Saturday, July 11th, 2009...11:50 pm
When The Rain Washes You Clean, You’ll Know
“But listen carefully to the sound
Of your loneliness
Like a heartbeat, drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering
what you had, And what you lost
And what you had, And what you lost”
Stevie Nicks sang to me tonight, as I drove home from the fun and frolic that was talented and sexy ladies, doing talented and sexy things at the Richmond Varietease show. My parents loved Fleetwood Mac when I was a kid, and so “Dreams” is one of those songs that I don’t *really* hear, or pay much attention to, when it comes on the radio. I guess that’s why I didn’t even realize I was singing it quietly as I drove. Until my voice caught. “what you had, and what you lost,” I suddenly sobbed.
Before I left to meet up with my friends for the show, I had received an email from my dad. He informed me that my uncle is dying. He has cancer throughout his body, and only weeks to live. I read the information, but put off processing it because I had to go home, get dressed, and be somewhere. “I’m sad,” I told a friend earlier, and I knew I was, intellectually, but I really didn’t feel much of anything. Then, “what you had, and what you lost…”
My aunt, Pam, was one of my favorite people, ever. We looked so much alike that we were mistaken for mother and daughter when we went out together. She had a riotous, inappropriate sense of humor, which I inherited, along with her “buxom” figure. My uncle, Mike, married Pam when I was young and made my her happy. Her first husband had died in a tragic accident, leaving her with three children, and she seemed to have been able to pick up and move on when she met Mike. He helped her to raise the kids (having already raised three of his own) and stood by her as she battled cancer for what seemed like a painful forever, and then lost. The day of her funeral I said, “I don’t know about you, God,” and I still don’t. Pam was very insistent before she died on not being buried without her hair (which had been lost to chemo) and makeup. I guess I inherited some of my sparkle from her, as well.
I turned off the radio, and concentrated on driving, but I couldn’t get the song out of my head. The tears wouldn’t stop coming, and they won’t, still. Knowing I am going to lose him feels like losing her again. “what you had, and what you lost…“
12 Comments
July 12th, 2009 at 1:37 am
Aww. :[
This "god" fellow can get bent as far as I'm concerned. Doesn't even deserve capitalization. I only had two of my grandparents growing up as my dad's parents were lost to murder and suicide by the time he was 19. Then I lost my mom's parents when they were 52 and 55. I mean, fuck. My parents are 51 now. My dad's side of the family is almost entirely nonexistent and a good portion of my mom's is dead now. I went through numerous funerals by the time I was 13. So many that I just stopped going to them and told "god" to go fuck himself.
I just had a beer (drinking at 2:20am for the win) but I'll go get another and drink it in your honor. :]
July 12th, 2009 at 9:56 am
I’m very sorry to hear that you will soon be experiencing loss. It’s very hard to lose those we love, especially when they are a tie back to others we have lost. I, too, have struggled with how God can let wonderful people die. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s just the way of the world and that death, unfortunately, doesn’t take only those who may deserve it. I wish I could say something more comforting but I detest cliches.
July 12th, 2009 at 11:10 am
God has a plan for all of us. It was well thought out before we were even conceived. We wonder why or question what the heck but if you are a believer then you know it is part of his great plan. It gives me sadness that Uncle Mike will be gone, but I’m happy that he will be going to a better place where he will have no pain and he will be with your Aunt Pam. Someday we (as believers) will join them and we won’t need our eyebrows painted on and we can wear our red silk pajamas 24 hours a day.
July 12th, 2009 at 12:14 pm
hey, wish i had known last night so i could have attempted to be nice and comforting. cancer blows big time. in the past 5 years there have been numerous losses in my life due to the big C. i’m really sorry about your uncle – and hope he is not suffering.
July 12th, 2009 at 3:07 pm
I am so sorry to hear that your family is dealing with this.
VCB and I will be thinking of you.
July 12th, 2009 at 4:20 pm
I’m so sorry to hear about your uncle. Thanks for sharing your feelings with us. Though it’s hard, it makes us realize that we are all connected, Internet barrier or not. I send Internet hugs.
July 12th, 2009 at 4:32 pm
I’m very sorry to hear this. We’ve never met, but I love your blog and posts on twitter. My sympathies during this trying time. It will get better in the end, once we all realize that life is meant to be enjoyed here and now and lived at 110%.
Now, I kind of want to go back to Twitter and find out what you ended up laughing about. Doubt it will cheer me up, but you never know.
Cheers, and keep up the great posts. Your fan, @drycounty.
July 12th, 2009 at 6:59 pm
Oh no! That’s so sad. Sorry to hear that.
July 13th, 2009 at 5:32 am
Not trying to be crass, but..
the mother of my brother’s daughters had 15 siblings. My brother’s advice to his daughters is “marry orphans”.
Too many can be worse than too few especially when all the sibs and their survivors hire lawyers so’s they can get their “fair share” of Big Daddy’s worldly goods.
Sorry about your news, though.
July 13th, 2009 at 9:07 am
I’m not good at the whole comforting thing. I usually just put my arm around someone who is feeling down and whisper something ridiculous in their ear.
So, [arm around you & whispering] did you see monkeys riding dogs are gonna be at the Richmond fair? They’re wearing little cowboy hats. Monkeys. Riding. Dogs. We’re sooo there. Cheer up, Charlie. You’ll find that golden ticket.
July 13th, 2009 at 10:03 am
When I was 6 – I cried in my gradma’s funeral because everybody else did
When I was 14 – I could not cry even when I tried to. The worst was that I started to think how embarrasing it would be when I laughed – and then the hardest thing was not to laugh.
I drowned by sorrow with a bottle of vodka – that always works
July 13th, 2009 at 12:12 pm
You know, it really sucks to experience death. Not only is it hard to figure out what to do without someone, it’s equally hard when you think that you should be over the death of someone and aren’t. Your uncle’s impending death reminds you that you lost your aunt, and it is amazing that you can cry for her loss and the loss of your uncle. There is a quote by Washington Irving that I like and maybe you will too:
“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief…and unspeakable love.”
It’s okay to not get over it. It’s okay to have an aunt Pam shaped hole in your heart that nobody else can fill. Why would you want them to anyway? She sounds kick-ass.
Anyway, I’m sorry that your uncle isn’t doing well, and I’m sorry that it hurts.
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