When the whoosh is over...

And whoosh, whoosh, whoosh goes life and goes the acceptance that life is just one part of life. There is also death.

I know. These last few posts have been heavy. So heavy I haven’t even said, “Keep being fabulous!” as a closer. Sorry. I hope you know I still want everyone to keep being fabulous. Shoot, in spite of the heavy in my life lately, I still feel light and plan to keep being fabulous.

Anyway, I went with Jen to visit the place where, by way of a very dramatic and tragic accident, Jen’s father died last year. I’d get into the specifics on how Jen’s father died, and why this would be a place that we’d visit, a place that Jen would need to visit to get closure, but here again, my non-specifics are not only protecting the identity of others, and in this case respecting the privacy of Jen’s entire family (as Jen’s father’s death was high-profile), when you get down to it, again, sometimes details are not what matters.

When a person dies, when someone as amazing as Jen’s father leaves this earth and leaves behind so many people who will miss them, does it matter how the person died? Or does it matter more that the person is gone and that those left behind will need to begin accepting life without that person in it?

That’s what Jen’s family has been trying to do, learn to accept what life means without the man in it who was the center of their universe.

I do believe there is an order to all things, and that death is just as much a part of life as living (it’s just the hardest/crappiest part) however, that knowledge does not make the passing of a loved one any easier. We are never prepared to deal with losing someone we’ve loved, hoped after, and counted on.

As a side note, I may have already mentioned that it was Jen’s father who told me that a man should be measured by his actions and not his words. But if not, and even if, it’s important to mention that this imparted wisdom came at a time when I needed to mend from a 16 year old’s broken heart. Jen’s father, with a devilish grin of his face, had said, “Well, if you really want to know if this fellow likes you, just watch what he does not what he says. If his lips are moving, he could be lying. But his actions, they’ll tell the truth. You see…a man should be measured by his actions and not his words.” Then Jen’s father laughed, and the twinkle he was known to get in his eye, when he’s told you something that means something, showed up and filled the room.

I’ve kept what he said in mind all these years, realizing that the measure of all of us is in our actions. We can say so much. But, are we backing are words up by what we do? Are we acting in a way that allows others, and our selves, to respect us?

Jen’s dad, he was funny. Really funny. He was sarcastic, quick witted, dry, and wonderfully/playfully sardonic when the occasion called for it. And, he was ever present. He had the kind of nature which made him so willing to lend a helping hand, which meant he was always busy, as are all men of action.

That’s how I will always remember Jen’s dad, as a man of action who used his words wisely, lovingly, didactically, and as a man who lived, by example, as the kind of man other men call great.

Have you ever known a man like that, a man who others call great, a man men aspire to be? Those guys are usually in movies. But, those movies couldn’t be made if some man wasn’t the model. Right?

That’s why I cannot say enough about how much it sucked that I’d come down with that nasty stomach bug (I’ve already mentioned) the night before we were supposed to go to the crash site, to where the accident happened. Jen is one of my best friends in the world. She’s one of my soul mates. Jen is my family. There was no way I was not going to go with her to support her, but I felt like I was going to puke the whole drive there.

Shit, I’ve felt like I was going to puke an awful lot lately. Harrumph.

My at the ready for throwing up is why I got the front seat (it reclines) while Jen’s husband drove. It took us over an hour, and several road bumps and wheel turns, to get there. (Fun.) Sadly, I wasn’t as emotionally available to Jen as I’d wanted to be. Both my physical and emotional spirit were low. But, there was no way in hell I wasn’t going to, at least, be there physically for Jen. Even while Jen, seeing the green of sick still on my face like a bad zombie paste, told me she would understand if I didn’t go, I was more than willing to brave what would have been the 16th stomach upheaval if that was what it was going to take to be there.

There was even one point where Jen apologized that I felt so bad (as she’d given me the bug and had had it a couple of days earlier herself) and I wasn’t having it. “Look,” I said, “The potential for me up-chucking again, and me feeling like crap, fails in comparison to what you’ve been going through with losing your dad, so I don’t want to hear another word about you feeling bad for me. Get it, love!?”

The emotion of visiting the crash sit didn’t catch up with me until a couple days later, when I was telling a co-worker (who had known I was going to the crash site with Jen) about the visit. Fortunately, for both me and Jen, my stomach had decided not to turn itself inside out anymore that day or again thereafter as while I recuperated from the flu bug.

I did have to put off seeing Watt for an extra day to make sure I didn’t get him sick, though, but…there is another failing in comparison thing.

So, the point to this post, and talking about this whoosh, is not grand. It’s simple. Sometimes shit is hard. Sometimes we loose people we love. Sometimes it’s hard to get our bearings back. But, for whatever it is that knocks us off, chances are there is something just as good that is putting us back together.

No one can make sense of death. There is so much to life that isn’t easy. But, how lucky are we to have known the people we’ve loved before they go, and how lucky are we that we get to even complain about the stuff that’s hard.

Some of the whoosh in life, even when the whoosh is over, is still pretty amazing.

That’s the living part. We’re doing it.

That's fabulous!