Life and death and Tuesdays

It was a cold Thursday afternoon when I got a text from my best friend letting me know her grandpa had passed away. He had been ill but ultimately fell victim to COVID-19. Alone in a hospital for 7 days, he took his final breaths as his family sat, scattered across the country, hopeless and praying they would get to see him one more time. He was old but the tragedy of having to die alone when you have a loving family who would give nothing more than to be by your side is heartbreaking.

That same Thursday my sister drove my mom to visit my grandmother. She was likely on her final days and we wanted my mom to get to see her mom as much as she could. My sweet grandma was 93 years old. She lived in a nursing home and ran her days based on when church, bingo and lunch were scheduled. She was a woman of very few words and had managed to surround herself with many loud counterparts throughout her life, but she outlived all of them. My mom, currently wheelchair bound and battling a terminal brain cancer, sat by her mother's side while she slept. She held her hand, attempted to talk to her, and simply shared space with the most important person in her life. Two days later, my other sister took her for another visit, the one that would be the last, and my mom was able to make peace with goodbye.

Fast forward and it's Tuesday. My grandmother passed Sunday evening and my best friend is in route for her grandpa's funeral. We are surrounded by death and toddlers. Small humans who require an immense amount of our attention and have a interesting perspective on death. My middle child likes to randomly remind me "Grandma Ruby died!" in between asking for milk and fruit snacks. It's a constant reminder that while we grieve and mourn the death of loved ones, life is determined to keep circling around us. Best to just lean in to the cyclone.

Anyway, back to Tuesday. I'm standing in a local flower shop, quietly minding my business while the owner tends to eager customers. I don't even look up to notice it's the family of my sweet best friend until I've been there for 8 minutes. Now I feel like a jerk. I smile and we hug and exchange condolences. Our sad eyes search each others faces for the right words. Ultimately there are questions to be answered that distract us and while she is beckoned to discuss the size of the table arrangements, I feign interest in scented candles. After they depart I notice the florist is flustered. Her phone has been ringing incessantly and she whisper yells into it when she has a moment, notifying whoever is on the other end that they better take care of what needs taken care of and please god bring her a sandwich.

I smile politely and let her know I'd like to order a small flower arrangement for my best friend and I'm sorry I didn't call ahead but I'd actually like it right now but I'm not in a rush so take your time and choose whatever flowers you have lying around but also make it beautiful because those people that just left? Yea it's for the same guy. That was her grandpa... I tend to justify things that don't need justification and will do basically anything to avoid making someone feel like I am rushing them. She starts telling me how hard it's been to keep up. Business is consistently slow because we're in a freaking pandemic but people die...usually unexpectedly and that requires plants and flowers and condolences and deliveries and all of them are sad but did you hear about the guy that died in the car crash?! Heartbreaking. Only 52. We continue to chat in between discussing specifics and since the flower guy got delayed today and the plant guy won't be here until tomorrow, I'm not sure what I'm paying for but I trust it will be sufficient.

I make one more stop to grab cookies and coffee to add to my care package and drive to my destination. My lunch break has now taken twice as long as normal but I break into my friend's brother's cabin and leave all the goodies along with a note that reminds her I love her and even though death is hard and sucky and sad, she's got this because she's a badass.

I go back to work because life keeps circling and manage to be relatively productive for the week before signing out to focus on family and alcohol consumption. The sad and beautiful thing about my family is that we can pick up a conversation like no time has passed when in reality it's been years but as we crack open one beer after another, we're always reminded that the fibers that thread between us are soaked in booze and wrapped in mental illness. We are pre-disposed for nearly everything, best just to check all the boxes at the doctor's office and then explain the uncle(s) and aunt(s) and grandparent(s) that have fought the battles before us. By the end of the second day, our livers are due for a detox, our eyes are puffy from all of the tears and our throats scratch just enough for us to remember the apologies we uttered. We've exchanged tips from therapists and dove into topics like politics, abortion, and fertility issues and it's only been 12 hours. It's time to tap out until the next wedding or funeral and I hope it's the former because all of those at a respectable age to die have been laid to rest.

Before I know it, it's Tuesday again and it's ordinary. This one is shrouded in more life than death and we've ignorantly forgotten the disruption the death has caused. We share photos and happy stories on Facebook to connect us with loved ones, though we've already forgotten each others kid's names again, and we re-hydrate while we go about the day to day. Inevitably, we'll get lost in our own little family units until something, either celebration or tragedy, forces our worlds to collide again.