When Do You Push Pause?

I watched three people die in two weeks’ time.

One died of cancer, the kind that was diagnosed recently and led to a quick decline. He was 73.

One was lost to opioid use disorder. He was 40 years old, the kind of death that surprises you.

One died of stage four cancer. She was 49 years old and had battled with her disease for seven years.

Many of you know that I have buried my mom, my dad, and one of our children, along with three of my four grandparents.

You want to know something that never gets stale or watered down?

The grief of losing someone.

It’s not like you get used to it or good at it or numb to it. It hits you, like a two by four, every time.

As I type, one of my dear friends -- she just lost her 73-year-old father – is standing at his visitation service, shaking hands and wiping away tears and sharing hugs with the people that came to honor him. His name was Patrick Joseph Connelly. I did not know Pat personally, but – strangely – I feel connected to his death because I love his daughter. He must’ve been a kick-ass man to raise such a radically cool woman.

In a month or so, my friend Anne will be honored in the form of a meal, a celebratory meal. That’s what she wanted. No pomp and circumstance. Anne was no-fluff, and she wants the honor of her life to match. I became friends with Anne once she had already received the diagnoses of stage 4 lung cancer, and I was in awe of how she chose to live and parent – as though she didn’t have cancer. I miss my friend. She was really, really, really cool.

And a childhood friend, Eric Knopf, lost his life last week. His sister, also a friend of mine from way back, is posting a bit about him every day and I am so filled with emotion; I want to know this man now. I last remember him as a gangly high school teen. If I’m being honest, I also am struck by his death, because my brother has narrowly escaped – more times than I probably even know – Eric’s reality. I don’t know how I would handle my brother’s death, but Eric’s makes me consider it.

There’s one thing I know about death… the act of mourning and celebrating a life (particularly in a collective nature) is one of the purest possibilities for reflection. I’ve never pushed pause on Life nearly as impactfully as I have when I’m grieving a person’s loss.

I’m pushing pause thrice this month.

I reflect. I wonder. I feel. I pay attention. I peek past the veil to the other side, the spiritual side, of life. I stop. I see people. I ask myself questions. I consider my own mortality. I light candles and listen to slow music and tear up a bit. I write.

May you as well.