Loss

I wanted to just drive away and pretend like I'd never seen the ambulances. Not even really the ambulances, but that police car, that lone, stark, black and white vehicle that lets you know this is beyond emergency, that someone was needed there to witness. I sat in my car, on the corner, looking straight ahead at my house, and then looking back at all those emergency vehicles. I pulled out my phone to call my big brother, and was told he was already on his way. Another bad sign, he wouldn't leave work for just anything. So I called my niece, who lives next door to the commotion, and heard her small, frazzled, and very frightened voice answer, and I knew I couldn't run away....I had to be a grown up and deal.

They were taking him out on a stretcher when I got there. He was intubated, a fairly decent sign. My aunt was confused, her Alzheimer's making her unable to grasp the gravity of the situation, not letting her remember after 5 minutes or so what had transpired. She didn't remember that she was the one that called 911. She couldn't remember why her brother was not in the house. But she could remember that something was WRONG, and it ate at her, making her wring her hands and ask me, "What happened? Where is he?" And then quietly asking "Is he dead?" "He stopped breathing ma taunte....you were brave and called the ambulance for him....he's going to the hospital now....no, he's not dead."

My niece, shaking and frozen, was so relieved that SOMEONE was there. Her mom showed up next, and I told them to go to the hospital, that I would stay with my aunt. And I started making the phone calls to family. Those phone calls that are all about delivering bad news before the bad news is final. "His heart stopped, he wasn't breathing....he's intubated....He's a DNR....." And then it was MY turn to get that call "You gotta come to the hospital, and you gotta get here fast. You gotta get ma taunte here too. He's coming off the support, it won't be long."

So we were all with him, in his final moments. All there to bear witness to his passing, to struggle with him, let him feel our boundless love for him, and let him know it was ok to let go. We held him, tried to comfort him, prayed, and cried. And we let him go, this man, our uncle. Ripping another wound open as our second father left the earth.

Our father died in 1979, victim of a freak accident. None of us had a chance to say goodbye then, but it left a gaping maw of a black hole in the center of our lives. My uncle, my father's brother, became the new head of the collective family. Though he never tried to take over his brother's place, he was quiet and supportive, and always there for anything we needed. He was the proverbial wise man, the one we went to for advice and support, for help in time of need, for anything, really. He'd never married, never had children of his own, and perhaps it would have been too overwhelming for him had he done so, because in reality he had 7 children already. He took care of his father, and was taking care of his sister as well, a man never to shirk his family obligation even when he wasn't feeling well himself. It always felt like he took great care of everyone...except himself.

He hadn't been feeling well for a while now, suffering through COPD, and still remaining too stubborn to use his oxygen regularly. He was grumpy most of the time, having too much to deal with when it came to taking care of his sister and the ongoing battle concerning the long term care options not only for her but for her disabled son. It was a gigantic strain on him, but not one that was up for discussion. I mostly tried to stay out of his way, knowing that being around a school aged child made me possibly lethal to him by way of contaminating him with the common cold. But he was always there, always just 4 houses away all my life, and this morning I feel the knowledge of that new emptiness keenly. I want to be happy the end to his suffering, knowing how much he despised laboring to breathe. I know how he hated seeing himself decline, becoming feeble, and increasingly reliant on others to help. I want to know that watching him struggle to die was his birth into a new kind of life. But in the wake of losing someone you love, all it feels like is the cold ashes of a previously magnificent fire that you adored only a few hours ago.

I held strong mostly all day, shedding some tears at the hospital with the rest of my siblings. But I did have my moment to lose it tonight, and Malcolm was there to talk me back from the worst of it. It's the dance that lovers do, and not only in bed. His heart circles around mine, warms it, nurtures it. He's my confidante, my friend, my lover, and my heart. There is still so much to do this week before we say our final goodbyes to my uncle on Friday. I have more tears to cry, more memories to revisit. I'm so grateful, in the face of this staggering loss, that my family is here for each other, and that my love is here for me.

I love you, Uncle Norm. Peace, Happiness, and say hiya to dad for us.