Loss From Loving
This past week my college community lost a young member, Owen Klinger. Someone who I did not know but I am sure our paths crossed at some point on campus. But I was probably busy running to the next thing on my schedule, not paying attention to the friendly faces I passed. Death makes you think about life differently, regardless of how close you were to the departed. The night before the funeral, I thought about the previous funerals I attended. All I wanted was for the funeral the next day to feel like they used to when I was a kid. There was something so pure about my memories of them. Where it was just a time of gathering with loved ones, because I was too innocent to comprehend the concept of death.
The first one I have memory of was for my Grandpa, Papa Pete. I was five years old and living life to the fullest in the back seat of a limo on the way to the ceremony. I got scared during the 21 gun salute. And I remember asking my dad why Granny kept crying. To me it was just a very unique family reunion.
Two years later, my 14-year-old neighbor who was like an older brother to me passed away unexpectedly. There is something about death when it happens to someone so young. Someone who had so much more left to live but also being thankful for the time you had with them, even if it was short. My parents told us that Ryan had passed away and I kept asking questions because I did not understand why I wasn’t going to see him again. I thought this was like a temporary thing that would pass over. I figured I would see him in a week dribbling a basketball up our drive-way.
My freshman year of high school, I got the honor of having this 73-year-old religion teacher, Frank Delamere, who had the biggest heart and wittiest humor. He was diagnosed with cancer and passed shortly after. Even after receiving his diagnoses, he would still put his students first. He would make sure we had a smile on our face when we left his room. I remember being so frustrated because I could not understand why God would take this sweet old Irish lad from us. But that’s the thing with death it can happen at any time to anyone. You can’t cheat death, even if you are the kindest human being.
When you are a baby you open your eyes to this small bubble. But as you grow up your eyes see new things and your view widens. As this happens the world gets a lot bigger through new experiences and knowledge. But as your perspective gets bigger there is also more room for fears and danger. You used to live in this world where you were constantly being watched and carried around by your caretaker but now you’re able to freely run where ever you want. You bring more people into your life causing your chances of loss to be greater. Things happen. People move on. People change. People die. It is the way of life. It will happen to all of us eventually. But it is also something that puts meaning on life. Hug the ones you love. Tell them you love them. Make time for others. Because the truth is life is precious and although I find myself wishing that I was still in my safe bubble unaware of what grief feels like. I have never felt the loss of a child, parent, or significant other. I can’t even begin to imagine what that would feel like. But I know grief is a process of loss. This means that you had something in your life that you miss. Something that brought joy and made life meaningful. If there was no happiness then there would be no grief. So, when given my choice of a safe bubble where no one is let in or a world full of joy but my chances to experience heartbreak and sadness increase. I chose those moments of happiness. The times when I played cards with Papa Pete, ran to the ice cream truck with Ryan, heard a riddle from Mr. Delamere, or shared a brief smile from Owen as we headed to class.
“May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind always be at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, and rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of His hand.” Irish Blessing
-E