I chickened out

I'm so ashamed to admit I did not attend the funeral for my daughter's teacher's husband.  :-(

Before my dad died, I was anti-funeral.  I did, and still do, feel like grief is a very private thing.  Yet thinking back to the visitation and mass, I remember who was there.  I remember who I talked too.  I remember seeing our preschool teachers walk in and crying in appreciation.  My mom and other family members have similar stories.  So despite being blinded by tears, I still know who I saw those days and how much it meant to me.  I wanted my attendance credit for this one.  Not for any selfish interest, of course.  More like as a means of letting this woman know, "My heart hurts for you and I'm here because I care about you and your family."  I failed.

I was on the way home from dropping my mom off at the airport and was delayed due to an accident on an entrance ramp to the highway.  Then I called home to see if the fam wanted bagels.  Then I started really calculating the time and thinking it would be tight for me to get home, change clothes and go.  Of course I would have to find the address of the church and put it into the nav.  Tick tock tick tock.  Then I realized I was desperately trying to find reasons why I would be late and it wouldn't work out.  I was already tearing up, trying to figure out exactly what I would say.  I thought back, again, to my dad's funeral, also a Catholic mass.  I thought, "would the family sit in the same position?"  "Would it be like deja vu?"  I started losing it and getting angry about my tears.  I'm the Jasper of my family and my empathy skills are off the charts.  I didn't want to go to this funeral and fall apart.  I hardly knew the deceased. He was such a pleasant and friendly guy who, so outwardly, loved and was proud of his family.  He was a valued acquaintance, but my grief isn't deep over my loss of him.  It's deep for our friend's loss of him.  Unfortunately, teardrops don't fall with post-it notes attached and I was afraid they'd be misinterpreted - in front of MANY people from our school. 

I'm a chicken.

I was going to whine, but then I learned of a friend with real problems

I had intended to write today about my desire to reject western medicine, much like my husband.  My cocktail of ibuprofen, Flonase and Tamiflu have left my clogged ears untouched, incited dizziness and made me vomit.  I'm done.  No more drugs.  I'm going with lots of fluids, good food and rest.  That was, until I got some news.  My daughter came home today with a note that her teacher's husband passed away this morning.  This man was younger than I am and leaves behind three children between the ages of 7-years-old and 6-months-old.  Suddenly my "problems" seem really small.

I've already cried about this numerous times.  This was a wonderful family, filled with wonderful people doing wonderful things.  Smart, funny, sweet...I have nothing bad to say.  And let's face it.  Good teachers become part of your family.  They're part of the dinner conversation and your partner in parenting. 

The thoughts running through my head are sobering.  You always plan for tomorrow, next week, two years from now and someday.  But we're never guaranteed it will every come.  I've spent a lot of time telling my children "just a minute" or "after I send this email."  The television served as a babysitter while I worked.  On weekends, they spend hours with each other, perfectly entertained - without me.  I sometimes go long periods of time without devoting my full attention to my husband.  I often go a week without spending a morning with my mother.  I haven't seen my brothers in months.  It's easy to get through any of these given days because I assume there will be an opportunity later.  I'm sure my friend thought there'd be another morning, last night. 

I realize it's not healthy to fear the end.  And it's not practical to live each day to its fullest - folks have to work, do laundry and whatever else.  But the sentiment isn't lost.  At all times, cherish the ones you love.  Tell them often.  Do it in person as much as possible.  In the meantime, send positive thoughts to this family.  I can't imagine what their day has been like.  My heart is breaking for them.