Grief

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.