Now I don’t know if this is the part where I give you my backstory. I’m not a blogger. A coworker told me tonight to check Pinterest for “how to blog” and “ways to make money blogging ” I didn’t know that was even a thing. How to blog? I mean you just type right? So I checked out a few of the blogs here and WOW. I entered a world I knew nothing about yesterday. I see some tell their story and some talk about books. I’ve seen blogs just for selling goods and some just for fun. I’ve seem some be a life coach and some be offensive. So many options. Still I don’t know what I am.
I don’t know if I want you to know me. I mean I’m already so vulnerable for you to begin with. I don’t even know you and you are seeing the intricacies of my mind and soul. You will know me deeper then a name or face. You will know me as I learn to know me. You kinda got lucky because you get the fast pass to this ride while I had to wait in line for 32 years.
So where do I start?
I am apart of one of those families that just seem to have alot of funerals. I don’t know if it’s because we are big? We really don’t have a lot of relatives. I would not consider us a big family or is it just that we know a lot of people?
Either way I have been to far too many funerals. I believe I have personally got up and spoken at 3 or 4 funerals. I don’t know if that’s normal. Seems not like a number that usually gets to high unless you’re the pastor or priest or whatever it is they believed in. I always have the right thing to say. The tear jerker. The one that hits it home. I’m literally standing next to a dead body speaking words of the top of my head and everyone’s just sobbing. I even think one time I got an applause. I’m pretty good with words.
Now it’s not that I didn’t believe what I was saying or that it was false. I really felt what I was speaking. They really were great people. However I wanted to speak so everyone could feel that person’s love. I wanted them to know how special they were. How amazing their life has been. But most of all I wanted everyone to know how hurt I was and not talking about it. See after you give a grand speech everyone wants to shake your hand and tell you “thanks for your kind words”. They pat you on the back and send you on your way. You have more hands to shake and more pats to get. The best thing about this:
They don’t ask how you are doing.
See they just saw you on stage. Crying, choking up, and whimpering as you say the same things everyone’s already thinking but just in a more clear and emotional way. Then as soon as you’re done it’s over. They get to feel good about the experience and relax in knowing someone cared enough to get up there and talk.
I get my back pats, handshakes, and then take my emotion and push it deep inside me. Because I don’t have to talk about it anymore. Everyone has got their answer to the question. No need to ask it again. Now I can go on my merry way. Everyone thinks I’m so strong. “Look at him, he’s going to be just fine.” I haven’t been fine in a long time.
I guess you can call the speeches my way of grieving. I dont think it works. It just helps mask it that day. I never get over them. I’ve seen too many dead bodies to worry about one all nice and neat in a casket. I’ve touched too many cold fingers.
I’ve heard the zipper of my dads body bag. The sounds of an ER as my grandma coded in the next room while the care team tried everything to save her for 15 minutes. I’ve held my son in my arms as I heard him let out his last breath of air as I frantically tried to give him cpr at two months old. I watched a old man I have only know for two minutes die next to his daughter and I had to check his pulse and help her arrange for the funeral home to come. I watched another old man die from lung cancer as he smoked his Marlboro cigarettes. I held a ladies hand as she prayed to GOD to take her, but he did not answer swiftly and she waged war in her head and soul for days fighting her inner demons.
I have seen death. I remeber each death and can replay them in my head like sad little movies. I have seen what lies at the end moments for us.
It’s never pretty. It’s never beautiful. It’s always waiting. Death is always following.
So I guess we kinda started at the end you can say. I don’t think I saw any blogs do that. I might have this down. This might just be a thing for me. I guess only time will tell. Until I figure that out, hold your loved ones tight and forgive old loves you let go. For I promise that death is always there. And each time it hits your soul gets smaller and smaller.