Still fighting it
The last week has been emotionally wretched.
Last Thursday I attended the funeral for my cousin Jake, who was five years old when he was killed in a car crash in New York state. My brain still can’t wrap itself around the fact of it; I feel as though my head is an empty room with a one-way mirror, and behind that one-way mirror is something so terrifying and awful that I can’t look directly at it. It’s an awful reality no matter what, but the fact that he was my cousin, and that he was so close in age to my son, makes it monstrous.
Last week my family and I drove to Peekskill, N.Y., to be with my extended family, to represent the family at the wakes, and to stand with the rest of the town in grief and to pay our heartsick respects. The whole town seemed to rise up together for this, and I seemed to be related in one way or another to every person — and there were hundreds. It made me feel a part of that town, in a way, despite the fact that I never lived there.
It also made me feel separate: the fact that I never lived there. I am related to them, share an ancestry and genes with them, but don’t share a history. My mom and dad moved away to follow their fortunes before I was born. Now that part of the family and I share some history, but it’s history of the worst sort; it’s the worst thing to come together over. A morbid family reunion. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” we would say to each other at the wakes, forcing a laugh: aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, first cousins once removed …
And now the time for immediate grieving is over, and I am back at my mother- and father-in-law’s house in Pittsburgh, and I am still not feeling like I have come to grips with anything at all, except for one thing. Last Wednesday, I sat with “Aunt Tina,” my aunt Nancy’s sister, at Nancy’s house between wakes, eating New York Style pizza and sharing memories about Jake. She told me this: she unabashedly spoiled that boy every day of his life, and gave him whatever he wanted. Coca cola was an especial favorite of his — he called it Red Soda — and she never held out. “And do you think I regret that now?” she asked me. Her eyes were watering. I shook my head. “I don’t regret spoiling him for one minute,” she said. “Not for one minute.”
It’s a funny thing to take to heart, but I did. At my parents’ house for a visit, in memory of Jake, I allowed Owen to have Cocoa Puffs for lunch and a Spongebob Squarepants marathon all afternoon. Then he had Doritos for dessert and ran around the house in his pajams or even in the altogether, shooting imaginary pirates with a toy pistol, for hours on end. Normally I would require proper clothes, a healthy meal, and a minimum of imaginary ordnance fired, but if you could see how happy those little things made him! They are his Red Soda.
I don’t know if Jake died for a reason. It’s so nonsensical, so utterly unfathomable, that I think you kind of have to believe that he did. For my part, I have to thank him, and Aunt Tina, for a timely lesson: my kids aren’t pint-sized burdens, they’re bundles of joy. Wiry, slobbery little packages of happiness. And I’ll enjoy letting them gorge themselves on sugar and less-than-PC games if it means logging a few more of those toothy grins in my lifetime.
Comments
18 Responses to “Still fighting it”
Leave a Reply
recent flickr
-
my sewing tutorials
See my tutorials featured on SMS' Handmade Holidays!
Me, elsewhere
- del.icio.us bookmarks
- flickr photolog
- last.FM music profile
- please send vodka
- ravelry knitting notebook
- twitter tiny updates
Et cetera
blog hosting: Meancode Media
this is not ‘sappy crap’
not in the least.
Words can’t express. I’m so sorry.
.
and I thought the tears were finished. What a week
I’ll pray for some peace for your broken hearts.
You and your family are in my prayers. Taking something positive away from this shows that you are a good and caring person in you heart. Hugs the boys a little tighter and, even if just for a moment, all will be right with the world.
My heart goes out to you and your family. Thanks for the reminder that our kids are not burdens, but joys. Thanks. I needed that reminder today!
This was a beautiful post. If anything good could have come of this tragedy, it’s that it put things in perspective for you and you were able to share that with all of us. I’m heartbroken and so sorry for your loss.
holy hell. what a complete nightmare. i am so sorry. ditto what mel said. i needed that perspective right. now. my tears will still be flowing when i open up the gummi bears and watch my boys take down the entire bag. thanks for sharing this with us. much love.
Oh Supa, you nailed it, even through your grief. I am so sorry for your extended family. I love the lessons from Aunt Tina.
I’m so sorry to hear this. I don’t know that there’s a “reason” either, but yes, there does seem to be a lesson in there.
i love letting them do whatever they want sometimes. especially eating snacks and watching tv. they feel like they had such a special perfect afternoon. it makes my day too. good for you.
Ugh. What a tragic thing, but what a wonderful post- if that makes sense. You reminded me to be a little more aimless and patient tomorrow.
I am so, so sorry for your loss. I have trouble bending my head around it, just as a relative stranger.
I did a podcast yesterday where I spent a lot of time talking about the “fierce urgency of now”, after attending the funeral of the daughter of close friends. She died of Cystic Fibrosis five days after her 29th birthday.
From the age of 2 it was understood that her life would be very, very short. There was no expectation of living to a ripe old age, or even through tomorrow. As a result, she lived each and every day like it was her last. I don’t say that to be cliche’, she really did.
When she died, she was 3 weeks away from a PhD, had fallen in love, and was planning to marry. During her life she danced ballet (and well), and spent much time taking care of other people.
She understood “now”. Now I understand it too. And now, tragically, so do you. Not as in “spoil them every day”, because now means also teaching them to be good people, citizens, all that, but now in the sense that we don’t lose sight of what battles are worth fighting and which are worth leaving alone, how we divide up our time and attention, and how we make a difference.
I just wish we could find a way to understand ‘now’ without someone having to die, y’know?
I am so sorry for your loss.
Love you.
Oh, man. That left me bawling in the middle of a mall food court. I’m so sorry, MB. Thank you for sharing Aunt Tina’s advice. Now, I gotta go get my kid a slurpee. And also possibly a puppy :~)
Mary Beth, I’m so, so sorry for this tragic loss. I’ve meant to comment or drop you a line before, and wish I had done so on a happier note. Thinking of you in Chicago.
Manoschevitz. I am so, sorry. I am in the love-and-bubble-wrap-your-babies mode after meeting a woman last weekend that accidentally killed her daughter. (I just got the nerve up to post about it.) You describe the fight/flight reaction well. I wanted to avoid her at all costs because she represented every horror and fear a parent can face, yet I wanted to hug her and heal her and her now fractured family because I don’t know who else is stopping her slow slip into what might be insanity. Just… awful.