They say that everyone expresses grief
in their own way, and that there are stages that most people go
through.
When my mom died of cancer I didn't
cry. When my dad died in a car wreck I didn't cry. Oh, I teared up a
little but I didn't really break down and bawl. I loved them both and
I felt guilty that I couldn't show my grief like everyone else. It
wasn't a macho thing, I wanted to let loose and wail but I just
couldn't.
When our youngest son Rick died I
felt as though I'd had a part ripped from my body, but when I looked
down everything was still there. The pain was unbearable but I still
didn't cry. Then we lost Fred that same year, and despite more pain
and grief I remained mostly dry eyed.
The next summer I was at work doing
my job as a maintenance man. I came to work at 3am when the
restaurant was empty, cleaning and repairing broken equipment. I
always set the radio to come on at 5am when NPR began broadcasting. I
listened to the usual intro and then they played a melody that I
remembered from my youth; Happy trails to you, until we meet
again... Roy Rogers and Dale Evans used to sing that song at the
end of their old radio show, and somehow I just knew that Roy Rogers
had died.
Sure enough, in a few minutes the
announcer declared, “Last night the 'Singing Cowboy,' Roy Rogers
died peacefully at his ranch in Wyoming.”
I remembered going to the Saturday
matinee movies with my little brother John to watch Roy and Trigger
the wonder horse catch black hatted bad guys.
The tears started running down my
face and I had to sit down. I bawled for a half an hour. I knew I
wasn't crying for Roy, I guess it was just some kind of delayed
reaction. Grief had finally caught up with me.
I was in the middle of writing this
when our nephew Kelly called, and from his voice we knew that after a
long battle with cancer, John had died.
I wonder how long it will take to
catch me this time.
