Monday, August 11, 2014

Death Sucks

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Left to right: Christopher, Nico and someone special


August 11, 2014




Death sucks. That's a fact and meeting our maker is a gimmie regardless of how many miles I do while running on my treadmill. Looking back at pictures of our family and friends is painful in so many ways. Not because they are dead but because they lived.

When I look at pictures of the my twins or my wife and I see her smiling face and all those other pictures of the deceased, who are out, with their buddies or girlfriends, it can make us smile just a little when we reminiscence of the happy times. But our reality is, that eventually those thoughts fade and that dissipation leads to the pain we are feeling now, as we yearn to hear their voice again.

But they lived. They were here with us and so the pain lasts knowing that we won’t see them again.

Hey, look, if grandma dies at 92 it’s understood that that is how the process of life naturally occurs. I miss my grandmother and I have so many fond memories of her but in the end she lived a great life. Although, I remember talking to her before he broke her hip and ended up in the hospital. She loved to dance and while dancing she said, “I’m not old, I’m young, I’m not ready to die yet.”

Knowing her is one of the great gifts I received in life. And the pain I still feel faintly in my soul still resonates and I miss her dearly because she lived. 

Disease takes its fare share of loved ones. My uncle died of cancer. What a motherfucker that disease is. It robs your soul of your true self and when it sucks out all your marrow the tumors take your life away. My uncle was a gifted man with automobiles. He lived hard and played hard only to be sidelined by a disease that he once proclaimed to me, “after my surgery I saw God out my hospital window. He was standing with my father. I stared at him and say, ‘I’m not ready yet,’ and they left.

He lived a couple of years longer but eventually succumbed to his withered body as so many did. There isn’t a broken down car that I see that I don’t think about in my mind,  “my uncle could fix that.” His loss like so many other loses hurt because he lived.

Growing up, the older boy next door, was someone we all looked up to. He was good looking, popular, athletic, and generally a good person. He and I were friends. He never made me feel less important that any other person. I really liked him as did so many others.

The good person that he was he tried to break up a fight and was stabbed multiple times. He didn’t know it was occurring while the knife plunged into his stomach. “I’m drenched in sweat,” he said. We discovered it was blood. He died in that street. Damn he was a good guy. His death hurts because he lived.

So many family member and good friends have left me during my time on earth. And each little bit of pain defines itself to me in its own way. I can’t change death but I can still live regardless of how I feel.

Their life, like so many other people who I have lost, or known or had the privilege of growing up with on TV or in the movies, tears at me because they lived. I was a part of their life and their impact is felt even now, this very moment. Losing a loved one is suppose to hurt because they lived. And I’m grateful they lived because I can still feel the effects of losing them pain me deep inside. To me that only demonstrate  their profound impact on me as a person and it allows me to remember them. It’s a feeling that keeps them alive forever in my mind.

I can run on my treadmill all I want. I won’t out run death. We live to die, and it’s an existence we can’t hide from. And those who go before us will impact us more in their death then in their lifetime because it’s harder to accept that they are gone. And that just sucks. But it’s because they lived that makes it harder to accept their death with memories that made them so great, strong, or heroic.
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