My Convertible Life

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Loss

My nephew Andrew died last week.

That's not a sentence I ever expected to write.

When I was maybe 13, a boy whose family went to my church was killed in a freak bicycle accident. I think we was probably 10 years old or so. And I remember my father being so sad, even though we didn't know the boy very well.

At the time, I didn't fully appreciate what my dad told me: "When you're an adult, you expect that at some point your parents will die. And you know that there's a chance your spouse will pass before you do. But you never, ever expect to have to bury your child."

Andrew was 22 years old and in graduate school studying entomology -- an adult by most standards, but still his parents' child. My mind will not allow me to comprehend the heartbreak that is bringing them to their knees.

He was 9 years old when I married his uncle and became his aunt. We always lived in different states, so we mostly saw each other at weddings and biennial Thanksgivings. I'm sorry to say I didn't know him well.

But the news of his death -- so sudden, so unbelievable -- seems impossible to process. As a parent, I now understand what my father meant all those years ago. When any parent loses a child, all parents join in their grief.

So I've been reading the tiny, beautiful, honest and sometimes funny eulogies left by his friends on his Facebook page, getting to know bits and pieces of a life well-lived. I've been saying steady prayers for Andrew's parents, brother and grandparents, along with the rest of the family. And I've been squeezing my own children a little tighter, a little longer to remind myself of what a gift I have in them.

I think my sister-in-law, another of Andrew's aunts, probably said it best, so I'll leave you with her words shared on his page:
"Andrew touched the lives of so many people through his love, friendship, words and actions. You, in turn, have helped make the world a better place because of his influence on you. At the risk of sounding corny, go and do a good deed for someone. Take a hike or walk outside. Look at the roly polys and the ants. If you're so inclined, share a beer with a friend. Life is too short. Let someone know that they have made a difference in your life."

Amen.

4 comments:

  1. I am so very sorry for your family's loss.

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  2. Doing my what-seems-like-biannual favorite blogs catch-up, and this post really caught me. The perspective as a parent really is dramatically different in this situation, isn't it? It seems like your heart would be broken open and there would be a bottomless black chasm inside. I always wonder how we would get through something like this as a family, because grief hits everyone so differently. In any case, thanks--as usual--for sharing so openly. So sorry for Andrew's death.

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