Trying to get life right

I don’t know about anyone else, but sometimes it seems like a lot of precious time passes quickly between the years and the place that we once knew as “the long ago” can instantly feel brand new. Losing a close friend is heartbreaking. My parents are 82 and I’ve watched their circle of friends get smaller over the past several years. It’s now so small that it isn’t a circle anymore; just a few people who make a short line and all you can see is the aging on their bodies and the pain in their eyes as they continue to say goodbye to their friends one by one. But behind their eyes is also camera with a finite amount of film which stores the memories of a life well lived with friends and family well loved. My parent’s camera is still taking pictures and still brings smiles to their faces and joy into their hearts. But on days like today it is hard to remember that.

Each day I thank God for the people I have in my life, but far too often I fail at divulging that information. There’s only 365 days in a year, but when you string a few together, one or two, or twenty, the space between them expands at an astounding rate until one day we wake up and wonder where they went. It’s something we all share and nobody is immune. Losing friends and family is a fact of life and I am always sad when someone I know passes away, but there’s a different kind of sadness when it is someone in my generation, someone who has not yet gotten old by traditional standards. But sometimes there are those who disappear from your life by not knowing how to let go of a grudge or by falling out of love with you. And they hurt just as much; trust me on this one.

Earlier this morning I reached into the big box where I have hundreds of photos and so many memories from the years came flooding back. There were faces I still knew, many I miss, some I recognized but can no longer recall the name attached to it but some are still as recognizable as they day I met them.

Even my dogs know something does not feel right. Today they slept in, which never happens. They won’t eat and three hours ago they should have been in my office, nudging me with their nose doing their happy dance as I put on my shoes preparing to take them for their morning walk. Greyhounds are dogs of speed, majesty, beauty, habit and routine and, as evidenced today, they are also creatures of empathy.

Keith was only 47 when he died. He called me this past Wednesday and we made plans to have lunch together on Friday, which we did. We talked about our ex-wives and politics (but did not dwell on either very long) We talked about drumming, campers, his new red truck, the cabin up in the UP, his girlfriend Christy, his relationship with God, his new drums, his beautiful son Aaron, his parents and my new book, where only moments before I had written the words “To Keith, with love and respect.” I meant it.

In the middle of the conversation he put down his fork and told me how sorry he was for the voids, disappearing acts, unreturned phone calls and time we’ve missed being an active part of each other’s lives. I tried to stop him and said “If you need to say that for your sake that’s fine, but you don’t need to say it for mine.” He knew I was telling the truth.

When he was done I put my fork down, looked him in the eye and said “Look, I love you brother, I’m always going to love you and if I don’t see you for another month, year or ten years, it’s ok because I know that our bond is constant. It will always remain and our friendship is always going to pick up right where it left off with no hard feelings and no games, only the truth. It’s what friends do. It is what friendship is. Everyone is a fuck up in life with something and the past doesn’t matter. “

He thanked me and I know he understood.

Keith’s parents gave me their approval to let people know about his passing here on facebook last evening, probably because they understood that everyone who knew him, or remembered him or loved him needed a prayer or a hug or something right now to wrap around this huge, warm blooded void.

Last night when I got home I had the painful task of calling a mutual friend Keith and I have; a woman named Joanne. Keith and I and our friend Carol have always called her our second mother, or “Mom Mitchell.” Keith and I became inseparable when her son Scott died 27 years ago. It was a different world back then, a different era, a different time with no Youtube, cell phones or 24-hour news but it was still a time when 19 year old boys were not supposed to tragically die in automobile accidents like our mutual best friend Scott did in May of 1985.

Scott’s death one year out of high school affected the whole student body at Dondero in Royal Oak. It brought Keith and I closer. It brought our circle of friends closer as we cried and grieved together and tried to make sense of why a 19 year old kid was behind the wheel of a car and was tragically killed the way Scott was. It broke his mother Joanne’s heart and his brother, Lee’s heart; permanently altering their lives only a year or two after Lee lost his father and Joanne had lost her husband.

After a while the mass of friends brought together by this loss became a smaller group as people went their separate ways. More time passed and the “group of many” became a handful. Then the “handful” became a few until the few only remained connected through facebook or life events, like weddings, births and funerals. And now here I am, with a huge void, a regret-filled ache, a big black hole in my heart which at the moment does nothing except illuminate what a flicker our existence is.

When Keith and I caught up with each other on Friday something happened exactly like I said it would. The friendship picked up exactly where it left off, so did the love. There were smiles and laughter, but today Keith’s loss is a pain I share with many of you and I thank everyone for their comments and private messages. There is a different pain I now share with his brother and sister and girlfriend, but also one I will be permanently unable to share or understand as it occupies his son’s heart and his parent’s hearts.

Yet at this same time, a few hours ago I also felt some of the pain lifting as I watch my neighbor and her young boy walk by my house on their way to the neighborhood church, where God can be found bringing peace and happiness and joy and where our loving God also weeps for this loss yet radiates an unexplainable comfort and a perpetual promise--- and does so without question; generously and freely because of a Savior who already paid the debt. Today I am given a new day to wake and try to make things right again in my world and I pray I won’t fail.

 www.BlueBoundaryBooks.com

Life, love and loss

This was hard to write but like so much I’ve had to write the last several days I had to write it. Unfortunately death separates some of us from God. But during this week I feel that I have moved a few hundred steps closer to him.

When C and G Newspapers writer Robert Guttersohn’s piece about my book appeared in the paper today he wrote “Each of Wurdock’s stories confronts death in one way or another using the UP as a backdrop” I read it again and I panicked and thought; oh crap. . .that can’t be good for book sales.

But after these last few days on planet earth and the sad events previously mentioned here, it reaffirmed what I’ve known all along, which is that God has much heavier things going on than to be concerned with sales figures or my own selfishness.

In fact, Guttersohn interviewed me last week, before I got the last phone call from Keith and before the last lunch we had on Friday. All through the interview I mentioned to him that the underlying theme of most of what I’ve ever written was done is based upon the universal premise that every day life is but the flicker which serves only to illuminates our brief existence.

After completing the book "Bending Water and Stories Nearby" earlier this year, I did recognize how death and loss was part of this anthology. Still, when I was just out walking my dogs this evening I thought Robert was exaggerating the point in his article, so when I got home I grabbed a copy of the book and realized how right he was about it . . .and about me.

In my book twelve of the fourteen stories have obvious or less subtle references to someone dead, dying , wanting to die or trying not to die. Of the two remaining stories, one of them talks about a dying relationship (which can often feel like death) and one is about a dog who was left for dead, but became the sole reason for his owner wanting to live.

If I sound obsessed with dying it’s only because I am consumed with living.

I’m not sure what a shrink would think of that, nor do I have an interest in finding out just now. I am no stranger to death, from events in my youth and those as fresh as attending Keith’s funeral yesterday.

Keith’s funeral was held in a room full of love, surrounded by beautiful and fragrant flowers where beautiful music was sung and played and many people who may not have been prepared for what was to come even though we’ve been preparing for a few days.

The loveable and amiable Rev Richard Stafford (Keith’s brother) presided over the service. Let me rephrase that. . .Keith’s brother Rick wrote and led a beautiful celebration of Keith’s life. I have never been at a place so sad where so much love was radiated and the truth spoken about such a special love between brother and brother. The words also provided comfort in conveying the truth about what the gospel of Jesus holds and what it brings to those who believe it or live it.

At times Rick was redundant when he spoke to Keith’s son Aaron: “He loved you so much.”
But looking everyone in the eye and expressing what Rick did, especially to Keith’s son, were words of truth that needed to be said over and over and they will be remembered.

The service was as heartbreaking and poignant and it was funny and memorable; more than any service I’ve ever been a part of in my life. When I die, I hope mine is the same and that I will be remembered in the same way.

I am honored to have been a part of Keith’s life and this occasion and have written extensively about it here for the last few days. I am also honored to be a part of your life. It has been so great reconnecting with so many people during this time on facebook. Facebook? Interacting with people on a computer? What is that about (everyone over 35 has said, always)

I always thought death was hard to talk about. Maybe that is the reason that subconsciously I’ve included it so much in most everything I’ve written, not just this week, but for a long time.

It’s part of the human condition recognized as much if not more than birth because in our blurry world it is easy to miss an announcement of someone being born while our tendency is to let bad new travel fast. Meanwhile, in the life “in-between” too many of us plot ways to avoid what’s important and allow ourselves to live in avoidance or in a world of watered down emotions justified by posting memes we hope will reach the important people in our lives. What crap; and I am just as guilty of that as you are, so let's change it.

Family, friendships and marriages are things we need to work at every day if we have any expectation of success and happiness with them. I don’t know many people with an unhappy marriage who are happy in life anymore than I know unhappy people who are pleased with their success, wealth can accomplishment but who have no soul. It doesn’t work that way. . .see Life 101 for reference.

Pain and loss casts a long and dark shadow, but remember that we live most of our lives in the light.

http://www.candgnews.com/news/author-finds-creative-spark-writing-about