We can try to prepare ourselves for the inevitable. We look down upon the faces of the sick, of the dying, of those who are now not even given a puncher's chance to make it and we tell ourselves we will be ready.
Ask anyone who has lost a parent or a sibling or a partner or a friend in a long drawn out goodbye how they felt when it was all over. They'll tell you.
Even the least deluded of people cannot fully prepare themselves for the inevitable.
11:45 yesterday morning, this theory was put to test.
We all knew Mr. G's time was running out. Hell, he knew it. Last Christmas, he was full of life and joy as his loved ones spent the holiday with him. Everyone in that room knew it was his last Christmas. It's just a matter of time, we said. Of course, that's true with all of us.
When I receieved the phone call yesterday, my heart skipped a beat. There was a lump in my throat. Really, I couldn't even talk. It wasn't surprising he finally let go. Despite failing health and his lack of will to go on, it still smacked all of us like a ton of bricks in the face.
The inevitable became reality and it felt like it came out of nowhere.
It seems silly to mourn a man in his nineties; a man I barely knew. A part of me thinks mourining is just a self-serving word for honoring. Mourning implies how I am affected; how all of us left behind feel. Honoring makes it about him and the life well lived he led.
So, despite this selfish need to mourn a man I barely knew yet impacted me in ways I can never fully articulate, I just want to honor Mr. G.
The older a man gets, the more he begins to sound like Morgan Freeman reading a mad lib. He may not be making much sense but damn, is he calming. Thats how it was during a conversation with Mr. G.
He was a kind man of exceptional character. He fought in World War II and was married close to sixty years before his wife had to leave. From the day she left this temporary world, he spoke of her in present tense. His love for her only grew each day and the mere mention of her name would invigorate him. He couldn't wait to see her again yet didn't want to give up on living because that would have disappointed her.
Mr. G would have made her proud despite these last few months.
Last week, I was fortunate enough to see him. His skin resembled an old elephant; grayish blue and leathery. His urine was the color of Guiness. He could barely speak. He just laid in bed as each body organ, one by one, started to shut down.
The last image of him I will forever hold dear was the moment he feebly reached out his hand to his son whom sat by his side over the last few weeks. His son grabbed his hand and they prayed together.
And a single tear rolled down Mr. G's cheek.
When someone leaves us, the last thing we want is to be immersed into a sea of cliches. He's in a better place. Maybe. At least, his suffering is gone. Obviously. Now, he can be with his wife for eternity. Specualtion.
I'm sorry for your loss. Our loss.
The world lost a great man. One of the last from the greatest generation this country has ever known.
It was an honor to know him.
Farewell, Sir.
