When Things Get Tough....

I didn't mean to fall off the playing field--as if anyone noticed, but hey, I still like my blog--but sometimes life doesn't just throw curve balls, it throws the whole equipment bag.

My day is usually pretty busy. I'm rarely at a loss for something to do. In fact, I'm normally so far behind, I'm last week. But every now and then, the change in routine is so heartbreaking, the disruption of our regular schedule is nothing.

Last Friday, the father of one of my oldest son's friends, died. He was young. Talented. A photographer who has done family portraits for me. A musician my sons admired and played with. A husband of a beautiful sweet woman whose cancer has come back for the third time. A father to three wonderful children, one of whom, I love like my own son.

Down South, we still cook and clean for the family, fetch, tote and keep a constant stream of iced tea in red plastic cups flowing. I'm sure other parts of the country do this as well, I just happen to know about Southern Traditions.

The wife is originally from New York and her brother came down immediately after the tragic news. Even though we were all strangers to him, he hugged us, consoled us and allowed us to console him. I loved his accent. He never mentioned mine, which I thought was nice. He could have pointed out that the gaggle of Southern females who descended on his sister's house sounded like Steele Magnolias with delusions of commanding armies and principalities. While we pointed to where the vacuum was located, where the broom was and what needed to be swept, where the trash bags were and where to store food brought, he sat with his sister, his arm around her shoulders, and smiled with gratitude at us. What a sweet man. I was so glad he was there to hold his sister up until she could get her balance.

Death is always hard, expected or not. All families have trials and tribulations of Biblical proportions, but I couldn't help feeling that a woman who has survived breast cancer TWICE and was beating it back again did not deserve this additional blow. And the children, all teenage to early twenties, were way too young to lose their dad. I know it happens. I know younger children lose a parent, and far too often, a child will lose both parents. It's still not fair. It's still heartbreaking. I still hate it.

Even when life seems as equitable as a carnival game, there's still good to be found. People rallied to take care of the family. A priest comforted them during the wee hours of Saturday morning. Friends of the children called and came by to offer support. I saw kids I've known since they were born, big hulking males, put their arms around their friend and cry with him. They found things to smile and laugh about...before crying again. I know it was hard on the friends to do this. My son and the son of another good friend were physically ill thinking about having to face up to this. But they did it. It's never easy. What do you say? How do you act? They let their hearts lead them. That's all anyone can do.

The funeral was Tuesday at our downtown Catholic Church. Stained-glass windows, warm wood, sea-foam greens and serene statues have watched over this town for well over a hundred years. Our first Catholic Church. I don't know how many people it officially holds, but on this day, its walls couldn't hold the grief of this town. Every pew was filled. People lined the aisles, filled the narthex and overflowed out onto the sidewalk. Hundreds never got into the church, nor could they hear the service, but they stood under the warm spring sun with heads bowed for an hour while the funeral mass took place. When the family decided to use the chapel, I don't think they ever thought for a second so many people would share their grief. I hope they found some comfort in this. I know I did.

So, let's remember dads today. We'll honor moms too, but for today, let's remember the dads who have already gone and the ones still with us. Let's remember the good dads and yes, even the rotten ones. Like the old saying says: Everyone is a teacher. If you can't serve as a good example, then you'll just have to serve as a terrible warning. Let's embrace what we've learned from both sorts and put into practice being good examples.

I'll remember my friend and remember the good dad.