final version, revision of:
Death,
Farewells, Goodbyes
Love
is a quirky thing. One of my definitions being: missing their
physical presence in my life. So if I miss someone then chance’s
are that I love them. This is especially true when someone passes
away. It is easy to forget how much I love someone when they are just
down the street or a phone call away. To make excuses as to being
to busy or rushed today to take the time, right now, for them. It is
not uncommon for me, but I realized when people I loved had passed
away how much I would give just to have one more chance to chat and
have coffee.
When
my Dad moved on, it was quick. I was a drill sergeant at the time
when I got word of his passing. The army was very good at getting me
the time to go home and do the necessary things, but the one big loss
I had felt at the time and still do, is just the having of a little
one on one time, to have a cup of coffee with him, and get caught up
on life. No major questions needing answered or help needed, just
miss him is all and probably more than enough.
My
Dad has always fascinated me. Here was a man from a small northern
Minnesota town whose upbringing was by no means nice or pleasant. He
served in WWII, Korea, Vietnam for two tours, Ethiopia for years,
married, raised a family of four, and retired from the Army in 1969,
during the height of racial tensions. I always think of the things
I could have learned from him in adulthood.
I
don't think a man really comes into adulthood or manhood till his
father passes on. I know with me it was that way. Even though I had
been sober since I was 28, was successful in the Army when my Dad
passed when I was 32, I still feel like a part of me was in
childhood till I was without my Dad to fall back on.
I
often compare fatherhood to being an oak tree and until my father was
gone and that giant oak was cut down, I did not have to let my roots
and branches grow out. As long as he was around to lean and rest
against I did not have to grow fully into myself.
One
of the great joys I have had in life was in watching my Dad grow up.
As the youngest son I had it perhaps the easiest of it. My brothers
from what I could garner had it a lot rougher than me, for my Dad did
not have a good father role model growing up. More of the, this is
what you shouldn't be as opposed to, this is what you should strive
to be. By the time I came around and was growing up, I think he
started to realize it was okay to be himself around children. I know
when his grandson was born, he had a different out look on children
totally from when I was a child.
That
is one of the benefits of sobriety for me. I use to take a mental
picture of the person and froze them in time to how that picture was.
I never gave them the chance to be a living breathing human being,
making mistakes, growing up, changing for the better or for the
worse. They could only behave according to how that mental image I
had of them was. That is how I expected them to be and if they acted
differently than that, than I could not figure it out. In sobriety I
have learned to accept the people in my life for who and how they are
at this point in their lives.
After
my brother Bob passed away, it was a feeling of what a waste. I felt
here was a guy, my brother, who I just wish I could have shook some
sense into. A man who had so much love in his life, but was so deep
in the pit that his drinking had dug that he was blind to the path
where the sun waited to warm his soul. Being sober myself, I knew
the solution, but could not get my brother to see. I know what it is
like to not be able to see until I am ready to see. I also know,
that sobriety is something you have to want. I have met many who
need it, but it is those that want it, that have a chance. I just
sometimes forget that when I am dealing with someone I love. I would
like to make it easier for them but I know that does not work.
With
my brother Dennis's passing, I felt like I was at the funeral of a
man I never really knew. He had been out of my and my families life
for close to if not more than twenty years. So in reality, I really
did not know him, and that to me was a shame. When I was helping to
clear out his stuff from the house, I was coming across items that I
would like to have talked to my brother about. I can remember talking
with him and it seemed every thing was just surface conversation and
not anything of depth. I know he must have had some issues in his
life and I would have liked to talk to him about those. I can
honestly say I was never able to really figure out what made him tick
and that was my loss. It is sad to have a brother I did not know
well.
Lastly,
as far as family goes, my mother. This one, for me, is hard. Not only
my mother but also my best friend and when she was gone, there was a
hole in me where she use to be. With both my mother and father, my
mom and dad, they both left holes that I do not think will ever be
filled. But I have to think that, that is the way of it. Having holes
not filled reminds me of what is missing.
With
family and loved ones, I think that is a matter of love. That with
each one, parent, sibling, spouse, or child, that in my soul I have a
place of love with their name engraved on. A part of my soul
designated to each one, and when they are gone the love remains, but
the soul aches for the physical contact with each one. Be it their
voice, email, letter, or visit, I miss the contact with them. The
love remains, honest true God given love cannot leave or go, but even
with the love there, it is like any living thing, without the
sunlight to brighten and give it strength then it just is.
When
my mom moved to the upstairs house, I was actually happy to see her
go. It was actually well past time for her to have moved on. She
was just stubbornly holding on to see that first great grandchild.
Finally I think, she just said to hell with it, if I can't meet the
little one here, I will meet her upstairs. I am sure that she gave
the first future de-facto Jackson a long talking too, filling her
with the in's and out's of her future family. I am quite sure that
her parents will see an awful lot of their grandmother in her as she
grows up.
When
she moved on, it was a matter of there being more people up there
than down here she wanted to see. I like to think that her Father
decided it was time to bring another faithful servant home to rest.
From up there she knows she can keep her eyes on us down here and
laugh at our foolish attempts to get Life right.
From
my Mom I got the value of “home”. It is not just a house you
live in, but a place where you feel warm to the soul. I use to like
coming home. It was where I felt at peace and where I could rest. A
place where, when life had battered and bruised me, I could regroup
and heal.
I
find it interesting that when I look back, I can see the places that
had that feeling of home. My Grandparents house was one that
whenever I walked in, it felt comfortable and restive. The home where
I grew up was another. It seems that I can feel sometimes when
walking into a house if it is a home or just someplace where a family
lives. Whether it has a level of serenity and peace or a place of
strife and quiet nervousness.
Have
you ever walked into a church and it was empty? That feeling of there
is no harsh word spoken here. There is no anger allowed. This a place
of restive contemplation and healing. A place where the price of
peace has been paid and this is the reward.
I
take it as a compliment to my Mom and Dad when I have people over to
my house. I think they sense this is place where no conflict lives.
No controversy, no anger, no harsh words or strife, but a place where
one can go: Ahhhhh and relax. Where the coffee is the only thing that
is hot. The house where I live, is a home. It is where I am at peace
and where serenity lives.
Now
there have been arguments and disagreements where I live. That is
life, but the underlying foundation is one of peace and that
permeates the surroundings and keeps everything in check. A balance
of sorts to life. It is like sobriety. Every day is another sheet
of paper laid onto the stack, secured by the glue of prayer and
desire to be of use to my God. Soon it is a wall, eventually a home
with a front door allowing me to enter and leave. It allows others to
enter and to feel the peace that has been built by the love of my
God.
It
is also a good and useful tool for me. For whenever I feel out of
sorts, or like something is nagging at me when I am at home, it is a
good sign that I need to look and see what is going on in my life.
What is bring stress and discord into my home. A sort of living
barometer of sorts.
My Mom's house and my Dad's
garage, this is what I remember and the feeling I got when I was in
them. This is one of the gifts they gave me by living they way they
did. They showed me by example not by words, that life needs a place
to be centered in and build around and it is called “home”.
