Funeral Shoes
Note: Before reading this, there are some things I need you to understand and not take out of context. I am not spreading shame over the human condition nor spitting venom at the way life dictates our personal paths. Time does what it does, and some of what results can feel cruel and unfair. Loneliness is a very real condition that shapes the surrounding world into a frightening illusion rife with delusion. To a person desperately searching for a place to rest his or her soul and someone to comfort it, failure to find the means can reap tragic ends. Despite the very best of intentions and all the love in the world, some are seeking an elusive purpose and sense of peace that another person can't provide - the ongoing battle within sees to that. I've very recently had the displeasure of seeing this play out in a full-color, real-life embodiment that hit home through blood and soul. The sting is fresh, and the thoughts and emotions are pure.
If you are one to whom this applies, keep in mind that you are loved. Even if you find yourself drifting through your own existence as the last person standing on your own deserted island, know that you are not. Your absence will most certainly alter the paths of the caring souls who remain to grapple with the loss. Some will move forward with inspiration; others will be forever in search of answers they hope will spare them a lifetime of feeling broken with eternal regret. No matter the direction, pain will be the common denominator.
This is dedicated to the lasting memory of everyone who ultimately couldn't feel loved, understood, and connected. This is dedicated to the Earthly desperation of anyone who currently needs to.
I will keep writing and fighting, the way I promised I would a few short weeks and a hundred long years ago.
Until we meet again, young man ... I hope the faces no longer look ugly.
"You're going to wear that?"
This is the question, saturated in cynicism with a side of borderline dismay, that my dad would toss my way whenever we needed to go somewhere that required shirts with sleeves and shoes with tied laces.
Most often, in true "Rebel Without a Clue" fashion, my go-to choice of attire fell humorously short of those expectations.
I wasn't a disrespectful young lad by any means; just a teenage rockstar-in-training who felt far more comfortable in sleeveless shirts, worn-out jeans, and worn-in shoes than the more acceptable standard befitting an occasion that asked for something dressier. Being the way I was - and still am - dress clothes made me feel so stiff and out of place, like trying to put chrome rims on a rusty Pinto.
Sure, you can do that. But why would you? And why am I feeling so dangerously close to getting off track here? You're always distracting me, but I still love and appreciate the fact that you're here. Never forget that you are amazing.
Cars, scars, and cheap cigars ... it all relates in the realm of the real.
Don't you think?
So there I would stand, looking like I had just meticulously studied a chapter from the rockstar handbook on how to adequately prepare for a photo session. The problem was, of course, I was not going to a photo session, and my dad did not feel it was appropriate to take a wannabe member of Motley Crue to a wedding, a funeral, family Christmas, Easter, or whatever event we were getting ready to attend.
I recall so vividly the irrational level of offense I would take to his critique. Didn't he know how important it was for me to look the part in order to become the part? Didn't he know how completely uncomfortable dress clothes made me feel, similar to battery acid melting my skin?
Didn't he know that you couldn't slap chrome spinners on a rusty Pinto?
To shorten up what could become a long story with ungraceful ease, he did not. This would always end with me begrudgingly retreating back into my bedroom to dig out my one set of "presentable" threads I wore each time the rock attire wasn't going to cut it.
And my funeral shoes - usually dulled by a thin layer of dust collected since the last time untied hightops would not fit the bill.
While I have outgrown many pairs of slacks, dress shirts, sweaters, and shiny shoes since then, I have never outgrown that gnawing sense of unease whenever I need to appear a touch classier than the true wash-n-wear character that I am. And, apparently, I have not forgotten how much angst that caused my dad once upon a time.
Looking back as I write this, I would welcome his critical review of my misguided fashion sense again.
I would welcome a lot of things that have been swept under time's thick, stifling rug.
These memories hit hard when I found myself preparing for his funeral, as did the thoughts that would soon slice through the haze of the entire experience like a swift razor drag. Of all the emotions swirling throughout my being when he passed to the other side, perhaps the most unexpected was the panic I felt at having no clothes to wear that he would deem acceptable for such an occasion. Autopilot mode got me out to take care of this, hastily and halfheartedly selecting items off of hangers and shelves with little regard for what I was actually buying.
I tried nothing on ... I didn't have it in me. All I knew is everything was black, and that was good enough for me. Dad would be fine with it as well. So on the morning of the funeral, I rolled out of my half-sleep and into my stiff new clothes.
And I dusted off my funeral shoes.
Much like his showing, my dad's funeral brought out a surprising number of people who wanted to pay their final respects to him for touching their lives at some point or another. Taking into consideration that this happened right in the thick of the initial COVID wave - where we were all rigorously programmed to fear one another like Black Death - I remember thinking how nice it was for so many people to show up and share stories of my dad through masks and tears.
I also recall wishing he was able to see just how many people cared enough to do so. The final two years of his life were marred by dreadful illness and growing isolation that separated him from nearly everything before finally succumbing to his condition.
When he first became homebound, it meant no more beloved basketball and baseball games; no more card games with family and friends that he enjoyed so much; no more bus trips to casinos or vacations with my mom that they always so looked forward to. And as his physical state worsened, his mental state followed suit to the point where he no longer wanted to be seen by anyone outside of the immediate family.
It was excruciatingly difficult to watch someone who was once so proud with such a full life have it all stripped away to the point of wanting each day to be his last. That was not my dad, and the mental challenges of witnessing such an unusual transformation were emotionally crippling and unprecedented.
He had us - my mom, sister, brother, and me - there in the end to see him through to the other side, which I know he appreciated through the suffering. But I also know he spent many agonizing days and nights increasingly alone in his own head as his circle became smaller and his life grew shorter with each labored breath.
I think of how nice it would have been for him to know how many people really cared in those awful moments; how nice it would have been for him to see what an impact he had on the many people who showed up to offer their condolences in the aftermath.
Maybe he did in an afterlife sort of way. Maybe he was there, no longer feeling isolated.
We often concoct these theories, don't we? It tends to help us carry on and find some sense of needed peace as those who remain.
This thought process was once again weighing heavily on my heart at my nephew's memorial service a couple of weeks ago. An auto accident cut short a life of 32 years spent in search of a safe place to rest a wandering mind and tired soul.
He had spoken with me at length about two weeks prior, sharing his feelings of loneliness and the isolation that plagued him as a result. A brilliant mind can make a person question the world a little too much to the point of losing faith, hope and trust in it. This is where he was at, desperately trying to feel connected to someone or something that could help quell the fear of what life had in store.
Two weeks later, that fear was gone - and I dusted off my funeral shoes.
Much like my dad's showing, a surprising number of people showed up for my nephew's memorial. Be they friends of his, family members, past acquaintences or those who came out in support of the family, the outpouring of love and concern felt like a warm blanket on a very cold, strange day. So many showed up, in fact, that the funeral parlor had to open up an additional section to make room for them all.
It was nice to see through the haze, and even nicer to feel in the daze. I know he would have felt good to know the impact he had on so many throughout his short life.
Could it have prevented the tragedy? I won't go into any further detail about that. It's not my place, and I don't want to be reckless about it.
What I can say is that I took away this sense of wishing that, out of all those people who cared, he could have been aware of at least one of them on the day his life ended. I really don't think he was, and that makes me sad, because I suspect it may have altered the course of that day.
At least on that day.
It also makes me sad because I relate to it so much ... I think many others do as well.
Incidents like these bring people together, which is a tremendous support for those who are grieving. The love and kindness is exactly what is needed in such a captivating time of loss, and many comment on how unfortunate it is that we only see each other during times of such tragedy.
But why is this? Why are we not able to reassure those who need to feel loved while they are still around to experience it? Why does it sometimes take something so painful to let each other know we are here and truly care? Is it just some sort of grand order that is supposed to make us more appreciative of those still in our lives when we lose another one?
Is this the way life really rolls? I gather that it is, as I'm guilty of it as well. Life demands certain things of us all, and time takes time. It's so easy to get caught up in it to the point of losing touch with those closest to us, and that becomes so apparent when we're brought together to mourn another loss.
As the days fade along with the warmth of condolences, the true grieving begins. And that can be a terribly lonely ride.
Selfish as it may sound, I sometimes wish to relive my dad's final days. As sick as he was, it was the first time we really connected on a level that I miss as much as I miss him. And I miss the warmth of feeling all the love that was shared in his passing.
I wish I could relive the connection I shared with my nephew in the weeks leading up to the end. Again, I feel that is somewhat selfish because he was in such emotional pain, and I'm not sure if I could have done more or said anything that would have altered the course of fate.
But I would like to try.
I miss the caring and the connections I felt at his memorial service. I wouldn't want to do it all again, though ... not like that. Rather, I would like to have them both back - my dad and my nephew - to be a part of something so special without a tragedy as the cause.
We celebrate the memories of our loved ones' lives when they are passed on to the next. Why can't we do the same while there is still a life to celebrate in the now? Because that's just how it is.
In a strange sort of way, I suppose it's somewhat similar to the reason I dust off those funeral shoes - something I've been doing more frequently these days. Life makes you forget about what's important until death brings a stark reminder in the way only death can.
And then we're back to the grind. Around it goes.
The best we can do is try our best to be mindful of what we have, who we have, and the fact that this is all a temporary trip. While it may not change the the big picture, letting someone know they are thought about and cared for could make a difference in how beautifully the colors are viewed in the moment.
Letting someone know they are not alone could mean everything to them, even if they struggle to feel it. Especially if they struggle to feel it.
Letting someone know they are loved while you still can may also bolster a sense of love within yourself. You might be surprised by how good and rewarding that can feel.
And you don't even need funeral shoes to do it.
