Magical Moments

Life is not a series of magical moments, as I had once surmised.

On the day I got the call from my sister-in-law Kathy that Jeff had had a stroke, my first instinct was to laugh. Him having a stroke was nonsense. My family was invincible.

I lived a life filled with a series of magical moments. Until then.

Do you know my family?

Amazing. Wait, let me repeat: A-MAZ-ING! We're not perfect. Far from it, in fact. We're not always compassionate, even-keeled, level-headed. Not me. Not my brothers. Not my sister(s). None of us. Now.

Jeff was though, probably the most of all of us. He died. Did you know? And he wasn't a Saint. Far from it, but he was a good guy. Just like the rest of us. We thought with our hearts, not with our wallets. We thought with our humor, not with our intellect. We thought with our kindness, not with our pride.

We learned that from our parents. Magical Moments.

I miss the rest of my family since Jeff died, but also realize we're each, individually, dealing with the loss.

Here goes: I have hardly talked to my sister, my best frined, my go-to girl, the woman I talked to every day, Corinne. We talk for about six seconds once a week now. It's not her fault; it's not my fault. We're just protecting ourselves from the pain, I think.

I haven't talked to my brother John since the funeral. I've talked to my mother only three times.

I can't talk to them because my grief is so HUGE, and their grief is so HUGE that we can't fit together in the same sentence.

And oh, Dear God, how I miss Jeff! I keep wanting to call him to bounce this grief off of him. "Can you believe it? How are you coping? He was so great, such a void... What are we gonna do without him?"

Oh, it's bad.

Then I look at the sky, see his face, hear his voice, see his shrug and find nominal comfort.

It's not a series of magical moments, but there are some. He's helping me, but I need everyone else too.

I suppose some of my grief comes from missing how it used to be with all of us when things were merry and joyful, dysfunctional and whole. My eyes are a bit vacant, open and sad these days. I can't wait until we're all back together again.

50 years or so?