Do Overs

I walked into my father’s office and started complaining that I had another wedding to attend the upcoming weekend. In grand fashion, I was dramatic, along with my youthful self-importance. My father just let me go on and on until I was finished. His reply surfaces more now than when I
was younger. With his blue Scandinavian eyes piercing me and a Vantage cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth, he very softly said, ” Be careful; someday, there will be more funerals than weddings.”

These last few years, the pandemic and my age have presented me with an abundance of friends and acquaintances who have passed. Everything seems to swirl in my head with the news of their leaving. It’s a different feeling, a feeling that I have a hard time putting my finger on. Maybe it’s
not a feeling but an obligation or need to continue and appreciate my own existence, along with memorializing the existence of the people that have touched me in mine.

It’s the shit that doesn’t really matter that gets in the way of appreciating it all. Chalk it up to being human or being busy with life. I’m undoubtedly guilty of those things, but when you accept that you will have no more interaction with another human in your life, the fragility and
importance suck the wind out of you.

I have a friend Patrick Enright, a friend, social worker, actor, comedian but most of all, a student of human behavior. Speaking at a mutual friend’s funeral years ago, he spoke of the inability to talk of death and the ease of speaking of sex in today’s world compared to the medieval times
when death was spoken and written about, and sex was taboo. Those words have stayed with me just like my father’s

I’m not trying to minimize or simplify the effect of the loss of a loved one. The feeling of having an empty pillow next to you or the tragic loss of a young person’s life is overwhelming. The daily struggle with grief and the battle to continue is all-encompassing. The grief process is different
for everyone. As it should be.

My brother Charles R. and I have talked about our demise for years. When I call him about the passing of someone we both know, he always ends the call with, “Love ya, we are not dead.” The thought of not hearing that someday sucks the air out of me, but I know that he would want me
to grieve but embrace that “I’m not dead.”

The ultimate common denominator should be a constant reminder that finding Joy in your existence is imperative, and the appreciation of the existence of others is just as important.

Allman Brothers, One Way Out

Dedicated to those that have touched my life and that have left. I’ll do my best to continue for all
of you.
.