Goodbyes

When I was growing up, I loved family reunions. I loved the food. I loved the singing. I loved crawling around in the barn and milking the cows and driving tractors. But most of all, I loved my cousins. There were six of us within about six years of each other and we couldn't wait to get into trouble together. When you are a kid, cousins are better than friends because even if you don't see each other all that often you are still buddies, and better than siblings, because you don't see each other all that often.

I am old now, and I still love my cousins. Today I went with my cousin Paige to see my cousin Ricky. He is 44 years old and I still call him Ricky--I may be the only one left on the earth that still does--but he never quite made it to Rick with me. Ricky and Paige and I got into a lot of trouble and had quite a lot of fun together as kids. We had some pretty monumental water fights, scared the daylights out of each other in the outhouse, broke a porch swing or two, played hide and seek in the cornfields, and took long walks in the Virgina woods. We sat together looking at stars in the middle of the night.

Ricky has ALS, Lou Gehrig's disease, and hasn't much longer to live. He is in hospice and can barely talk, but still has a smile that radiates love and mischief. We visited for a while, sharing stories about our kids and our memories, Ricky trying his hardest to convey his memories too. We laughed as we always do when we get together. We said goodby knowing what those words meant. We smiled our smiles of love and mischief.


After we parted we climbed back into the car and sat silent for a minute or two. Paige and I did. Elevator music was playing on Aunt Evelyn's car stereo, and Dad was on mom's cell phone trying to tell some old guy named Emmet that $300 was not a bad price for a running vehicle and he wouldn't take less. Mom and Evelyn were deciding where to go next and what shopping still needed to be done. Paige and I looked at each other with a little smile. I'm not sure if she was thinking the same thing I was, but I had one of those moments when realities slide out of their usually gentle, inconspicious path and just force you to notice. I wish that I had made a space for myself to appreciate the poignancy of that time with my cousin. He is moving out of this world and into another. He knows it and I think he is OK with that knowledge. He appreciates the richness of every last moment.

When you are living, life just keeps on going. Even when you need it to stop just for a moment in deference to those whose lives won't. I think that is why grieving is so difficult. Life moves us forward and we can't change that, even when we would like to. We are the ones that do the leaving.