More of the Backlog? (15) in Book Eleven: Whatever Will Be Will Be 2024

Tuesday, May 21, 2024

Today has been a day of much. And a day of little.
I stayed up late as I knew I could set out on my quest later in the morning. This was, perhaps, best as there were terrible storms all night. Each time a thundercrack shook the house and shut off power, I could feel Nala next to me quake and tighten against me. I awoke and showered and set out for my journey at the proper time. Then the storms significantly intensified. The highway was as a great river in the air and all traffic slowed considerably. Even after the most dangerous of the weather had subsided; the after effects were not finished. Most of the fields I passed had flooded. Entire roads were closed and long detours required due to rivers and lakes consuming the roads entirely. By my count, I should have arrived at the Celebration for Life at 11. I was fortunate to arrive shortly before noon. Though, apparently, I arrived shortly after my brother as he was still outside speaking with one of the family members.

This death in our family… or “family”… or however is appropriate… is a strange one to process. I called the man Uncle until I was old enough to consider him a peer. But we were not related by blood. My childhood is filled with his presence. But truly, most of all, I was there for my father. I could tell throughout the event that this death hit him far harder than even the death of his parents. And perhaps that makes complete sense. We, somewhere in our hearts, understand that we will likely be required to survive and bear witness to our parents’ demise. It isn’t a pleasant thought, but the logical inevitability of it might provide some base level of comfort perhaps. This? This is different. My father has known this man since they were children. Friends before either of them had turned preteen and in each others’ lives forever after. Or that’s the idea. Not to sound over dramatic but as my father struggled to speak in front of a crowd for perhaps the first time in my life… the painful reality of what he was facing laid bare before me. We often suggest in our faith that we do not mourn the death of the deceased, for their pain is over. We mourn the loss in our lives that we will feel by their absence. And I considered it from my father’s perspective. Since he was a mere child, this man had been present in his days. Even if it wasn’t a physical presence, there was the knowledge that a simple phone call was all that was needed. After returning to his hometown in 1989, Dad and his best friend were always in the same area. So, they had grown up together. They had gone to college together. They had pledged the same fraternity together. Their only separation was the distance briefly while Dad started to build his career. And even that was short lived, as Dad returned in 89. Even if they had only met in ‘89, the pain of the loss of a constant presence for over 30 years would be understandable. But this is so much more. This is the loss of a constant presence that was around for more than six decades. I have faith in my father. In many things, I would not be so strong in my conviction of that statement. But in this, I have faith in my father. He is going to grieve. He is going to hurt. He is going to rely upon his faith to comfort him, and he is going to struggle with his faith in the times of deepest pain. I honestly can barely contemplate what it would even mean to have such a friendship, let alone what Dad is going through.

Sadly, I could not stay long. And my father, who is typically first to say “You should stay the night” was of the opposite encouragement this time. There had been a break in the weather. But it was coming back. I was told, rightly so, that I had to leave at that EXACT moment. So I did. He was right, of course. As I traveled back to my home area, the radio would interrupt every twenty minutes to give me the latest EMERGENCY ALERT that a dangerous thunderstorm and flood and tornado had just been spotted causing devastation in the county I had just left. Truly, I was very much outrunning the event or- from a different perspective- my arrival heralded the event and my departure made it so.

I arrived home just in time. I grabbed Nala and headed to the basement. Again, a series of intermittent but frequent GIANT CRACKS, then power outage, then Nala trembling… quaking… downright seizing with fear and allowing me to hold her, pet her, and comfort her. The dog, even in her 5 years of age, is not a cuddly dog and is far more likely to want to run and play than sit for cuddles. So… her need for cuddles in such an event suggests everything you need to know.

And that was Tuesday. Well… at least for the purposes of this space, anyway.