This blog was originally posted on MySpace.
Today we sat around the table as a family. We discussed the events leading up to our loss of Uncle George. Chucks mother and sisters were in the room with him when he passed as well as other family members. His oldest sister had her hand on his chest when she felt his last breath and the last beat of his heart. They then proceeded to discuss it at great length for some time. I found this unbearable. As stories began to further themselves, we began talking about other family members that have passed and how each of us dealt with each situation. How some events were similar to someone else’s experience.
I will never, as long as I exist, forget the pain I felt at the moment my step dad, Jim, passed away. I will never forget the way the room looked and smelled or the way this face looked or the sound that was his last breath. I will never forget how the world crashed down around my head or the cries that flooded the room. My crying was so fierce that at first I didn’t realize the noise filling my ears was that of my own screams as I had never heard such a thing in my life. I remember thinking that it wasn’t really happening and that it was just a bad dream that someone would awaken me from at any moment. That such person has yet to shake me awake.
When I left the hospice to drive home after it was all over, I couldn’t understand how it could be so complete. I couldn’t understand why it was over. How did it just end like that. One last breath. And then no more. I had just that morning prayed and prayed with all of my might for God to please take him. Please just put him at peace. Please don’t let him hurt anymore. But then when God finally complied, I was so mad. I screamed and cursed at God for taking my Jim! How dare he and I vowed to hate him forever for what he did to Jim and what he did to our family and the pain he’s caused us all.
Today when I began to feel tears brim to my eyes sitting at that table, I excused myself to go to the bathroom and quietly cry to myself. I am not a good public crier. I went to the bathroom and balled my eyes out for a good ten minutes and then I said “ok God, if you are really up there, get me thru this. Jim? If you are listening… I need a hand right now. Make me strong so I can do this” See, the thing was, I was just so upset. I think part of it was because of how I feel about death in general. And I am sitting around a table with a mostly Catholic group who has very different feelings on death and religion and even life. I just wanted to scream from the top of my lungs for them to just see what I see. But now writing this I realize that I can’t force anyone to see what I see when I don’t even know what I see for myself. I just know one thing. I hate death. I hate what it does to me. I hate to cry. I hate to feel weak when I have to cry. I hate to cry over death for making me so weak.