Dawning Creations

We can’t escape death.
We can avoid it if we’re careful.
But it will always find us.
The trouble with death is that the person who passes is free.
They don’t feel what the ones who are left behind feel, the loss.
Time passes and it still hurts when you remember.

I remember the night my grandfather took his last breath.
I remember the dimly lit deli kitchen.
We were cleaning up for the night.
I was busy sweeping fallen meat crumbs, focused on getting done for the night.
My aunt Sandy was going to visit and we had many fun things planned.

I was called to the kitchen phone.
I happily answered, expecting my aunt.
My brother answered me back on the phone.
I could tell by his tone that bad news was coming.
I braced myself but I could never be prepared for the news I was about to receive.
“Grandpa’s gone.”

I sank into the desk chair.
All around me went blank and fuzzy.
The usually joke-cracking and sounds of wiping slicers was gone.
I saw nothing but the phone in my hand.
I heard nothing but my brother’s worried voice on the other end.
“You, ok? Bad Question. We’re coming to get you. We’re going to gram’s. Stay there.
Click.
I let the phone fall from my hand, and it slapped my knee as it went down.
I didn’t bother to save it.
Nothing mattered at that moment, not the jokes on the floor, the cleaning of the slicers, brooms sweeping, the phone broken on the floor.
Nothing.
It felt as if God himself struck me deaf and mute but still allowed me the burden of seeing it all unfold before me.

Tom came in and jokingly wagged his had in front of my face,
cracking his usual ADHD joke that only he could get away with by me.
I continued to stare past him, still looking in the direction of the broken phone at my feet.
He said I was crying. I didn’t realize I was. I didn’t feel the tears or sense my cheeks warming in the slightest.
Awkwardly he asked if I was ok.
My grandpa is dead.

Tom ushered me to the exit of the store, waving off the people asking what was wrong for me.
He must’ve known I couldn’t answer. I was grateful.
He waited with me letting the silence pass between us. I was grateful for that too.
Sandy arrived in grandpa’s beat up green van, calling me over. Tears dotted her eyes and mom was hysterical, wailing out in grief.
My father thanked Tom. I managed a short nod and he called out prayers and positive thoughts.

When we arrived at my grandmother’s house, all felt wrong, tainted.
Aunt Maureen joked about baking pies and Uncle Bill jested along with her. My cousin Tom sat, chain smoking on the deck off the back of the house, not talking with anyone, just staring out into the night woods, puffing and blowing.

I sat dumbly, watching everyone react or cope or not cope.
Everyone was talking save me, my brother, and Tom.
I didn’t want to be there. I couldn’t join in. I didn’t want to. To me, there was no point in idle chatter. He was gone.

DEAD.

My brother must have agreed.
My mother, having returned from the deck with my chain smoking, -now engaging cousin, Tom, was shrieking, “He’s up the woods by himself, damn it. Why would he do this right now?”

Hearing that, broke me of my stupor. I knew he must’ve felt as I did. Disgusted by the remedial conversations, the plain meaningless of it making him feel as it did to me, angry. I knew I had to find him and fast. His mind was racing and he was going steady and I knew where.

The Russian Cemetery.
I reached the sinking gate, rusty and squeaking in the wind.
Jake screamed out, in furious ranting about the conversations, the smoking, the quiet empty of my grandmother’s house. He hated that my grandfather wasn’t there,-would never be there, and that it seemed like no one cared.

At first, I didn’t say anything. I let him have his time to let it out and hugged him when his mindless yelling ceased. His large shoulders shook and he sobbed.
I did too.

We embraced each other sobbing for a time, then began to talk about it all, how we would miss him and how nothing would ever be as it was before. An eerie resolve passed between us. We agreed to go back to the house and grieve with our family and that we could cut them some slack. Their talking about food and joking was their way of coping like ours was being silent and slowly letting ourselves process what was happening.

I could see my heart for the first time, that night.
Trying to comfort my brother, I realized I needed him- needed my family to go through this and to keep grandpa alive in memories.

We all talked through the night about memories with him, good and bad and laughed and cried. We experienced the ups and downs with my grandma, crying with her and laughing with her when he talked about his humor in the hospital, making voices and teasing the nurses. “That was dad,” I kept hearing them say and it helped me remember him with joy, the stabbing pain slowly ebbing with each story.

There will be a time when I can remember my grandfather with a smile after he passes.
It will take a long time but I know the time will come.
And I rejoice at every morning.
Each morning is another chance to get this day right.
There are forces fighting against me.
But I am learning that it’s freeing to break down.
It’s also freeing knowing that you’re making life worth living and loving those close to you while they’re here.

These lessons are harsh to learn by they can motivate you if you let them.

We’re connected together when we open up with one another.
People feel alone in times like these because they feel no one will listen or can relate.
We can prove that’s not the case if we be there.
Take a minute to hug someone who’s crying.
You’ll see the difference it’ll make.
Be there for those who will need you.
Don’t hide away.
Be strong but also be vulnerable.