Old – And Gone – Before Our Time

Dearest Rachel –

Last night, I found myself dreaming about how I needed to make preparations for Kevin to come up here to the Chicago suburbs to see us, as he usually does. It is about that time of year, after all – Labor Day is just a little more than a week away. I found myself considering where to make room for him in the house, what we might do, and where we might go over the course of the week surrounding that weekend.

But even in the midst of this dream, my subconscious was nevertheless sufficiently aware of reality to remind me that none of these plans were necessary this year – or any year hereafter. Kevin is gone, just like you are, and there’s no need to make any plans, now or in he future, for his arrival. There will be no hanging out together, or going here or there; no need to make plans in either direction from this day on.

There’s something about this realization that rather pains me – to lose people this close to me makes me feel so old. This is a level of loss that my parents haven’t had to deal with, advanced in years as they are. Sure, they have lost friends along the way – and Dad, in particular, has lost both of his brothers – but they still have a fair number with them. I never had that many to begin with, so every one gone – especially at this age – is jarring, to say the least.

It leaves me with nothing to plan, but also nothing to do. Which wouldn’t be all that bad – you and I used to sit around together and do nothing rather frequently – but when there’s no one else to do that nothing with, it feels like so much less than that. There’s a decided emptiness to the time spent, when it’s spent alone, that doesn’t quite feel so much so when there’s someone there with you at the time. It may have to do with the fact that there’s always the option to discuss things as they come up – and even if nothing does, the mere possibility that it could at any moment fends off the emptiness of these idle hours.

But when I’m off in the bedroom by myself, while the boys hang out together, the emptiness is so much more pronounced. There’s no possibility of conversation, no chance of hearing someone else’s laughter that might amplify my own amusement. The room is silent, apart from the television, either in this room or off in the family room.

And it leads me to thinking about how this isn’t supposed to be. Both you and Kevin left so far before you time, and I’m left feeling old before mine. It is true that “it is not good [to] be alone,” because I can really feel it at moments like this.

I feel like a protagonist (the word ‘hero’ doesn’t quite fit in this circumstance) from some ancient Greek tragedy. Unlike in Shakespeare, that character didn’t necessary die so much as everyone around him did, leaving him living in the ruins of his life, alone, wondering what offense he caused the gods for them to rain down these vicissitudes upon him. His fatal flaw is usually visible to the audience (oftentimes, a case of hubris), but he himself is just as often oblivious to it as not.

Perhaps these letters can serve as a means to find my audience, and have them tell me what they see.

***

This may not seem to be closely related to the subject at hand, but I get a lot of calls these days from spammers, which probably could serve as the basis of a whole other letter one of these days when I’m short on any other material. At least half the time, the ones that don’t hang up on me are touting “a newly authorized by [my] state” “final expense insurance,” and before I can tell them I’m no more interested than I was the other two hundred times this past month, they proceed to ask me whether my age falls anywhere between forty and eight-five.

“What difference does it make?” I ask them. While I know that there’s a difference, from an actuarial perspective, in the likelihood of dying the more advanced in years you are, the range they ask about is large enough that such a question borders on the ridiculous. If I’m feeling particularly aggrieved (and after they refuse to hang up even after I’ve parroted their schpiel about how “it will cover the costs of your funeral and burial or cremation expenses and also leave a little bit for your loved ones yadda-yadda-yadda,” I’m usually quite annoyed), I will point out that I know how much a funeral, et cetera, costs, as I’ve recently had to take care of that for you. Granted, I’m realizing as I’m typing this that this isn’t actually true – the church literally waived the funeral expense, out of respect for you and your sudden and tragic departure – but between the thank-you meal and the diamond I’ve had a little bit of you turned into as a memorial, I think I’ve spent enough to approximate those costs, so it’s not entirely wrong, either. If nothing else, the tone I use playing the part of the aggrieved widower is usually sufficient to get them to figure out that, as irritated as I am, they are not about to get themselves a sale from the likes of me.

But this seems to be my life these days. With you – and Kevin – gone so soon, I’m dealing with so much more about the concept of age and mortality than I think I really ought to be, especially in comparison to people like my folks, who are a whole generation beyond me. I’d say it wasn’t fair, but I get that life’s just like that; no one is guaranteed anything here, no matter how much certain people insist otherwise.

I just wish it didn’t have to be.

Anyway, that’s my morning thought for today… and it’ll probably have to do for the rest of the day as well, Sunday afternoon being what it tends to. Keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.