endings

With the welcome of November, there are some endings to discuss. The first one being my uncle.

He passed away on Monday. As I posted a few months ago, cancer got him. And unfortunately, didn’t let him go. He leaves behind my aunt, and his 2 daughters. 2 daughters that are lights in this world with talented gifts and vibrant souls. Girls that were sisters to Stef and I growing up. And girls that are still sisters today.

Losing a parent too soon fucking sucks. As does cancer. It’s a horrible thing to watch someone die. And then to sit in the aftermath wondering what to do. The youngest just got married and the oldest is preparing to move from Detroit to LA. A move that will begin her life in the way that she has always, always, wanted. Guilt tries to tell you to stay and fix everyone’s emotions, but it’s important to break free. And take the risk. It’s what the deceased would have wanted. It’s what Nancy wanted for me.

Having been through it, there really is never the right thing to say or do. You make food. You send flowers. You give hugs. All of that was valuable in my healing. But the one thing that SAVED me, was the words of strangers. Those comments that you all wrote. Your honesty. Your time to type a few sentences. Many late nights when I was haunted by the past, I would read your comments...over and over again. Crying, laughing, writing myself. It was a permanent way for me to remember that people were thinking of me. Becuase as the event passes, so do the calls.

I ask that now, if you have any words of support or any experiences to share, do so here. The next days are the toughest. The cleaning up of the stuff. The phone calls to make. The times when you say out loud...’my dad is gone.’ It’s gut wrenching. And paralyzing. And you wonder if you’ll even be okay again. But you will. Sasha, Milena, You will. I promise you. I remember your Dad dancing for us in the basement. His tall stance and radiant smile doing those kola kicks. He lived large. And loved you guys beyond love.

This blog started as a big ol’joke. But in the end, it really has saved me. In so many ways. I can’t fix my cousins horrible pit they feel. I can’t get to Detroit today to be with them as they shake and cry. I can’t fucking cure cancer. But I can share this. And ask you to share. Even if it's just one comment.

Thanks.

Comments

[eyduck]

My heart goes out to you and your family. The past three years have taken some amazing people from my life, most recently my grandma who died two months ago. Right now, my best friend's mom, a woman who knew me since I was 8 years old, is fighting cancer.

When death reared up his ugly face the first time, though, the world, for me, got divided into People Who Knew Death and People Who Didn't.

I think the most comforting thought shared with me by a friend Who Knew was that of all of the little things I get bent out of shape about in my everyday life, death is the one thing I'm actually supposed to be upset about. It is okay to be destroyed by this. The pieces will be picked up later. And six months down the road, if you feel like you're going crazy, know that it is just the grief.

On the other side of the process, I found that when I really allowed myself to experience all of the emotions, death took on a strange beauty. I miss my loved ones. I miss them terribly. And I feel overwhelmed by gratitude that I had the opportunity to be a part of their life to their final day.

But that's on the other side and you don't need to worry about that now.

Right now, just be as gentle with yourself as you would be an infant. Life starts over when someone dies and you'll have to relearn how to lift your head and focus your eyes and how to walk and how to talk. So let people carry you around. And cry a lot. You're just a few days old into this new life. You'll be scooting around the room soon enough.

[albie]

I'm really sorry about your uncle. I lost my grandmother to cancer two years ago this month, and I still sometimes have trouble believing that she's actually gone. I know the pain you and your loved ones are going through, and I wish there was something I could do to alleviate it. One thing I never understood about cancer until I watched my grandmother fight it is that the disease is never just about the patient. It affects everyone who loves him or her. I wish you peace, and I wish you love, and please know that you are in my thoughts and in my prayers.

[golfwidow]

I am so, so sorry. You know the drill ... it's going to be okay. Just not yet.

[doog]

I know the kind of uncle you're talking about. My uncle Bob was that kind of guy. I remember him being SO crazy funny that even my aunt finally got over being embarrassed and broke up laughing with him.

His joy taught me that Camus was right - in the depths of my darkest winter, I discovered within me an invincible summer.

Summer comes and goes - but it DOES come again.

Keep shovelling the snow, summer will come.

[Nita]

Blessings to you and your family. Be with your cuz's as only you can, call, write, text, do what you can do. I had awesome uncles like yours. They lived big, and they lived large, and I lost 4 of them in 3 years. Uncles Rock!

Sasha, Milena, I give you my heartfelt condolences, never having seen you or hearing of you before now. Remember and regale the good times. When my dad passed, I remember days with family and friends telling stories, and laughing and remembering and crying and laughing. It was easier to remember him doing or saying something funny or doing that one thing they ALWAYS did. It'll make it just a little less sucky. A little is better than none.

As doog said, Summer will come again.

Peace and blessings..

[Lizz]

Annie,

I've read your blog since you started it, and have wanted to comment many times but have never wanted to deal with the 'hassle' of making a TypeKey account. (I'm more of a LiveJournal kind of girl. And lazy.)

Anyway, the point is that this entry hit home for me in a very painful, but beautiful, way. I lost my dad two and a half years ago to cancer and have been dealing with the fallout on a daily basis since then. I know how it feels, numb and impossible, and broken in a way you never even thought could happen. Your statement 'Becuase as the event passes, so do the calls' really hit home for me...People expect you to just get over it, if not right away then at least within a year. But sometimes the blackness just doesn't lift, and since most people haven't gone through it they begin to lose patience.

I just want you to know, and your cousins to know, that there are many people out there who are thinking of them, even if they are too lazy to comment here. You are such an amazing writer, and you should know that I have sat up late with you, thousands of miles away, reading YOUR words over and over again and crying and laughing because someone else can articulate my heart better than I ever could. Thank you.

[Hooper]

I've been reading this blog since "the bet", but haven't tried to comment before, for whatever reasons. But I just wanted to let you know that you have a lot of friends out here in the interwebs, and while I can't speak for all of them, I can guarantee that this one will be keeping you and your cousins in his thoughts throughout the coming days and weeks.

My deepest condolences.

[Felicity]

Just breathe. All you need to focus on is putting one foot in front of the other right now and you'll get through it ok. You will inevitabley be a different person when you reach the other side, but everything will be fine.

The best advice I ever got after loosing a loved one was not to feel bad, but to focus on living your life in a way that would always make them proud.

Having lost several loved ones since that advice was first given, it's something I've always turned to and which always makes the "Why?!" factor a little easier to handle.

Love, Peace and Prayers -x-

[cryssyer]

From the deepest hollow my soul burst forth and into the nectar of love I travelled.
There they stood, waiting, wanting, wrapping me in peace...

There are never words that express someone's pain or that can completely convey the sorrow for another's loss. When my FIL died 18 months ago, I was numb. Everything felt surreal, like I was in a fog. From diagnosis to the end was only 45 days. Only 45 days to squeeze in a lifetime of memories for my young son with his grandfather. Only 45 days for my husband to share with his beloved dad all of the things he waited to say. Only 45 days.

We go on. It doesn't seem so at first, but life does go back to a weird version of normal. Just keep the love in your heart. Don't shut out the beauty of the day. And find a way to honor your loved one - a poem (like the one I wrote, quoted above) or an art piece, or a special day or gathering. Anything that you can turn to in those dark moments of despair and say - hey, it will be ok. The love lives on. Just hold on to it.

Bless you and your family during this time.

[paul_revere]

Anne, so sorry. My condolences to you and your family.

[Kara]

Having lost my dad a year and a half ago, I've been able to gain some perspective on it.

Whether you lose someone suddenly or have the time to say goodbye, it's still just as shitty, just as painful, and suck equally.

My thoughts go out to you and your family.

[Upquark]

I have a bit of a story to tell, so forgive my length.

I was in NYC on 9/11. I was tossed from my hotel room bed by the impact of the second plane. The hotel I was in was located just adjacent to the second tower. It has subsequently been demolished.

Anyway, I was able to get out and make my way north. I had family in Queens. Of course, cell phones were useless as the main cell antenna for lower Manhattan had just been removed from the skyline.

I was in NYC on business for the US Courts and along my wanderings, I befriend a native New Yorker. She took me to her apt and finally, around 6:30PM or so, I was able to call my folks. I asked them to call Uncle Roy who lived in Queens and let him know I would be on my way. And to ask him to pick me up at the Flushing's station.

My Uncle Roy and Aunt Connie were, in my mind, the stereotypical New Yorkers. They love the city life. They loved life. They were loud - they loved loud. Connie was an amazing cook and she had a terrific laugh. OMG, her laugh was a cackle, a guffaw, and a scream all wrapped in one. You couldn't not help but like her and many many people did.

She was in Hospice care in their house. Cancer was ravishing her like wild fire. She was in such a drugged state that she didn't even know her own husband any more.

Roy picks me up. We drive in silence after the perfunctory greetings have finished. He tells me about Connie how out of it she is etc.
We get to his house and he asks me if I would like a nice tall single malt scotch. I say yes, two please. It had been a scotch day, after all!

As he walks to the kitchen, I see Connie there in her hospital bed looking soo frail, soo small. I walk to her bedside, she opens her eyes and sees me. She really KNOWS it is me and utters Happy Birthday!!! That's it. Just 'Happy Birthday!'

She was soo happy to see me! But for the cancer and drugs, the best and only way she could convey her happiness was "Happy Birthday".

I KNEW what she meant and wept standing there as I weep here typing this now.

I know there is no solace in this, but, remembering is the only way I can honor her now. As long as I continue to remember her, she will never die.

[annie]

Seriously. Thank you.

Eyduck-Sorry to hear about your grandma and your BF’s mom. Brilliant thought:

---When death reared up his ugly face the first time, though, the world, for me, got divided into People Who Knew Death and People Who Didn't.---

I can SO relate. You are changed forever. In both good and bad ways.

Albie-Sorry, too, about your grandma. Cancer really does hurt everyone around.

Golfwidow-you clever blogger, you. Always, that gets me...it's going to be okay. Just not yet.

Doog-AHHHH!!!

---in the depths of my darkest winter, I discovered within me an invincible summer.--

I had never heard that before, having heard of Camus and his ‘Sartre’ thinking but my reading stopped somewhere with Harry Potter and the Order of the blah blah, but MAN. Beautiful. It brings tears. Thank you.

Nita-Thank you so much for your words to the girls. Sorry about your dad. Peace and blessings right back.

Lizz- WOW! Thank you for joining in now. That really means a lot and says a lot about your love for your dad. Write and share anytime. I’ll be here.

Hooper-You too! Thanks for joining in, like Lizz. Thanks for the thoughts.

Felicity- Living a life that makes them proud is so important to remember. It’s the reminder I needed when I get mad I can’t make it to the gym. Thanks.

Cryssyer-I feel like I know you. Your words are always beautiful. Thank you. I’m sorry you had 45 days. Sucks!

Paul_revere. Ken. Thanks, my friend. Do you remember the girls? Sasha and Milena both went to Hugo with us. Just younger. Sasha was in cheaper by the dozen. As a dancer with me. HA! Good time. Hope you are well. Thank you.

Kara- Still thinking of you and your journey with your dad. Stay strong.

Upquark- WOW! Thank you for your story. Such courage to share it. I can hear your Aunt’s laugh now. Your love for her is so apparent in these words and in your tears. Thank you.

[rebecca]

I read your blog often, but like others, this one got me all the way to commenting. There just isn't any feeling like it when a parent dies too soon, and so many people can't begin to understand the heartbreak, because apparently, until a parent dies, you don't know what it is like. You become less grounded. My thoughts are with your cousins and you - just to keep breathing and getting by day by day until the loss isn't quite as acute.

[huy]

I'm so sorry for your loss, but I know from what I've read, they can pull strength from you.

[shannon]

Mark me down as one of those long-time readers, first-time commenters. Reading your post and the beautiful stories others have shared has brought tears to my eyes, so I wanted to give back a little, from my perspective.

Next week will mark the 16th anniversary of my mother's passing. Last month would have been her 60th birthday. Fuck Cancer, indeed.

In the weeks and months after she died, I went through the schock and grief and loneliness that are universal to all of us who have lost a parent. Those first few moments upon waking in the morning, when you forget she's gone; the crushing sadness when it hits you.

Since I was just 20 when my mom died, for many years I was convinced I would die young. And I don't think I ever really shook that notion until my own daughter was born, 8 years ago this month.

And as healing as that process was, to bring a new life into this world, someone who has the same cackle as my mom, it still hurts like hell when she asks me, "What was Gramma Cyn like?".

So to you Annie, and to Sasha and Milena, I can't put it much more eloquently than the people above. Just know that sometime, down the line, when you're not reeling from the shock and anger, the healing will start to come.

[sasha]

Thanks Annie for posting. And thanks to all of you who shared some of your hearts with me.

It's Monday, one week since my Dad passed away. It's so weird and strange to even say that. Today I can't help but recount every minute of what happened last Monday. Right about now I was getting the call that I had to get to the hospital right away.

I'm supposed to start cleaning up his stuff today. Like Annie said, I'm moving to LA, so I'm supposed to take care of it before I go but I just don't want to do it. I recently looked at his desk. Little to do lists he had written and detailed notes on upcoming work for his clients. I just can't comprehend any of this yet. "I can't believe my Daddy is gone" keeps running thru my mind over and over. And I feel like I can't remember things. I want to remember every moment we had together. Every hug he gave me. And I'm struggling to remember. I hate this. My love for my Dad is the greatest love I've ever known. Bigger than anything else and so is the pain.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart Annie and all of you have shared here on this site. I'll be reading your words again and again. xo

[Colleen Wainwright]

Oh, I'm so sorry to be reading this so late!

There is no good death for the people left, but the kind that steals our loved ones from us too soon is surely the worst.

All I know is this: time helps. It helps it helps it helps. Even when you don't believe anything will help, you must say to yourself, this, too, shall pass. This feeling is not me: it is the thing I am feeling.

The person may go but the love does not disappear. It is everywhere; it's in you. In time, you end up with a relationship that is not the same as the one you had with the living person, but that is pretty excellent, believe it or not. My mom, dad and grandparents still make me laugh, believe it or not, and they've been gone for years.

So courage! Be strong for them! And remember, they will need you as much in a month...two months...six months from now as they do now.

Be an ear, a shoulder, a source of love and laughter. You will be great at that.

[KatieKatie]

In your heart you love your cousins and want to help them. If they read this blog, even just knowing you, I'm sure that know that about you.

You brought out feelings in me, reading this, I haven't felt in a while - since my dad died 10 years ago.

The shock wears off, but always I miss him and hurt that he can't be here.

And you are right, the calls stop.

Good for you for being here like this for your family.

Kate

[Sandra]

I'm not sure if this helps or not but I'll just say -- embrace the healing and feeling process. As hard as everything must be at the moment, the depth to which it's difficult is an incredible testament to the depth of feeling for the person who passed, along with the impact that person had on the world.

[MelonCamp]

Annie and everyone - thank you. There is way too much to say here, but I read this blog, these comments for strength and insight into what life is going to be like.