By: Wesley Harper
Despite all the good, well meaning advice from family, friends
and associates about how "to deal with" such a devastating loss,
I found that what worked (and still works) best when my pain gets
more than I can bear, is to "just step out of reality," to pretend
it never happened. It's certainly not the most emotionally
satisfying approach for dealing with a heartbreaking tragedy,
but, for me, it seems to help - if only a little.
At least, momentarily (while anchored firmly in my illusion of Rainbow Riders and Cloud Castles) I can cope. When I fall back into the real world, I doubt how long I'll be able to remain here (definitely not a pleasant place to hang out). It's anyone's guess if I'll stay in reality, especially mine. Nonetheless, periodicly returning to tangible reality (for better or for worse) is essential for a semblance of sanity. Though I've been unable to find much, if any, comfort in other persons' expressions of sincere sympathy and condolences, and regardless of the fact that I still have a long way to go before the so-called "healing process" even begins, knowing that there are others who've unwillingly traveled down this difficult road of healing, having endured the same heartbreaking pain, sorrow and anguish as I do, awakens a sense of, well, the best way to describe it would be "a comfortable awareness of mutual agony and compassion" helpful in overcoming, or at least, of coping with heart-wrenching loss. Mom was a lady who, despite all the many heartaches and problems I caused her, showered me with nothing but unwavering love and devotion. From day-one until the end, she'd always be there for me: advice, guidance, prayer, encouragement, emotional support, even financial assistance, there were no limits! She was always there for me - always! Now, though she'll live forever in my heart, sadly, she's gone. She's gone on to the place she'd longingly dreamed of and spoken so fondly of for many years. One might think I'd find a small measure of consolation in the knowledge that she's finally reached the destination of her heart's desire; jubilant, delighted, elated and overwhelmed with joy that she's reunited with the family and friends who proceeded her. But, I don't. Why? Because of my pain and anguish over her loss and because of my guilt for not being her "good son." The foundation of my pain is rooted in a never-ending marathon of torturous ifs, ands, buts, maybes, would-haves, could-haves and should-haves. It's the agonozing should-haves that are the cold clinching vise of Death crushing my heart, squeezing the very life from it. Never have I known such excruciating pain! Hopefully, in time, I'll learn to cope with it. For now, when the brain signals DANGER! Imminent Meltdown! DANGER! it's easier, so much easier to just step out of reality. It's easier to create my own world, a world of the delusion "it never happened." Mine is a place where brave Rainbow Riders frolic carefree among blue-crystal Cloud Castles. What I so desperately want to believe is that she's just sleeping, still sleeping, then her passing, for me, will never be anymore than "she fell peacefully asleep, then was gently awakened on 'the other side' by her loving husband, my dearly departed dad." I'm not so presumptuous to assume that I know how others, who've known her and come to love her, feel over the untimely passing of this exceptionally wonderful, loving and caring lady. A mutual sharing with them, however comforts. She was the most cherished, dearly beloved Mother, Grandmother, counselor, confidant, best friend and one of God's most wonderful creations. Though it's doubtful that it will be much consolation, I'm moved to tell them all, as shattered as my own heart is, it reaches out with loving desire to console them from their devastating loss. Since her passing, at the night, while I anxiously wait the dark, empty void of sleep to relieve my agony, it's most difficult. I can't count the times as I've awaited sleep that I've prayed, "please Lord, when your tender, loving hand gently caresses my brow and carries me away from my pain, don't awaken me. Be merciful, release me from my constant suffering. Remove from my aching heart all doubt of your divine existence - reunite me with my beloved Mother. Do what you must, but p-l-e-a-s-e don't awaken me to face another day." Point of Information: thus far, said plea has gone unanswered. I'm guessing, (1) the Lord's off somewhere comforting the sick, crippled and downtrodden. Or, (2) His Divine Holiness' phone's off the hook. Or, (3) it's some kind of Holy Holiday in Heaven which the Bible neglects to mention, "Shop Closed - Out to Lunch," so to speak. My daughter, Carol, worried over the news that her beloved "Nanny" had been hospitalized. After a long drive from Florida, she anxiously anticipated visiting with her and spending some quality time together. Upon entering Mom's hospital room, my daughter discovered that Nanny was fast asleep. Carefully considering the alternatives, Carol decided that Nanny needed rest after the ordeal of her operation. She let her sleep. After a few hours, Carol returned. Sadly, Mom never awakened from her sleep. Every night, without exception, before I fall asleep, I clearly hear (repeated over and over) in my mind the distinct, yet haunting tone of grief and despair in my daughter's trembling voice when she informed me, "I didn't wake her up." In an effort to relieve Carol's unwarranted guilty burden, feeling the upwelling grief surge within me, I tried to console her. "Carol, while Mom slept, she was at peace. That's the way to remember her, asleep and at peace. Letting Nanny sleep was your last kind gesture of love." Lingering within the dread catacombs of my daughter's troubled psyche was the image of her beloved grandmother resting peacefully, yet lifeless and expressionless within the silk-lined coffin in which she was laid to rest. The depths on my daughter's despair was vividly reflected in her broken voice. Almost in a whisper, she softly told me, "she looked like she was sleeping." Hoping desperately to unburden her heart, I, to hold back my tears, comforted her as best I could. "Carol," I tried, "she was asleep." It was the tranquil sleep, sleep that God reserves for only would-be angels. It's a sublime sleep so blissful that any desire to disturb it, especially in the rare case of a would-be angel, is instantly overpowered by a euphoric resolution not to awaken. Although smart, charming and beautiful, Carol is no longer a young girl herself. She's married with two lovely daughters of her own. I doubt that Carol really believed my would-be angel story, but I believed it, hook, line and sinker. A Personal Deduction: my will to achieve, to win, to struggle on, even to be free, has all but vanished. It's as if my sole purpose for living, the very essential element of life itself has been snatched away. I know beyond doubt, I'll never again be the same - never! Her passing has altered my life forever. For better or worse, nothing, absolutely nothing will ever be the same. A Disturbing Self-Awakening: Mom's untimely passing has instilled in me a sense of disbelief that surpasses the very meaning of words. I've told myself so many times that "it never happened," that I've convinced myself. If the pain should exceed my will to live, I could (and this is the definitive word) permanently replace fact with fiction. Or, have I already done that?
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