I said goodbye to my friend last week.
Like other memorial services I have been to (there have been far too many), it was somber with the occasional outburst of laughter as good times are recalled, only to be replaced by the reality of the moment.
His wife and children were there; keeping a stoic front, but of course on the inside the pain of his loss was marching through their hearts.
It is sad when anyone you care about dies. But it is even harder when that person is young. My friend was only 51 years old.
Far too young to be taken from this earth. Far too valuable a person to be swept away by the merciless scourge of cancer.
My great-grandmother had a saying, “Old people die when they are old, but young people can die any time.”
She was in advanced stages of dementia when I knew her and would, on occasion, talk to the closet, but during her lucid moments she expressed the wisdom only nine decades of living can provide.
I was a kid back then (and to tell you the truth she used to scare the hell out of me), so her words made little sense at the time, but as I aged I came to understand and appreciate what she meant.
Young people are not supposed to die. A friend of mine from 'back in the day' was not supposed to die of a brain tumour at 28 years old.
Wesley was not supposed to die in an ice fishing accident when we were in Grade 11. That is simply too darn young no matter how you look at it.
I had known him since Grade 1 and he was the first friend I had ever lost. Too many names are etched on the solemn wall of memories in my mind.
Friends, relatives, school mates have all had their names put on that dark, cold reminder they are no longer here.
Death is so final, so complete. When someone moves away, you can still stay in touch with them. You can call them, email them, look them up on FaceBook, or even send them an old-fashioned letter.
They are physically gone, but they are still there, still within reach.
Death steals that from you. Death does not allow any further contact. In its greed, Death wants tto take everything for itself, there is no sharing with the living, no hope of seeing them on this earth again. That greed takes away all future memories you may have had with a loved one.
All that is left are memories of the past. Those recordings of the heart and mind that allows you to relive those relationships. You can lose yourself in those wonderful memories. If only for a little while, you can be reunited with a loved one.
But even then, deep down you know eventually, you will have to return to reality and again feel the sting of loss.
There is nothing special about my mourning. Millions of people mourn the loss of a loved one every second of every day.
Accidents, disease, war and the most horrific of all – suicide – claim loved ones constantly.
Some of us are on this earth longer than others. Even if they do not seem worthy of a long life, death will come for them only when the time is right – no sooner, no later.
But before death, there is life and that is where the magic lies. Life is where you create those memories for, and with your loved ones.
Life is where you can share a laugh with a long-time friend; where you can go camping with your family in the rain, but still have fun; life is the simple things like going for a hike, or helping your son work on his car.
Memories can be created every day. They don't all have to be grand adventures like a tropical vacation or trip to the Alps. Simple things can create memories that last a lifetime.
Copyright 2015, Darren Handschuh
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Friday, March 13, 2015
Friday, February 27, 2015
Goodbye my friend, I miss you
A good friend of mine died last week.
He was taken at age 51 by the scourge of cancer. He went from a powerful, bull of a man to a thin shadow of his former self.
It was heartbreaking to watch.
I met Bryon 17 years ago and he quickly became one of my best friends. He was a good man, with a good heart.
Whenever I needed a hand with something, Bryon was there. He was always willing to pop over and help me out, or loan me a tool I did not have.
All I had to do what ask.
I jokingly said once, “You must dread seeing my number on caller ID.”
ﾒOf course not, it is always good to hear from you,” was his reply and I could feel he really meant it.
I have not met many people in the world with as positive an attitude as Bryon. He was always smiling, always looking on the bright side and always ready with a funny quip.
He is barely gone from the earth and I miss him fiercely. True friends are hard to come by, and he really was a true friend.
I wish I could go over to his place this weekend and throw some darts, or shoot his BB guns in his workshop.
I enjoyed those times more than I realized - just a couple guys hanging out, sharing the bond of friendship.
It is not fair that he should be taken from this world so early.
Why Bryon? Why such a good man? There are so many unworthy people out there, why claim a genuinely nice guy and let the others live and carry on their selfish, uncaring lives?
It makes no sense, but so often life does not make sense.
Why did my friend Greg die at 50, also from the scourge of cancer. I had known Greg since I was four years old. It has been more than three years since he left this earth and I still miss him. I doubt I will ever stop missing him. I doubt I will ever stop missing Bryon.
So many things remind me of Bryon: seeing a truck that looks like his, or a person with the same build, and driving past places where we spent time together remind me we never will again.
You can't replace a long-term friendship. There are new friends to be made, but only time can forge the bond of a long-time friendship.
Even if you have gone several months without seeing each other, when you meet it is like not a moment has passed.
You speak with an ease only a real friendship can provide. There is a comfort in each other's presence only time can build.
But now, he is gone and with him a friendship years in the making.
It is heart wrenching to lose someone so close. The grief and pain his wife and children are experiencing makes the coals of anguish and loss in my own heart burn even hotter.
And I know the pain I feel in his loss pales in comparison to what they have lost.
But life carries on. We do our best to live with the loss. We will do our jobs, we will play and we will live our own lives.
But in the deep reaches of my mind there will always be the shadow of sadness. A vapour roaming the edge of my conciousness, always present and if allowed it would easily fill my heart with sorrow. There are several shadows dwelling in that dark place.
Those black memories of loss are banished to the part of my mind I rarely visit, I do not want to visit. They are always there, and like a cool breeze, I can always feel their presence.
But even the smallest light can pierce the darkest night and like the sun on a spring day, the memories of friendship warm my heart and make it little easier to carry on.
Copyright 2015, Darren Handschuh
He was taken at age 51 by the scourge of cancer. He went from a powerful, bull of a man to a thin shadow of his former self.
It was heartbreaking to watch.
I met Bryon 17 years ago and he quickly became one of my best friends. He was a good man, with a good heart.
Whenever I needed a hand with something, Bryon was there. He was always willing to pop over and help me out, or loan me a tool I did not have.
All I had to do what ask.
I jokingly said once, “You must dread seeing my number on caller ID.”
ﾒOf course not, it is always good to hear from you,” was his reply and I could feel he really meant it.
I have not met many people in the world with as positive an attitude as Bryon. He was always smiling, always looking on the bright side and always ready with a funny quip.
He is barely gone from the earth and I miss him fiercely. True friends are hard to come by, and he really was a true friend.
I wish I could go over to his place this weekend and throw some darts, or shoot his BB guns in his workshop.
I enjoyed those times more than I realized - just a couple guys hanging out, sharing the bond of friendship.
It is not fair that he should be taken from this world so early.
Why Bryon? Why such a good man? There are so many unworthy people out there, why claim a genuinely nice guy and let the others live and carry on their selfish, uncaring lives?
It makes no sense, but so often life does not make sense.
Why did my friend Greg die at 50, also from the scourge of cancer. I had known Greg since I was four years old. It has been more than three years since he left this earth and I still miss him. I doubt I will ever stop missing him. I doubt I will ever stop missing Bryon.
So many things remind me of Bryon: seeing a truck that looks like his, or a person with the same build, and driving past places where we spent time together remind me we never will again.
You can't replace a long-term friendship. There are new friends to be made, but only time can forge the bond of a long-time friendship.
Even if you have gone several months without seeing each other, when you meet it is like not a moment has passed.
You speak with an ease only a real friendship can provide. There is a comfort in each other's presence only time can build.
But now, he is gone and with him a friendship years in the making.
It is heart wrenching to lose someone so close. The grief and pain his wife and children are experiencing makes the coals of anguish and loss in my own heart burn even hotter.
And I know the pain I feel in his loss pales in comparison to what they have lost.
But life carries on. We do our best to live with the loss. We will do our jobs, we will play and we will live our own lives.
But in the deep reaches of my mind there will always be the shadow of sadness. A vapour roaming the edge of my conciousness, always present and if allowed it would easily fill my heart with sorrow. There are several shadows dwelling in that dark place.
Those black memories of loss are banished to the part of my mind I rarely visit, I do not want to visit. They are always there, and like a cool breeze, I can always feel their presence.
But even the smallest light can pierce the darkest night and like the sun on a spring day, the memories of friendship warm my heart and make it little easier to carry on.
Copyright 2015, Darren Handschuh
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
It's just a bruise, it's no big deal - isn't it?
Being married to nurse has its good points and its bad.
The good is you are living with a highly trained medical personnel you can run to for advice and healing.
More than once our living room looked more like an emergency room as my son and his skateboarding friends all lined up to have their injuries tended to.
One day, there was four of them patiently waiting to have their wounds tended to.
Skinned knees, elbows, scrapes, bruises and a variety of other injuries were treated by my wife who has been a registered nurse for 26 years.
She has worked in the real emergency room of a hospital in a small town we lived in for a while, she has cared for seniors, palliative patients and for a few years she specialized in wound care.
This is where she would look after people who just had an operation or injury and got to perform such lovely tasks as draining a wound, which is actually more disgusting than it sounds.
I learned many years ago not to ask her what she did that day because the answers are not conducive to keeping your dinner down.
Tales of seeping blood, puss-filled sores (my personal favourite) and a whole raft of maladies are discussed by her and her nursing comrades with the aplomb of someone chatting about the weather.
To them, it is just another day at the office. Meanwhile I am huddled in the corner of the room with my hands over my ears trying to think of puppy dogs and sunny days to get the horrid nursing tales out of my mind.
Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.
But when you are injured, it is great to have an expert on wound care living under the same roof – most of the time anyway.
The other day I bruised my leg doing martial arts. As the most senior member of the club (in age, not belt ranking) it can be a challenge to keep up with the young pups as they bounce around the training area with the kind of energy and agility only youth allows.
On this particular day I took a knee to the thigh, creating a rather large, purple bruise.
In the club I train at, a bruise or a black eye is referred to as a souvenier and I have had many souveniers over the years.
Anyway, the young pup I was training with accidentally landed on my leg causing a bruise I casually mentioned to my wife.
ÒYou should keep an eye on that. It could cause a blood clot.”
ÒHuh?”
ÒIt is a hematoma, and if your leg starts to turn red and swell up, you better get to a doctor. There was this one patient I had with a bruise on his leg, got a blood clot and died.”
It took less than a minute to go from me telling her I had a bruise on my leg to her telling me I could get a deadly blood clot.
Up until that point I just thought it was a little boo-boo. No big deal.
Now I have to worry about a blood clot making its way to my heart or brain and sending on a one way trip toward the bright light.
I am really quite confident the bruise is just an minor 'owie' and nothing to be concerned about. It is not the first boo-boo I have had in my lifetime.
But when you are married to a medical professional, they tend to look at the worst-case scenario so they are prepared for any scenario.
The downside to being married to a nurse is sometimes she really freaks me out with all the possible medical disasters that could happen. The upside is, she knows about all the possible medical disasters that could happen.
copyright 2014, Darren Handschuh
The good is you are living with a highly trained medical personnel you can run to for advice and healing.
More than once our living room looked more like an emergency room as my son and his skateboarding friends all lined up to have their injuries tended to.
One day, there was four of them patiently waiting to have their wounds tended to.
Skinned knees, elbows, scrapes, bruises and a variety of other injuries were treated by my wife who has been a registered nurse for 26 years.
She has worked in the real emergency room of a hospital in a small town we lived in for a while, she has cared for seniors, palliative patients and for a few years she specialized in wound care.
This is where she would look after people who just had an operation or injury and got to perform such lovely tasks as draining a wound, which is actually more disgusting than it sounds.
I learned many years ago not to ask her what she did that day because the answers are not conducive to keeping your dinner down.
Tales of seeping blood, puss-filled sores (my personal favourite) and a whole raft of maladies are discussed by her and her nursing comrades with the aplomb of someone chatting about the weather.
To them, it is just another day at the office. Meanwhile I am huddled in the corner of the room with my hands over my ears trying to think of puppy dogs and sunny days to get the horrid nursing tales out of my mind.
Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.
But when you are injured, it is great to have an expert on wound care living under the same roof – most of the time anyway.
The other day I bruised my leg doing martial arts. As the most senior member of the club (in age, not belt ranking) it can be a challenge to keep up with the young pups as they bounce around the training area with the kind of energy and agility only youth allows.
On this particular day I took a knee to the thigh, creating a rather large, purple bruise.
In the club I train at, a bruise or a black eye is referred to as a souvenier and I have had many souveniers over the years.
Anyway, the young pup I was training with accidentally landed on my leg causing a bruise I casually mentioned to my wife.
ÒYou should keep an eye on that. It could cause a blood clot.”
ÒHuh?”
ÒIt is a hematoma, and if your leg starts to turn red and swell up, you better get to a doctor. There was this one patient I had with a bruise on his leg, got a blood clot and died.”
It took less than a minute to go from me telling her I had a bruise on my leg to her telling me I could get a deadly blood clot.
Up until that point I just thought it was a little boo-boo. No big deal.
Now I have to worry about a blood clot making its way to my heart or brain and sending on a one way trip toward the bright light.
I am really quite confident the bruise is just an minor 'owie' and nothing to be concerned about. It is not the first boo-boo I have had in my lifetime.
But when you are married to a medical professional, they tend to look at the worst-case scenario so they are prepared for any scenario.
The downside to being married to a nurse is sometimes she really freaks me out with all the possible medical disasters that could happen. The upside is, she knows about all the possible medical disasters that could happen.
copyright 2014, Darren Handschuh
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