Where Do We Go?

I sat on this one for a long time after the funeral but the time is right to let this one go.

I drove to Washington DC yesterday for a funeral. I’ve motivated a vehicle north with my parents in tow from Charlotte many times in the past, but nothing felt like this one. There were conversations about life, jokes cracked at the expense of anyone, but an unspoken “it’s going to be alright” came from all our eyes as we spoke. That was what filled the silences between tears. 

Two weeks ago, I was firmly placed on the couch settling into a weed-induced coma when my phone rang. I was used to my father calling me late in the evening, he knew it was the only time he could catch me most days. But my dad didn’t have his normal Monday evening tone for me today. The call was quick; my cousin Monique had passed. It was a half-expected call, Mo had fought the good fight against lupus for many years, but had slowly started to lose her battles. 

But that wasn’t the end. I had been waiting for the funeral accommodations to come about when that Wednesday evening I received another off-toned call from my father, my aunt (my just-deceased cousin’s mother) had passed. I dropped my phone and cried. I didn’t really know what else to do. 

I stewed on it all for a few days, while the funerals were planned. My Aunt had been a part of our family for twice as long as I’ve been alive. She was my Uncle’s first and only girlfriend, his only wife, and the mother of his two children. Now all of that has come to a close, my uncle Pete and his son Little Pete left adrift in a sea of uncertainty and sorrow. It took three days for everything they knew for so long to come apart. 

The part that kills me the most isn’t even the fact that my family and I won’t see either of them again; it’s my own mother. I watched Little Pete cry incessantly over the caskets before him the entire funeral and saw the one thing I wasn’t ready for: my own mother’s mortality. The sorrow the Petes young and old exhibited all day today is a very real fear for me and my own father. 

See, my Aunt Deborah was diagnosed with breast cancer within months of my mother. It’s been well over a decade and now only my mother remains. It’s a very hard thing for all three of us to think about.

I’ve watched my mother go to chemotherapy weekly for the last couple of years, and even though I know she’s alright, I can’t shake the feeling things could change suddenly. I know my own journey has had rapid changes and it scares the shit out of me. I often find my anxious self planning out what to do with what's left of my life after my mother is gone. I’d have to be strong for my father’s sake.

My dad on the other hand won’t talk about it but he knows what both of us are up against. On top of everything else he’s turning 80 and has himself to worry about. Mortality is something my dad is at peace with because he’s managed to see so much in his life being a late member of the Silent Generation. I’ve tried to pry what he’s thinking out of his head but that is no use. I know he feels some type of way about the day his wife may not be here.

I reflect on all of this while I watch my cousin and his father lose it all in front of me. In a span of days their whole way of life changed. I don’t know what the future holds for the two of them but for some reason I feel like it can’t be good. I feel like me and my dad have our heads wrapped a little tighter and could navigate better. But even then who knows where emotions could lead otherwise rational thought. I mean, where does one go from here in the first place? I hope I don’t have to answer that question anytime soon.