Caught

I got caught. And it was… kinda beautiful.

Grief is interesting. It’s been almost 4 years since my beloved wife of 30 years and the mother of my 6 kids Shelly, passed away.

I feel like I’ve experienced all 6 stages of grief… plus more. A LOT more.

And I’ve even gotten to a place where I’ve started to see the blessings that have been poured out upon me and my family. As a family, we all seem to do a pretty good job of focusing on the joy and happiness and beauty that Shelly created in our lives. And that certainly helps us manage.

But over the past few days I’ve been in a funk. I’ve been missing her so bad that I can barely eat and rarely sleep. Obviously, it’s challenging when you’ve built a life and family around someone and then they aren’t there to share in the joy they’ve helped create.

But I’m not the kind of person who simply chooses to patiently endure. I don’t like that. I like the idea of joy. So I’ve created some coping mechanisms that help me focus on that.

One of the things I’ve discovered is that when I can’t sleep I’ll hop up… sometimes REALLY early and head over and shoot basketball at the Y. I figure if I’m awake, why not do something I like and that is healthy for me.

Which is exactly where you could find me almost every morning for the past few days. Hooping. Working up a good sweat before most of the world wakes up. It’s quiet, I’m typically alone. And tears tend to blend in when you’re sweating a lot. It’s all liquid pouring out of your body, right. And frankly, I don’t think people can tell I’m crying when I’m raining three’s down from the sky.

But today, on my drive home a song came on that overwhelmed me. It was Luther Vandross’ “A House is Not a Home.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_z7D-h5rcaM&list=RD_z7D-h5rcaM&start_radio=1

And (for obvious reasons) it tipped me into uncontrollable sobbing.

So much so that I later found myself at home, still overwhelmed, washing dishes with swollen, tear-filled eyes.

And that’s what got me caught. As Ricky (my #4 son) rolled in at about 7am and surprised me with a happy, “Good Morning, Dad.” Too late to “dry up” I turned away so he couldn’t see my face and with a broken voice replied, “Good Morning, Ricky.”

Immediately… and without hesitation Ricky knew.

He walked closer, grabbed my shoulder and turned me towards him and looked into my eyes. “Are you okay, Dad?”

“I’ll be okay.” I replied.

Then, with every bit of his 6′-2″ 230 pound, strong-as-an-ox body he wrapped me in his arms and pulled me close. Initially, I resisted. “I’m soaking wet with sweat.” I warned. “I don’t care.” He replied… as he embraced me tightly.

I relented and hugged him back.

Then. Nothing. Quietness… calmness… comfort.

As Ricky pulled away I said, “Thanks, Ricky. I needed that. You’re the best.” He replied with…

“I need to go to work. But I REALLY need to go change my clothes, first. Now I’M WET!” As he smiled from ear to ear.

“I’ll be checking in on you later today. Is that okay?” He mentioned as he turned to go change.

“Sure is. Thanks again, Ricky. You’re the best.”

So yeah… I got caught. And it was… kinda beautiful.