As I sit here this Monday morning, it’s so hard to make sense out of my emotions, which are flip-flopping through my crowded mind, competing for attention.
I am grieving the death of my father, who passed away on Friday.
But on top of that I’m also grieving – along with the rest of the world – the 20 young children who died that same day in Newtown, just 30 minutes from my home here in Connecticut.
It isn’t surprising, I’m sure, for you to hear that the events in Newtown pretty much eclipsed the death of my father.
The loss of a 90-year old is a natural loss; the senseless massacre of innocent children is something that is unspeakable and unthinkable.
The death of an elderly person neatly follows a rather natural course of events; a linear progression through life’s otherwise messy roadmap. The events in Newtown? They’re part of a roadmap gone haywire; roads converging in a most horrific and chaotic manner; carried out by a person who has veered so far off course that it’s impossible to fathom how he got there and what might have brought him back.
My father lived a good, long life. He got to experience a happy childhood, a distinguished role in the navy during World War II, a solid career as a high school teacher, marriage, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. There are few places on the globe left untouched by his footsteps.
And though it’s true I’d have liked to have him around for ten, even fifteen more years if I really push what is unlikely yet holds the slightest possibility (don’t we all wish to maximize what we love?) it does not surprise me from a purely intellectual level that he didn’t make it past 90.
In the end, it was his esophageal cancer that claimed him. Unleashed, it coursed through his body until he was unable to eat or drink any longer without excruciating pain. He made a very brave decision to die on his own terms, and refused all food and water. Peacefully, and without pain, he stopped breathing at 2:00 AM Friday morning.
He made his choice. These innocent children had no choice. He lived his life; they will not get to experience life beyond Friday, December 14, 2012.
There is no justice. There is no reason. Searching for either is futile, confusing and frustratingly sad.
We’ve been fighting a war on cancer for as long as I can remember. But we’re not coming much closer to eradicating or curing it. Instead, we are hearing about how people can “live” with it; how it can be considered a “chronic illness” and treated as such by keeping its symptoms “under control.”
And now I think it’s time – again – to fight the other runaway sickness that is taking too many lives: guns and violence. Or, are we becoming desensitized to it and instead standing by and allowing it to pervade our lives, as long as it’s kept under control?
We cannot grow immune to senseless violence the way we might grow immune to an elderly person’s natural death from cancer.
I wonder which will be eliminated soonest.
What a lovely, stark and sad post, Sheryl. I’m thinking about you in the midst of such widespread grief around you. Take care, my dear friend.
Thank you, Ruth. Nice to know you are out there.
Yes Sheryl, the normal is the young burying the oldest, no the another way around. When that happened we don’t understand why.
I blame to this madness to many violent tv and games, and busy parents that use it as a nany. If you add to this no gun control and mentaly ill people. you get a tragedy to happen.
Yes, Rosalba, there are so many factors that come together to cause a problem like this.
I’m so sorry for your loss. No matter how old or sick your dad was, it is still a significant event for you and you shouldn’t be afraid to let it be important. I too hope there will be a cure for cancer, and a solution to this endless wasteful violence.
What a beautiful post~
You still have the right to grieve for your Dad. The loss of a father is hard to bear no matter how old or how ill.
xoxo
Thank you, Irene. My grieving somehow seemed “frivolous” in light of the other tragedy that same day.
Sheryl,
I am so sorry about your Dad. I know exactly how you feel, for I too wish my Dad had lived longer too. He died at the age of 88, but mentally he was 48! I miss him so, but the reality is that he, too, lived a long and very fulfilled life. Selfishly I wanted him around for a much longer time, but that was not to be. Unfortunately, due to a very sick young man and his access to guns, those innocent children will never have the chance to accomplish and live their lives the way our Dads did. Tragic and we all, as parents, cannot imagine the pain that those parents are going through. Heartwrenching!
I do hope that all the memories that you made with your Dad will keep him close to your heart and alive forever. Look for signs from him; he will let you know that he is still with you!
Hugs and love,
Sarah
Thank you so much for your lovely note, Sarah. I guess we can never stop missing a person who has been part of our lives for so long (another reason to be grateful for their long lives).
I’m so sorry Sheryl. I’ve been thinking about you.
On the shootings, I was talking to my teenager about it, and I think you’re on to something: she said almost the exact same thing, that people, youth, are becoming desensitized to the violence. I just find it horrific and sad to think of those sweet kids and teachers dying under such horrible circumstances.
It’s honesty and presence in any form it takes that helps – and this post is part of that.
So, so sorry for your loss, Sheryl. Sending peace and light to you in the year ahead.