Like a ton of bricks

It isn't supposed to be this way.  Parents should not attend the funerals of their children.  That's not fair.

I was sitting at home tonight, nursing a nasty head and chest cold which began on Thursday.  Standard Saturday afternoon TV fare, the reruns of movies we've seen, sports, and crappy reality shows.  Mindless blather to relieve the stresses of the earlier part of the day and the latter part of yesterday.

We had attended the viewing (ashes in an urn), funeral, and wake of a close friend who died last week.   The outpouring of support and compassion has been amazing, and will surely help the family get through these tough times.   During Mary's battle with cancer I lived in blissful, hopeful ignorance and hope that all would be well in the end, just as I had when my mother, sister in-law, and aunt fought and defeated cancer a few years ago.

Instead,  her time was severely limited when the diagnosis was made.  So limited that we all thought today's events would have already taken place last summer.  I knew this in the back of my mind but refused to accept it, so when she made heroic advances at recovery over the summer and fall months I figured that she was beating this thing once and for all and everything would be back to normal once again.  So when Mary's health declined once again after the New Year, it became clear to us that she had battled for and won an extension of her life so that she could prepare her family for the next journey.  Even when I heard that Mary passed away last Friday I felt sadness but relief that she could rest in peace, finally.

The community gatherings to celebrate her life were appropriately sad and bracing.  The grieving was open and raw, but music was a big part of the service to celebrate her memory.  So tonight I picked up my guitar and tried to emulate my friend Mike's rendition of Harvest Moon that he played at the funeral service, and suddenly the flood gates opened.  I had been holding it in for many months, knowing that the inevitable day would soon be upon us, and it all came out, uncontrollably cathartic.

The only good thing about having a bad cold is when you spend an hour bawling, your face doesn't look any different.