Busy Being Busy

We got a Christmas card a few days ago with a usual year-end newsletter. But those things are seldom usual. I got one a couple of years ago that told me that two of my friends from grad school had lost all the parents they had left. The one I got a few days ago told me that the second year of grieving is harder than the first. Her mother was killed in a car wreck a little over a year ago.

I knew about the second year, already. I lost my first partner about 13 years ago, my best friend 8 years ago and my daddy 1 year ago. I'm not sure which was the hardest. They all hurt in different ways.

Rich, because he was the first man I ever loved. And we had a great life together for 5 years. His sudden death at the age of 28 left me adrift. I spent the next several years doing things I'm not too proud of today.

(We won't go there. Not this time. Possibly never.)

When Bucky, my best friend, was diagnosed with cancer in an advanced stage, I knew the prospects were not good, but I put on a brave face. I told him he'd come back to exactly what he left behind, knowing full well that he he'd probably not come back at all.

In the mean time, I met Shannon. He was the only person that didn't run away from Bucky's illness. I don't know if it's a gay thing, but nobody really wants to talk about someone who's most likely dieing or to anyone who knows him.

Shannon was different. He stood by through the uncertainty and bad news that got worse every day. He went to Bucky's memorial with me. He held my hand and let me cry on his shoulder, literally.

Then Daddy got sick. He was sick a long time, and Mama didn't tell me how bad it was until near the end. She probably didn't want to say it out loud. That would have made it more real. Too real.

In the end, I lost them all.

At first, there were details to attend to that kept my mind occupied. Then utter and sheer exhaustion, when my mind didn't process much except the basic things to keep me going to work, eating and craving sleep. After that, a period of disbelief, the conscious denial that what happened was real.

A year or so later, it finally sank in: it was real, it did happen and ain't nobody comin' back.

It didn't sink in so much as fall like a stone wall collapsing on top of me.

At that point, the real battle begins. One can either go crazy, like I did when Rich died, or stay busy.

Staying busy is like aspirin: it doesn't fix the problem; it masks the pain. If you're busy enough, you can take the pain in smaller doses that don't push you into the abyss of grief and anger and hopelessness.

It helps to have a partner standing by, but even they can't share the absence so palpable that you can reach out and touch. It's a void that they don't feel. Not because they don't care, but because they didn't have the same relationship that you did with your partner or best friend or daddy.

They may have an idea how big that hole is, but they can't touch it or live with it every day. Even as a son who lost his father, I can't know what void my mother lives with that I don't know about. Between Christmas and New Years, they would have celebrated their 48th anniversary. Add that to the 3 years they dated, and they were together for about 50 years before he died. 7 years longer than I've been alive. Only 20 years longer than she's been alive

She stays busy. Volunteer work at the church and with the high school band my nephew used to be in keep her busy. And if the house is too quiet on a weekend night, she goes to local high school basketball games. She doesn't have a stake in either team any more, so she just has fun.

Mama played basketball when she was in high school. She's only 5'2", and she told me they had to special-order her uniform. She had an 18 inch waist back then. And not because she was malnourished. She was quite buxom, in fact.

We deal with loss in our own private ways. We stay busy. Whether it's working too much (as Shannon says I do) or writing or going to basketball games, that's the way we work these things out.

In the end, it makes us stronger, better and more compassionate people.

I just hope this round gets over soon. I'm tired of being so busy.