2nd post

 Making the commitment to write this weekly blog in many ways seemed like an easy task.  The process of letters forming words which become paragraphs has always thrilled me.    Yet the discipline to actually do the work surprised me.   I seem to lack the motivation for stopping the duties I had undertaken to write.  My thoughts move in so many directions that actually carving out a set time and space to do writing became more difficult than I realized it would be.   Still I persevered.   

This second experimental blog post was well underway when the busyness of my life was thrown out of focus by the news of my friend entering hospice and within days passing from this life.   It seemed that a haze came over me.   Even though Russ had been facing decades of health concerns and was noticeably declining in strength, my friend’s death came as a shock.

This week, I was going to continue writing about “Cleaning My House” but instead, I am deviating and sharing a deep sadness.   When Russ breathed his last breath, my world seemed to stop and unconsciously,  I wanted everything and everybody to stop, too. But the reality is that the world moves on and people, though touched by Russ' death, are busy with many aspects of life.  I wanted them to at least “stall” for a bit.    

My experience is not unusual.  I see it in the eyes of the grieving.  I hear it in their voices expressing appreciation for any outpouring of love from those around them.  I feel it in their embraces and the touch of their hands.   And I share their sorrow. Their sorrow reminds me of the deep sadnesses my heart has experienced as those in my intimate circle of love make their departure from this life.

 The reality of death’s closeness hit me hard when I noticed that within the last year, around a dozen of my  acquaintances had passed beyond this life. Although I was not as close to each of them as I was to Russ, the deaths of Arol, Eileen, Father Greg, Diane,  Karston, Coach Dell, Marjorie, Mary Eileen. Russ, and Ann closed meaningful relationships that I had known.  With Russ it was especially difficult because over the years he and I had established a great friendship, shared many experiences and projects, plus, Russ was instrumental in assisting my sons to learn many life skills.

The sting of death may be diminished, but the pain it brings, the hole in my heart it makes,  seems amplified. We are not created to die, that was not the original plan. Although Jesus conquered death, it still affects us, whether death comes with a gentle passing with time or is suddenly dropped into the routine of our lives, it clenches our hearts bringing pain.

 Lost is the person we knew.   The one, with whom we shared precious moments and countless experiences, has vanished.   The person, who we laughed with as we recalled so many of life’s adventures, no longer walks with us.  The one, who knew us so very intimately and loved us just like we are in the complexity of our lives, is missing from our world.  

Memories are now our companion, yet these memories fade with the passing of time.  What we really have left is a feeling of the memory.   The feeling lingers after a particular person, experience, place, or event is no longer a part of our reality.  Some of us are blessed with photos or videos which help us to recall memories of whom and what has been lost.    Items cherished or used by the one no longer with us, become special reminders of the life we shared, yet even these items eventually lose their luster.

 When I heard that  my dear friend, Russ,  had died,  an internal turmoil rose within me.   I wanted to immediately drive over and be with Joanie and her daughters, yet hesitated because of my personal experience as I recalled the death of my father.     I would not have wanted anyone to interrupt “my time” with my father’s body.   When Jenny remarked that the time with her mom and sister after her dad’s passing was “so sacred”   I understood and  didn't want to intrude on their precious family time.

A perplexion about knowing how to decide the appropriate response in this situation overwhelms me.  Insights from readers would be appreciated.  It is possible that there is “no right response” for every circumstance, but maybe there is a process for  discerning the best response.   It seems insensitive to simply ask the one who has called with information of the death of their beloved.   Thinking back over the years, my reactions varied.

When Paul called to tell me Peggy was nearing her final breath, I wondered if his four daughters and Peggy's sisters would feel my presence distracting.  The farewell to their precious mother and sister was their focus.

When my “sister-next-door” Martha Sue passed, Lynn called and asked if she and Wayne should pick me up since they were going to her deathbed.  I did not hesitate to say yes and it was so good that we were all together in Martha Sue’s home.

Arol’s death reminded me of my father’s passing in many ways, especially since he seemed to be recovering from a surgery and doing well.   Arol’s family and friends were left angered and bewildered.  I wondered how I might reach out to them.

 When Profesora Finn, who had instructed four of my sons and me in Spanish, passed onto her Heavenly reward after a lengthy Multiple Sclerosis journey which lasted for years.  Eileen successfully battled covid  and even though her passing was expected a deep sadness filled our hearts.

 Don’t get me wrong, I'm a believer in the Resurrection of the body and life everlasting,  but that does not lessen the abrupt ways death affects me.  My heart seems to break over and over again with each life passing on.

 So,  I cry as I recall the times Russ and I took off for Adventures.  We would go off to the synagogue as we planned our first Christian Seder.   We headed to the Amish “Bent and Dent” to pick up great food buys.   We traveled for hours to buy flowers  from the Mennonites.  We visited a hermit nun to have a special vestment created for our parish priest.  We often snuck forbidden treats when we were together - food items he “shouldn’t be eating” but just wanted to taste.   Enough is as good as a feast, Right?   Russ was even tolerant when I captured his life with my photos as he was cooking, baking, exercising and even showing me his incisions. 

But most of all, I realize I will miss his laugh and the ways his voice would get excited when he was talking about an ideal which he felt strongly.  He (as a legally blind person) would give me directions when we drove somewhere. I cherish the role model he was for my sons and I feel he really loved them with a Father's Love.  Russ cared about their thoughts, ribbed them when they didn't know something he felt everyone should know and taught them all kinds of lessons about living and loving

 His love and dedication to his wife, Joanie, and daughters Christy and Jenny and for his granddaughters knew no limits.   Although he didn't always agree with them, Russ fiercely protected them and fearlessly defended them. He welcomed the marriages which brought KC and Steve into his realm and they became his sons. Russ openly shared his opinions and he seemed to have an opinion on just about everything.

No one in this world brought him more joy than his granddaughters and “Pappa” wanted to be a part of whatever they were sharing with him, attending any activities they were doing.  He loved his birth family and the family he gained when he married Joanie and was present, giving them whatever he could.

 Russ was practical.  He kept a watchful eye on the household finances and although he was always looking for the best buy and found great sales. Russ was generous with his money.  He (teamed up with his wife) was always seeking ways to serve others and generously give to those in need.

 I miss him so much that I haven't even been able to bring myself to pen a sympathy note to his family.   Personal experience has confirmed that whenever a note of sympathy is received, whether within days, months or even years of someone passing,  the ones to whom it is written, are touched because even though the pain dulls,  folks are grateful to hear about how others remember their family member.  Because my heart is just too wounded, I'll need to have it heal to a place where I can share some of my feelings and memories with them of my friend, Russ.  

 They say a person dies three times. The first one is when the physical life leaves the body and a pronouncement of death is made.  The second time a person dies is when a ceremony, like a Requiem Mass or celebration of life, is held to say a final farewell. The third death happens when people stop speaking the person’s  name. May Russ and the souls of the faithful departed rest in peace.

This entry was written as I journeyed south to visit my sister.  While in her home, I was surprised to find myself in the house of my sister’s deceased close friend's daughter.   I discovered her husband plays guitar and sings.   Bart graced us with a song he’d written several years ago, for a young woman who lost her battle with cancer in the first decade of her life.  With his permission, his song is posted here.

I am still in a bit of a fog even though Russ’ funeral Mass has been celebrated and most folks’ lives have returned to normal.   Next week I hope to continue writing about boxing up books and taking them to the library as I “Clean My House”.