The Deaths That Changed Me Pt. 2

 In my last entry, I left off by talking about the passing of my husband's best friend from back home. Because of my mental state, her death almost seemed like it didn't happen. I didn't know her. We never met. It was hard for me to understand my husband's suffering when it was as if she was a figment of my imagination or a character in a book I'd never read. But the subsequent death was different.

Unfortunately, the subsequent death continued to involve my husband, but I had come out of my depression and better understood what it put him through. The subsequent death was a bright, young sailor who worked under my husband. This kid...when I tell you he lit up a room, made everyone laugh, and was a wonderful human being with so much to offer the world and so much spread before him. When tragedy struck, he was ending his Navy career and moving on to civilian life. My husband, who had spent so much time underway and on land with this man, was devastated. I remember him continually asking me, 'Why do bad things always happen to good people?' And I knew he wasn't asking that about this friend, but about both of his friends. I realized that there was nothing I could do to help heal his heart but to sit with him in silence or listen if he needed me to. I encouraged him to attend the funeral a state over, and he was met by some of his former shipmates as they all grieved the loss of life together. 

Just three months later, my husband faced the tragic loss of another best friend again. And not only a friend but one who was more of a brother. At this point, my husband was still unable to deal with his shipmate's passing because his work schedule was so incredulously tight. We had spent some late nights on the porch talking about it, and even though he'd attended the funeral, it seemed surreal. So when this other best friend passed away, it was like taking emotional progress he'd made and literally re-burying him with it. Once again, he traveled a state away to lay his brother to rest, and once again, he came home to a work schedule so tight it did not allow him time to breathe before he deployed less than two weeks later. In my heart of hearts, I don't know how he made it through that deployment. I could only think to send him a blank journal to keep his thoughts in. But there was no time to write, and when he came home, he came home a different person. A harsh, impatient, easily-angered version of the man I love came home to me as his grief swallowed him whole. Again, I saw the inward and the outward effects of not having the opportunity to grieve 'properly.' And not just grief for this particular friend but the accumulated grief over the deaths of three friends. Eventually, he saw those effects, too, but it was a trying time for our marriage. 

As the year ended, so did my Grandpa's life. Though my Grandma (his wife, Beverly) had affected me in 2017, it didn't hit me as hard as he did. And it's not that we were exceptionally close; instead, I feel it had something to do with him being my last surviving grandparent. Also, my Mom was Daddy's girl. Seeing her pain only reminded me that I would feel the same way one day. There was nothing I could do but rush to be by her side. Then, amidst all the final details, we had to go to the funeral home to ensure my Mom and my Aunt were happy with how the funeral director had prepared my Grandpa's body for burial. As I listened to her talk about how she was the one who had prepared and dressed him, combed his hair, tried to precisely match the picture my Mom had given her, and asked questions about details down to his tie, the lightbulb came on in my head. How truly underappreciated death care workers are. How much of my respect she had garnered with just a single conversation. Right then,n I knew this was what I wanted to do. I wanted to be that comfort to families in their time of need. And though the funeral business is a business, this particular director didn't let it feel that way. That is the kind of care I wish to someday give. 

Signs are all around us, and I firmly believe in them. As if to solidify my new educational aspirations and career choice, I woke to a message from a friend on February 19 of this year. A mutual friend had passed away the night before. This was a type of grief I'd never dealt with. A friend I wasn't even particularly close with, but a friend who made me feel like a million bucks whenever I was around him. Another one who lit up a room and had so much good to give to the world was gone in a flash. A friend who had been struggling, who we all hoped would come around and 'get better.' A friend who made a genuinely dumb and unforgivable decision, but a loss nonetheless. I was both angered and sad at the same time. Once again, these conflicting emotions confused my brain and my heart

I had received word of his death while my daughter and I were at a dance competition and driving home; it was all I thought about. The following day, as I tried to gather my thoughts and emotions into a tight bundle to start my work day, I immediately paused when I turned on the lights in my gym. Sitting right in front of me was a huge black feather. I knew my Mom had put it there because she'd been staying at my house with the other kids while I was gone. She and I both believe in feathers as signs. And that feather, jet black as my friend's hair, made me even more ambitious. Feathers have always connected to spiritual realms; black feathers, in particular, mean that transformation is coming and to expect a change. 

...For me? That's the career change. 

So for Eunice. For Selene. For Matthew. For Brooke. For Patrick. For David. For Gerald. For Dakota.

Thank you for opening my eyes, one at a time. May each of you rest in peace knowing you played a bigger role in people's lives than you can even imagine.