Not There Anymore

I was six when one morning at home my family was called to be informed that my aunt had passed away.  All of a sudden, we were heading to Kansas City for about a week to attend her funeral.  The experience was different. I barely knew her even though she had lived with us for about two years.  I guess I just didn't have the firmest grasp on "not coming back" just yet.

It was either the day before the funeral or a little before the funeral when we were attending a visitation.  It was my first time seeing an open casket.  My aunt looked so peaceful, almost as if she didn't collapse just a few days prior.  Of course I now know that morticians will dress a body up and put some makeup on before that day, even using a scent sometimes to cover the smell of no longer being present on Earth, but that day was different.

I never cried that entire week.  While I was sad that my aunt had passed away, I still felt as if I would see her again someday, and that came from what little bit of Children's Bible reading I had done at the time.  I was aware that there was Heaven (not Hell though), and I was pretty confident that my aunt had gone there, and someday when we all died and went up there she'd be waiting for us.

Years passed, and not much else happened.  But then between Spring 2006 and Fall of 2007, several of my mother's co-workers had funerals for someone in their families, be it a mother, a young baby, or even their husband.  My family was always present at the funerals, and I'm glad that my mother brought me there, because it helped prepare me for what would come next.

In the Summer of 2008 my father had a heart attack and passed away one hot afternoon in June.  My sister and I weren't there when he had the heart attack, but I was the one who found his body in the driveway, laying there face down and peaceful as can be.  I tried to kick him, but he didn't respond to that either.  My sister found him next and then we ran to call for help, but it was already too late and my father was gone.  I still get a little touchy thinking about that day in my personal reflections, but for the most part the emotion is gone.  If only he could see his son and daughter now....  Well, maybe he does, but who is really to know what happens in the pearly skies above us?

That first week after the death and leading up to the funeral was such a blur.  We cleaned up the yard, did a lot of swimming, had friends stay overnight for the first time in ages, ate a lot of food, and even worked to find peace.  My little ten-year old brain found out that I wasn't going to have to play dad (thank goodness), and I was in such shock that I didn't shed a tear for at least a full twenty-four hours.

The visitation and funeral were rough.  I didn't get too emotional, but I did get up and speak, giving a euology of sorts.  I'm not sure how that happened, but it happened, and I'm proud of myself for having the courage to get up and do that. 

For those who haven't guessed already, this blog post is about the subject of death.  The family members gripping on savoring what could be the final moments of their loved one's life, the friend who just lost their best friend to suicide or an accident, or even the spouse left holding the bag trying to figure out what to do with the house and kids.  It's a very hard subject, and it can be rather morbid to even think about how close you might be to someone else's funeral, someone you know and are close to.  I don't want to think about that at all.

I find that when it comes to coping, it can really help to remember the good times that one had with someone.  For my father and I, it was all those trips we took in his truck around the Iron Range, including one day where he and I went up to Cook without my sister, who was at a birthday party.  It was the exploration of places like Bentleyville and Wisconsin Dells, each holding their own wonder and excitement to see.  It can also help to remember the other things from when you were a younger child, such as favorite meals or bedtime stories.  Storytelling wasn't really my father's deal, but he did cook for us at least somewhat often.

Treausre every moment you have with your family and friends, for you never know when you'll get the call or find out something via social media.  They'll be "not there anymore" and all you'll have left to remember them by are photos and videos. Always tell your loved ones you love them, because you may never get another chance.  Take that visit to see your grandparents and enjoy it, and never leave your parents alone wondering what you're up to these days.  When someone inevitably passes away and raises up to Heaven, you'll regret that you didn't say goodbye or take in those last few special moments with them.  Enjoy your time down to the wire, the f**king wire people.  We have to, becuase if we spend time doing things like worrying or nurturing or attempting to nurture bad relationships, we waste so much time it's ridicuolous. 

Also, check in on your loved ones and friends who are suffering from mental illness.  Your call could be what switches them off pulling the trigger or taking the pills.  Make sure they have the resources they need for their time of crisis.  Take it from me, depression really f**king sucks.  Every day is a battle for me, but yet I choose to keep going and not give up.  There's no other option for me right now, so I have to lean on my support network and the counseling I'm getting and hope that makes me feel better in the end.  Do I think about my death?  Absolutely, and I hope that I can keep using these resources and things like distraction tactics and self-soothing mechanisms to keep myself afloat for a long time, like into my eighties or nineties a long time.  I must keep going.

If you're dealing with a tough loss, depression/anxiety, or just want to talk about stuff, you need to know that I'm always avaialble.  You can reach out to me via email or Facebook.  There's also the Crisis Text Line at 741741 and the Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1(800)273-8255.  Talk to them, a counselor, or myself about what you're going through, and know that you're not alone at all.  We're all a community of people grieving together and needing to get over the hurdle.

I'll see you in Heaven someday Dad.