I wrote this article below and posted it here on my blog on January 4, 2011. 11 days later, Mom passed on. So, the profundity of losing my parents and twin brother in a matter of less than two months evokes powerful emotions, that left unattended, could cause more pain and suffering than I’ve already experienced.
My father died quietly in his sleep on November 20, 2010. He was a quiet man and lived nearly a full century. A hard worker. Devoted to Mom. A simple man. My twin brother, Dennis, died quietly sitting in his chair on December 23, 2010, a nearly larger-than-life guy, who always cheered others up.
Dennis called me a couple of days before he died. He asked me if I could get the family together one more time. I asked him what he meant by one more time. He said, “I just want to see everyone.” Then, I remembered what he had told me a few days prior to this call. He said that he was giving me a heads up. He described how he felt and said that he was going to crash just like he did in 2007 and 2009, both times having been put on a respirator to keep him alive. I contacted his doctor and tried to get him an appointment. Dennis died on Thursday. His scheduled appointment was on Monday. I told Dennis that as soon as I returned from Chicago after Christmas, I would go to work on getting everybody together. I never got the chance.
I am sharing this with you because I believe I can give an insight into life and death that might be helpful to some of you. It helps my grieving. I hope that you understand. If it’s a big turnoff, as they used to say eons ago, move on to something else.
There will be no problem here.
These losses, so close together, have bonded me to the present. What is, is. And it is January 4, 2011. They are gone. There is nothing I can do to bring them back. I cannot call them to chit chat about Tim Tebow and the Denver Broncos, their needs, what we are going to do to celebrate Dad’s birthday on January 21, how Mom’s feeling, etc. I cannot look at photos or talk with others about them without feeling the deep loss. So, the only choice I have is to move forward in my life, to grieve, to weep, to feel the massive feeling of loss without tumbling over.
This feeling of loss is so deep that I push myself to move forward, or else, something will die inside of me that I will never be able to recover. This something is love. I want to be bitter and angry to have been hammered with their passing, and so close together. If I allow these emotions to overtake me, I will become a hard person. Being a hard person works to accomplish a degree, to survive, but without love, I would become a robot without feelings.
So, I focus on my work. The family I have left. My cats. My health, trips to 24-Hour Fitness every morning to do cardio, weights and stretching. I focus on what is of interest to me. Sports. Movies. Reading “The Real Lincoln”, by Thomas Dilorenzo, a book I found in Dennis’ home when I was moving everything of his out, jazz, the symphony, the theater, watching Jerry Seinfeld reruns and movies, laying on the floor, on my back, and petting Zo, my cat, who is laying on my chest staring at me with her beautiful eyes. Venturing out with friends to a restaurant, or over to their house to discuss the ridiculousness of living and dying, two very different aspects of life each of us experience as human beings. Talking with Felix the Cat about my woes. He watches me. He might tip his head, one way, or the other, like he is trying to understand what I am saying, or, perhaps, how I am feeling.
The fine point of this experience for me is letting go. I’m letting go of Dad. I’m letting go of Dennis. I’m letting go of the past. I’m moving forward. I strive to think of Dennis and Dad in terms of being gone, never to return. A fact. I deal with it.
The job of getting rid of all of their things, closing their bank accounts, settling up with funeral costs, their bills, etc. It’s tough to decide what to throw away, or to keep. I’ve found that I, too, will die, and then, where will the stuff of theirs go I keep? Life and death are unrelenting. So, I only keep items, objects, photos, and things of Dad and Dennis’ stuff that shows an abysmal respect for them. Otherwise, I move forward. It’s a tough job right now.
No one will ever quote me that I said this was easy. It is the hardest thing I’ve had to do in my life. It’s like moving through the night without a light. I probe and comprehend the essence of my five senses to find my way and latch onto the understanding that death is part of life, regardless of how much many of us, would rather pass on that.
R. I. P.
Dad
1914-2010
R.I.P.
Dennis
1940-2010
R. I. P.
Mom
1914-2011
