Strange how a death can affect you. My cousin’s ex-husband passed away last Saturday and the news of his passing made me both sad for him and melancholy for the family.
I haven’t been that close to him in the last ten years or so due to a family and church dispute that left feelings scorched in a hundred different directions. I haven’t been close to much of that side of the family in as many years. We still see each other occasionally and we are all “friends” on Facebook but there are no more dinners together, or evenings of cards and fun.
Here is the sad part. I heard about the death in a Facebook message sent to me by mother. I saw no Facebook posts from his children, none from his ex-wife (not surprising), none from his mother-in-law either. I suppose I will gauge the extent of the emotions at the funeral this coming weekend, but it seems to me that there aren’t many people that are that tore up about this man’s death. That saddens me.
It saddens me because even though the last ten years were bad years, there were thirty or so good years before that. We had our family Thanksgiving at his house. Our family watched big sporting events there. We would stay up late and play hide and seek in their basement. We would go camping and fishing together. There were thirty good years that were spoiled by ten bad ones.
I don’t know what type of man passed away last Saturday. I don’t know if he lay on his bed full of thoughts of hate or delusions of persecution. All I know is that whatever was left of the man I once knew, died for certain last Saturday. The man who laughed, joked, and shot hoops with us. The man who often sprang for pizza so my poor family could go out to eat. The man who opened his home to us weekend after weekend.
I still remember the hurtful things that happened, but its not fair to only remember that. I remember the good things that happened too, and I lament that we couldn’t have any more of those in the last ten years.