Before there were boys and scrapbooking design teams and
North Carolina, I used this blog to explore spiritual themes in my life –
scriptures that moved me, songs I was
working on and the life struggles of maturing and not seeing my dream life at
the end of my tunnel.
It was very cathartic for me.
Sometimes I have moments where I wish I was using this blog
that way all of the time…and then other times I know it would be weird to bare
that much of my soul to people I don’t really know.
I am, tho, committed to being transparent…I find honesty and
transparency in shockingly short supply in our world. And I’m not interested in
painting the “always great” picture that blogs often paint. I know if I was
stuck someplace in my life, reading about how everyone’s life was perfect would
just send me over the edge.
So…today, a bit of transparency and using my blog to work out…well…grief is I guess the proper word for
it, but its not the right word.
On Saturday night/Sunday morning, my uncle Jerry died. He
was the 4th of 5 brothers, the third to pass away. Now only my own father and the uncle I knew
and continue to know the best are left of a family that once had seven people
in it. Herein is the beginning of my
grief.
But not for me. Not in the least for me. Which sounds cold
and weird and somehow unkind.
You see, I haven’t seen nor spoken with this uncle in over
15 years. It seems strange to put that in black and white. Since the last time
I saw this uncle, I have divorced,
remarried, moved across the country and had two children. An entire lifetime
has passed since I last set eyes on his face.
That is where this all feels a bit off. My uncle was a
gregarious salesman, a person who seemed to love engaging others in
conversation. I learned just this morning that he was forced to take tap
dancing lessons as a child and that he had an illness that caused his bones to
be brittle. I know he had had two families. One I was well involved with that
included the person I know as an aunt and a cousin I thought was the cutest little
boy to ever walk the earth. The other was with a woman he remained partners
with until his death, and with whom he had three daughters – cousins I would
not meet until I was an adult and they were all either teenagers or nearly
there.
But much of his life was enshrouded in secrecy. He kept much
of his life fiercely encapsulated and, as far as I can tell, the parts did not
bleed into one another. There is much about this blood relative, whom I should
know more about, should have known better, that I know of only from rumors and conversations
with other people, along with old stories my dad and uncles told upon those
rare occasions we were together.
There are many who will say – and perhaps rightly – that I should
have worked harder to maintain a relationship. But over time, I’ve grown an
aversion to those who so fiercely guard secret lives. Beyond some point the
distance of time alone can estrange two people and when one is so fierce about
their secrets, it further drives wedges where there should be relationship.
So…that is why my grief is not really for me…my grief is for
my own father, for my remaining uncle, for this man’s ex-wife, his partner, his
children and his grandchildren. Where once there were five brothers, only two
remain. Where once there was a partner, father, and grandfather, only memory is
left. Its is with sadness that I think about their future without this person
in their lives. They knew him. And loved him. And will now not have him on this
earth.
It is odd, to me, that death brings about the coming together
of family. It is sad that we allow relationships and friendships to decay to
the ravages of time, the spear of hurt feelings, the slow, smoldering
destruction of unacknowledged wrongs done in ancient times. We get so wrapped up in our pride and our own
goings on that we forget we are but one passenger on this train and that the
train is FILLED with others looking for the reassuring touch of another soul.
And so, I guess there is a bit of grief for me in that. A
fellow soujourner has moved beyond my reach, beyond the point at which I can
share the journey.
Peace to you all, my family. Peace to you.