ASSINIBOIA - From where I stand right now, I’d have to say this week’s column is shaping up to be an extremely difficult one to write. Don’t get me wrong. They’re ALL difficult for me to write because I find it extremely hard to put words to my thoughts and put thoughts onto paper. How I envy those fortunate folk whose words flow quickly and easily from their lips and leap onto the page with the greatest of ease. You know ... like the man on the flying trapeze?
Last Saturday night, a dear friend from Manitoba shared on FB that he had just, that very hour, lost his beautiful young daughter to cancer. She was barely out of high school. She had her whole life ahead of her to plan and enjoy. And my friend had the most pleasant prospect of grandchildren to spoil and to tease. And now? A dark, bleak, and sad future without his dear, sweet, Mica.
Last week, another friend unexpectedly lost her husband and a life they shared for more than 40 years. The week before that, a dear sweet cousin from just down the road, lost her husband to cancer. She fought SO hard to keep her man and their love alive. Theirs was truly a marriage made in heaven. Now she walks alone down a strange new path without the love of her life. Finally, just seven weeks ago, my lovely young niece, who lives in B.C., lost her fiancee in a tragic and preventable accident. Now she and her young son face the future alone.
Y’all have heard me speak of my father’s somewhat unsympathetic response to me when I was a young man whining and complaining about how hard, grievous, and unfair life was to me at the time. He simply responded: “Why, in heaven’s name, should you be exempt from trouble? No one else is!” He was right, of course, since I was neither a royal prince nor a Prime Minister in the making. But the blunt and painful truth of his comment still stung deeply, nonetheless. Little did I know at the time, that some fifty years later, the harsh reality of my father’s words would return to kick me hard in the gut and bring me instantly to my knees. With that one swift blow, I lost the second oldest of my four precious sons. Sean was diagnosed on March 1st, and 33 days later, on April 4th, he was gone. He left behind him in his wake, four young sons of his own, five years of age and younger.
Familiar story? Sadly, it is. Everyday, the Grim Reaper savagely rips our loved ones from us. Without prejudice. Without sympathy. Without caring. And we’re left standing there scratching our heads, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to pick up the pieces and soldier on.
I think that most of us have experienced some form of tragedy in our life. Not one of us is exempt from trouble. We all deal with it in different ways. Some of us fall apart at the seams. Others turn to drugs and alcohol before hitting ‘rock-bottom’. Still others resort to work as a diversion and a way to forget. Ironically, almost any old thing - hands down - beats the pain and hopelessness of our situation and enormous loss. But at what cost?
How I wish I could say that I know the answer to all of life’s trials, troubles, and tribulations. But sadly, I do not. What I do know is that we all have them, and we all struggle to remain standing during those times. I know this also. Sometimes the blow is so strong, so hard, and so severe, that it’s impossible to remain on our feet. We go down for the count. Not just to our knees, but all the way down - flat out, face down, on the canvas. It happens. And it’s permitted. Take your time to get back up, if you must. That’s also permitted, but please do get back up. Don’t stay down. You have so many other people - family, friends, and loved ones - who are counting on you. Who need you. You have so much wisdom, love, knowledge, and understanding to pass on and share with the world. Don’t take them with you to the grave. You need to remain here on this side of the sod in order to live on to fight another day.
That’s how I see it, at least. From where I’m standing.
