no longer be "Alice in Texas"(in Austin). She will end that blog, and return to blogging at some unspecified time, in some unspecified form. I will miss her. Alice has had lots of wise and interesting and fun things to say. I've enjoyed reading her British girl's perspective on things American.

So, I think about Alice as I drive, and I know what's likely to happen: Alice will get caught up in a whirlwind of packing and moving and trans-Atlantic arking, and there will be nothing on her blog for a long time, and then there will be a note that she's in Britain, goodbye, and she'll be back someday-- who knows when, in a different blog format. And I start to feel sad. And I start to pre-grieve over the demise of Alice in Texas as I drive through Alexandria, Louisiana. My grief is a thimble-full compared to the ocean of grief at Seraphic Secret. My grief is a pinprick compared to that. But it exists. Grief is grief. A pinprick hurts. I think I should not ignore and push away my grief and pain any longer, as I have for the first four decades of my life.

I hatch a plan: I'm going to do that dating/relationship thing, where you avoid pain and grief by breaking up with the other person at the first sign of trouble, before they have a chance to break up with you. I'm going to not look at the Alice in Texas blog until the summer, after I can be confident the blog has ended. Then I'll go back and see what I missed, and I'll minimize my own pain and grieving in that fashion. This comforts me for some miles.

But, wait, a disturbing thought: This is no way to live one's life-- by avoiding fully living in the present, so as to avoid some pain occurring in the future. My parents are both asleep in the seats behind me. They will likely die before I do. Would I avoid being with them because I know I shall grieve at their deaths on some future day? Will I avoid feeling maximum love for Jake because he might die in an auto accident and break my heart, ala Seraphic Secret? A creeping and terrible realization begins to emerge: How much of life have I missed while I hid from some future grief which might or might not occur?

I'm writing bits of a book about coaching youth sports. Youth sport should be an end in itself, insofar as playing and competing and being excellent at sport is fun; and it should be a means to an end, insofar as sport builds character. One thing I discovered, which I had not quite fully understood before-- and, I'm sorry-- I cannot remember who wrote this:

Losing creates grief-- even in sport.

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It may be a pinprick of grief, like my grief over Alice leaving her blog, but it is grief nonetheless. Even a miniature happening inside a larger sports game is an opportunity to feel grief: if you kick a ball and miss the goal; if your opponent defeats you in an individual matchup; if you let your teammates down in some way; or feel embarrassed before the crowd of onlookers. All of these are opportunities to feel pain and to grieve. The pain and grief may be tiny, but it will still hurt. How many children refuse to play games because of the pain and grief which may result? In my own life, have I refused to play in some areas, in a misguided attempt to avoid pain and grief? I have. Dammit.

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I know this next happened in the spring before I turned either five or six, because I remember the weather, and I remember we lived in Waco:

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It was a bright and sunshiny spring day. I was playing in the back yard, and came running through the sliding patio door and into the kitchen. I slowed to listen to my parents, who were off to my left, sitting at the kitchen table. They were sad and concerned. They were discussing a relative who had died. I stood in the middle of the kitchen and stared at them as I listened.

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"Why did he die?" I asked.

"He was old. Everyone dies, eventually."

"Why?"

"They just do."

"Why do they have to die!? Everyone doesn't have to die!"

"Yes. Everyone dies. Run along. Go back out in the yard."

My parents were sad and distracted.

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I went back to the yard, and I was overcome with grief and sadness. I had thought people died only by accident. If no accident happened, I assumed people could live forever. This was a terrible twist. I began to cry, and my crying intensified to sobs. I went back in the kitchen and spoke to my parents in sobbing, crying gasps:

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"Not everybody dies! You don't have to die, and Daddy doesn't have to die, and Bruce, and Bradley, and me! We don't have to die!"

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"Yes, everybody dies. That's the way life works. Now, straighten yourself up. Get back outside until you can stop crying."

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I've never gotten over it.

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I realized, as I drove towards Natchitoches, Louisiana, that what I felt in the back yard in Waco was grief. It was grief over the fact that people I loved would die, and this life on Earth that I loved would end.

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And I still feel that grief, to this very day. It kills me that my son will one day die. It kills me that my beloved brothers will one day die. It kills me that my own life will one day end. I love so many things in this life. I love to read, and to watch movies, and to play many sports like football and basketball and softball and golf, and to play many games like chess and dominoes and cards and Yahtzee and Stratego and Risk, and I love good conversation, and food and drink, and the beach, and the Rocky Mountains in summer, and the Rocky Mountains in winter. I love rainy days and sweaty days, and I love to drive long distances, and I love to fly to new places, and I love sunsets and sunrises, and I love the feeling of a fish on the end of my line, and I used to hunt dove and quail-- and I loved watching the hunting dogs work! And I loved killing and eating those birds! I love many things, much.

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And I'm mad at God! I'm mad at any God who would take those things away from me, and would take those things away from those I love. I am MAD MAD MAD. It is completely unfair, and I am enraged at a God who would toy with my feelings this way, and with the feelings of those I love. Dang you God! Dang you! Dang you! Dang you!

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I feel sadness and grief that everyone and everything I love has to die. I feel about as much sadness and grief as I could feel-- and I've felt it for nearly 40 years! DANG YOU GOD! DANG YOU for making me feel this way!

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...Ok. I took a deep breath and a little break. I'm not willing to stop blaming God-- YOU HEAR ME GOD!? I'M ANGRY WITH YOU! However, I am willing to notice that my thinking is a little skewed, and I'm a little unwilling to embrace reality(40 years worth of unwilling), and I'm playing the victim very nicely. And I'm willing to notice there's a great opportunity for me to have a breakthrough moment IF I'm willing to stop blaming God(forget that), and to get in touch with what is actually true, versus what I've been carrying around with me for almost 40 years. Its a big opportunity. I appreciate that, and I'm getting a little excited about the opportunity of it all, though I'm still plenty pissed at YOU KNOW WHO.

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