IS YOUR BATTERY CHARGED?

Today, I went to the funeral of my neighbor. The priest shared with the congregation a theory. He explained that some people believe we enter this world as an empty battery. We spend our lives filling it up and when we are fully charged, we die. Others believe, he said, that we come into this world with our battery fully charged and when all our juice is gone, it's time for us to die.

I may be 46, but this was only the second funeral I'd attended and the first where I was actually friends with the deceased. (I know, I've managed to get away with it until now.) I am not the type to cry in public. At my kids' kinder and elementary graduations, and other emotional milestones, I am often one of the few dry eyes amongst a river of tears and soggy kleenex. Today, I thought, would be no different. But the minute I walked in and spotted Steve's handsome, youthful face smiling from the pile of wallet-sized photos the family had made for the guests, I knew I was wrong.

Steve's childhood friend and brother recalled details of the life he led which made the reality of why we were gathered all the more incomprehensible. Steve was loved by so many. He was one of those people who lived life to the fullest. As a child, he led the kids on his block, always inspiring and pushing them to make the most out of even the smallest, most boring moments. He remained that way as an adult. I had tried in the last week to make sense of his death. To wrap myself around and find comfort in intellectual reasoning. These stories weren't helping.

Why would someone so vibrant, so loved, give up? Leave his family to go on without him and create such hardship? His childhood friend said it best when he remarked that all those close to Steve knew that he loved them, knew that he loved life. He said that many, including himself, were struggling with feelings of anger and confusion. He suggested we all find some comfort in knowing that Steve, in the last few months, was no longer the Steve they knew. He was someone entirely different. The person they knew, the person they loved, who loved them, would never have done anything so selfish.

I think that's the only way I can truly digest this. To believe that Steve's brain was no longer his own. That he had been overtaken by a dark, corrupting force that was more powerful than he. Steve was a fighter. If he could have won this battle with his demons, we all must know, he would have.

In terms of the priest's analogy, it sounds like Steve was a member of the group that began life with their battery full. He just used up his juice faster than his loved ones would have liked. I, on the other hand, think I'm a member of the group that starts out empty and charges their battery up slowly over time. So, I'm going to pick up my kids from school and take them out for ice cream. I might even actually cook dinner. My battery needs some charging.

PUTTING THIS WEEK TO BED

This has been a strange week. We've had two deaths. The first - the suicide of our neighbor which I wrote about in my last post. The second - the loss of my daughter's beloved P.E. coach who died in a motorcycle accident night before last.

It's confounding, the process of grieving. Seeing the wife of my neighbor yesterday, I expected to find a shell of a woman, unable to dress, or groom herself. I pictured her with red eyes, red face and squeezing tear-stained tissues like a child's security blanket. Instead, my neighbor greeted me at the door. She was better dressed than I, her hair blown out and looking, well, great. She was busy, purposeful, composed. When we hugged, I expected tears and sorrow in tandem with my own, instead she whispered in my ear with indignation, "It's just not right, Fran. It's just not right." I was speechless. Of course, I understood why she was angry. We get angry with our husbands for not taking out the trash. Her husband left her with a real mess to clean up. Life for her will never be as she had planned, as they had planned. She was now the single mother of two fatherless children. His abandonment, his choice to check out, like it or not, is the legacy he has left for his children. And she will be cleaning up that untidiness for years to come.

I just didn't expect her anger to rise up so soon. It took me by surprise. But Elizabeth Kubler-Ross' well-known "5 Stages of Grief" is helping me to understand and hopefully to help. By her estimations, my friend will be hitting the depression stage of the cycle soon and knowing this I will make an extra effort to be there for her at that time, despite her current strength.

For those of us not family or close friends with the deceased, the stages of grief are no less puzzling. I wonder how I, and others, can so quickly transition from a state of utter shock and disbelief to acceptance. The first days after I heard the news, I could not walk or drive by their house without covertly glancing in their direction. The usual vibe of joy was replaced with an eerie, ghoulish tenor. But by the end of the week, it was as if Steve had been gone all along. The shock wore off and a new sense of normalcy developed in it's place. The loss of his presence had become part of the natural landscape. A given. A friend and I were discussing this today and we both thought perhaps it's an innate defense mechanism. A way for our brain and body to help us make it through the adjustment. I'd like to think that's right. I'd feel better about myself if it were true. Otherwise, what does that say about how we value our friends? Our lives? Are we that dispensable?

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In addition to my own dark ramblings, I've noticed this week that many fellow bloggers seem unsatisfied, forlorn, and even depressed. Maybe it's S.A.D., maybe it's a lunar cycle, whatever it is, it's still FUN FACT FRIDAY !!! (I will come up with a new name because I hate that one and I'm sure you do, too.) We need it now more than ever. So... I will share with you this funny with hopes that it garners a smile, maybe even a laugh, because I believe, laughter truly is the best medicine.

Next time your child picks his/her nose, forget the words, the threats, just show them this:





Have a great weekend! Have some fun!