Death in the Work Family

Last week my boss lost his father, who was in his 80s and sick for several months.  People at work were sharing stories about death - remembering co-workers and family members who've passed away.  We lamented about how shocking death is, how nothing prepares us for it no matter how much it is expected.  It made us think of our own parents, our inevitable mortality, our shared humanity.

A friend was telling me that she doesn't do funerals well.  (It's such a strange, overused phrase.  Who does do them well?)  She meant it in a very concrete way.  After the death of her brother, both of her parents had heart attacks at the funeral service.  They had to be rushed to the hospital; they survived.  And at another service, seeing a grieving son grabbing at his mother's coffin, she couldn't help but wail along with him.  People rushed to her this time.  She doesn't go to funerals.

I shared with her why I do.  Last July, a good friend of mine from work lost his mother.  I knew she wasn't well.  My friend told me she was ailing.  That was the first time I attended a funeral service for someone I have never met.  After giving our grieving friend awkward hugs and mumbles of sympathy, my coworkers and I shuffled uncomfortably towards the back end of the synagogue.  The rabbi said that it was his birthday, but he agreed to perform the service when asked by the family.  He knew the lady well and loved the family.  My friend read his eulogy, sharing memories of his mom through tears.  I listened with every fiber of my being.  That was the only thing I could do; it also felt like the most meaningful thing to do for my friend.  Later, he told me that he saw me during his speech and that it comforted him that I was there.  I was so glad to have been able to help.  

I attended the funeral services for my boss's father last Monday with my colleagues and friends.  His family was there, including his wife and ten-year old daughter.  I met the daughter a few months back.  During the Catholic mass, my thoughts turned to the grand kids - it's likely their first brush with the heavy burden of grief for a loved one.  All my grand parents are dead now, but I lost the first one, my grandpa when I was ten.  I couldn't help but feel for my boss's daughter, who was burying her grandfather that day.  On the way out of the church, I lined up with the others to give a hug and a hand shake to our boss - it felt good to tell him something, even if it was a grunt and a heavy pat on the back.  I then turned to the wife and introduced myself, and then to the girl "oh, I met you before".  I saw the tears in her eyes, the grief on the child's face and I wanted to help her somehow.  She saw my sympathy and it made her tears flow and I rubbed her shoulder and said, "oh, honey, you will be ok" and, unsure if I helped or made things worse, I moved away.  This scene was re-playing in my mind the whole day.  Perhaps I was given a chance to help this little girl in some way.  I don't know; I hope so.

  

Smokin'

I brought up smoking as an example in the previous post - and I realize that it's a charged subject.  There is an element of physical addition to nicotine, but the psychological piece is much larger.  Physical addiction can last up to two weeks; psychological addiction lasts for years.  I know.  I've smoked for five years, having quit seven years ago.  I still wake up dreaming of smoking cigarettes sometimes.  The overwhelming feeling of these dreams is disappointment - I gave in.  And then a relief - it was just a dream.

I started when I was 18, through a friend.  Isn't there always a friend who 'starts' us?  It was a lazy hazy summer and I kept bumming cigarettes until I got the idea that she was fed up with my bumming, so I started buying my own packs.  We'd quit when we're done with college, we'd tell ourselves.  We bought patches.  Once I put a patch on that had way more nicotine in it than I consumed at the time.  That was a great day.

Then I graduated.  I went back home and smoked "only when I drank".  That happened often enough to keep me a regular smoker.  I went back to school.  Again, I'll quit pretty soon.  Then, one day I caught myself thinking - I will get home, have a drink and a cigarette.  Since I smoked only when I drank, I needed a drink so that I could have my cigarette.  Engage Emergency Breaks.  A path to alcoholism was clear in front of me.  That was also around my 23d birthday.  It seemed like it was such a significant number at the time.  So I decided to quit cold turkey.  I broke down once (again, while drinking) and through the haze, I remember one of my best friends trying to dissuade me.  She gave me the cigarette, but I remember her tone and concern.  She really wanted me to succeed in this quitting smoking business.  That was the last time I had a cigarette.

A part of me did it for her too.