January 23, 2019
Time flies by. 25 years ago, my nephew was killed while visiting
me here in Michigan. Sadly, I had urged him to come out to see what a wonderful
place this was under snow. During his stay John had a great time. An ice storm
on the way home took his life. Less than 30 miles from my house his vehicle rolled,
and he was killed.
Mostly the nightmares have stopped now. For the first two decades after John’s death I would wake up at all times of the year sweating with anguish and guilt over what had happened. Without ceasing I have blamed myself for his passing, I shouldn’t have entreated him to come out in such questionable weather.
A quarter of a century, wow. Within that year, within six months of John’s death my wife’s father died and my mother died. Within 12 months of my nephew’s passing we were also facing the impossible, improbable prospect of parenthood as elderly first time parents. 1994 was a year that divided the experiences we would have in this mortal realm from the glassy happy go lucky ones of youth to the much harder edged ones of full on adulthood.
In these the latter years of my life, those after John’s accident I find my life’s experiences both more unifying with and isolating from others. Having dealt with those deaths and recently the deaths of several people who were integral to my life during different eras, I have found that the path I am traveling is one meant for me alone. I have also learned from the experiences I have had, cancer, special needs children, damaged relationships, agonizing years of public service learned that empathy is never to be held back. We are all alone on our paths, but we can reach out and touch those facing moments on the path like what we have experienced.
I remember my nephew’s smile. I remember my father in laws
gruff but kind demeanor, I remember my mother’s love. These are things I savor
when those late-night moments of terror and total isolation come over me.Mostly the nightmares have stopped now. For the first two decades after John’s death I would wake up at all times of the year sweating with anguish and guilt over what had happened. Without ceasing I have blamed myself for his passing, I shouldn’t have entreated him to come out in such questionable weather.
A quarter of a century, wow. Within that year, within six months of John’s death my wife’s father died and my mother died. Within 12 months of my nephew’s passing we were also facing the impossible, improbable prospect of parenthood as elderly first time parents. 1994 was a year that divided the experiences we would have in this mortal realm from the glassy happy go lucky ones of youth to the much harder edged ones of full on adulthood.
In these the latter years of my life, those after John’s accident I find my life’s experiences both more unifying with and isolating from others. Having dealt with those deaths and recently the deaths of several people who were integral to my life during different eras, I have found that the path I am traveling is one meant for me alone. I have also learned from the experiences I have had, cancer, special needs children, damaged relationships, agonizing years of public service learned that empathy is never to be held back. We are all alone on our paths, but we can reach out and touch those facing moments on the path like what we have experienced.
1994 brought me one experience I will always cling to. On a
February day in 1994 I found myself in Oslo at the site of the Olympic Games
from 1954 (maybe 1950?). On an old bobsled run I went luging 7 or 8 times over
the course of an afternoon. I had my late nephew’s hat in my pocket. As I flew
down that hill on my back just two inches off the ground, I realized that life
is about both the exhilaration and the pain. Steering with my feet I was for a
few moments part of the most electric part of life I will ever touch.
Twenty-five years since the time of loss. Twenty-five years since that brief afternoon’s window into maximum exhilaration. Life is a mixed-up shook-up mess isn’t it?
Twenty-five years since the time of loss. Twenty-five years since that brief afternoon’s window into maximum exhilaration. Life is a mixed-up shook-up mess isn’t it?
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