Today began just like most days: wake up, brush my teeth, coffee and some food. Little did I know what would be required of me this day.
Around 11:30 am I went to meet a friend, I ran to the coffee shop, we visited for a while and then I ran back home. When I got home there was a text from my son.
“Hey dad, so last night I stayed at Brian’s and so this morning his father almost died and we had to call 911 and all that jazz, just learned he died. Could you call the school because I really don’t want to be there”
A flurry of phone calls ensued, to get my bearing about what had happened. I showered and ate quickly. All the while managing the emotional turmoil inside me. You see, just a few short years ago, when someone died, my first thought was, “Oh fuck, why couldn’t it be me who died? Why did someone good have to die?” Now I have different thoughts. Instead, I feel the grief and pain of those affected by the event, wondering how I can help in any way I can. How I can make space for their emotion and grief.
I got in the car and drove north. It would take me an hour to get there. I texted my son before I left and offered to take them out to eat. To get them out of the house, to give them some relief. For the entire hour while I drove my mind was filled with thoughts, a whirling maelstrom of life, death, and emotion. My father died when I was in my late 20’s. The last thing he said to me before I left that day to go to work was “aren’t you going to stay here and help me?” My father died that afternoon while I was at work. It took me the better part of the last 25 years to deal with what those 9 words did to me. I hoped that Brian and his father had a better parting.
As I drove I wondered what the emotional current would be at lunch, should I say anything? Should I offer condolences? I didn’t really know. This series of thoughts plagued me as I drove on.
I picked up the boys and took them to a diner, they ordered burgers and milkshakes. I had water and a meatless burger of some sort. The conversation was lively and full of silliness. No one said a word about “what happened.” The whole while I listened and kept thinking about what should I say. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything, maybe I should. I just didn’t know.
After we ate, my son got up to use the restroom. I looked at Brian and said, “I am so sorry about what happened.” He thanked me. Looking down, he opened his hands. There in his palm was an old worn leather wallet. He looked up at me and said: “This was my dad’s wallet.” I had no words. Who would at that moment? I turned my head slightly to hide the tears now streaming down my face.
When death comes, it isn’t really about those that have died. It is about those of us who remain, how we make space for each other and hold each other in these moments. We all have one thing that is for sure, and that is life. It is the one thing we truly share. The best thing we can do is to live in a way that honors the memory of those who have passed on.