Mr. Holten was kind enough to grant me permission to reprint an article that he wrote as a columnist for a number of major newspapers. I was very moved by his article about grieving and the death of a loved one. I have written many blogs on the subject of love, death, dying and loneliness over the past 13 years but none of them come close to the images and memories that Kevin’s article evoked in me when I read his piece. It is simple and short but quite poignant and moving.
The Following Story is by Kevin Holten:
If I was going to write a love song, this is what the title and/or chorus would be: “I can’t love you, because I don’t want to have to say goodbye to you someday.”
You see, on earth, love hurts. Which seems so wrong because, if anything shouldn’t hurt, it should be love.
Which reminds me to ask you this question: Do you know what the most painful thing in life is? It’s when there’s nobody left.
My grandmother died on her 99th birthday. She laid in her hospital bed, the day before, with her arms held upward. And my mother had enough insight to ask her what she saw.
“My sisters,” she replied. They were beckoning her.
“If you want, grandma,” my mom said to her, “you can go with them. We’ll be okay here.”
And the next day, on her birthday, as winds fueled another winter storm, she did just that.
Thinking back now, it hurts to think of how lonely she might have been. As the youngest of 12 kids, she’d outlived them all. Plus, her husband and my uncle, her son.
Oh sure, she had my dad (her son), my mother, us kids, and many grandkids. But no one to share the very early years.
And it must have been so different early on, when she was growing up and surrounded by so many brothers and sisters with so many kids, and even nieces and nephews almost her age. There was no direction that she could look and not have family in sight.
Of course, I’m sure she thought it would be that way forever. But nothing on this earth lasts forever. Instead, it never lasts long enough.
My mom’s dad used to tell me the same thing when I was a kid. “Yah, yah,” he’d say, “they’re all gone now.
He lived to be 96, and this was a man with six kids and plenty of grandkids to pack a house every holiday. But he had no one there to talk about the very early years. The “Olden Days” as they used to call them. And I know that had to hurt.
“I can’t love you because I don’t want to have to say goodbye someday.”
As I look at him now, at the images stored in my mind, I can see that he felt alone, even in that crowd.
One day some years ago my dad and I drove out to where he, his brother and my grandparents lived when he was in grade school, high school and when he went off to war. It was by then a barren farm/ranch yard on a hilltop with the only mementos being rusty tin cans and grandma’s old cook stove on a rock pile.
Some tears snuck out of my dad’s eyes while we were there that day. Because, after all, there was no one else left who also knew about the things that took place there when he lived there. He was with me. But he was alone.
Irish poet and writer, Brendan Behan, once said that at the innermost core of all loneliness is a deep and powerful yearning for union with one’s lost self.
That’s it isn’t it? When someone close to you dies, the part they have of you dies too.
I come back into myself and say, “Let’s take a walk.” It is a beautiful day and a beautiful town, and everyone likes the idea. We pay our respective bills, head to the bathrooms, and meet outside. I suggest we walk the path alongside the river to PD Pappy’s than turn left onto Main Street where we can walk by the various tourist shops. We head to an old antique store that we last visited almost a year ago to the day. We spend a good hour or so in the store. We see oodles of things that bring back memories from our childhoods, our old dreams and our wish-we-had-done that pasts. We leave having bought nothing except a wistful yearning for the “Good Old Days.” Pre-Trump. Pre-Covid. Pre-Climate Change. Pre-Divisive Partisanship. A time when we could still believe in the American Dream.
As we walk down main street, Roger tells me that he has seen a show recently that looks at the symbolism in the Catholic Church with a deep sense of skepticism. He asks me if I think the Catholic belief in Jesus would be much different if Jesus had been garroted or beheaded rather than crucified. I confess that I have never thought about this question, but I do find it intriguing.
It is now almost three hours since we met for dinner. We are talked and walked out. I am ready for my afternoon nap. Karen wants to get back to her sewing. Jane is tired of listening to us and wants some peace and quiet. Roger is still thinking about God and whether there is other life in the universe. We both seem to have come to the same counter-intuitive conclusion that there is not. We are all alone in the universe except for a few Martians left over from the great Martian cataclysm.
Now suddenly your partner for one reason or another is gone. She or he passes away. You come back to your home after the funeral and well-wishers have left, and you are now alone. You are more alone than you have ever been in your entire life. You go from room to room and no one else is there. The bedroom is empty. The kitchen is empty. The living room is empty. You notice the picture of you and your spouse at your anniversary party hanging on the wall. It brings back memories and tears. Every day for many days, objects, thoughts, and reflections will bring back good times and bad times that you shared with your lover. You will reflect over and over again about these past times. No doubt you will feel remorse about some things that you did and wish you could undo. You will also miss the fun things that you enjoyed together and the many good times that you had together.
Each evening after dinner, we enjoy food, dancing, and music at the Playa Bonita restaurant. It is right on the beach and while enjoying shrimp cocktails, we watch the most beautiful sunsets I have seen anywhere. As night falls, a band or singer will begin entertaining our group. Evalia loves to dance and will make sure that we all have a spin with her on the dance floor. The dance floor is outside where we eat. Almost always the weather is balmy and comfortable. Infrequently one might need a shawl or a sweater but an active time on the dance floor will mitigate any night chills.
On Tuesday and Wednesday along with my good friend Vic Ward, I attended the 52nd Nobel Conference which was titled: “In Search of Economic Balance.” It featured many illustrious and highly respected economists such as: Dan Ariely, Orley Ashenfelter, Paul Collier, Deirdre McCloskey, John List and several other well-known economists. After every lecture, there was a panel discussion where the speaker and several of the other economists had a chance to discuss and interact. Following these discussions, my friend and I debated, discussed and summarized what we thought were the most important points of each lecture. I attended eight lectures, six panel discussions and numerous discussions each evening with Vic.
On the way back from St. Peter, we stopped Jim’s Apple Farm when we saw a sign that said “Next exit, Minnesota’s largest candy store.” I bought several treats for Karen and the guys at the library in Frederic. Jim’s lived up to its billing. It may just be the largest candy store in the US. It is certainly the largest candy store I have ever been in.
Karen having spent thirty years of her life in Home Health Care is much better grounded and infinitely more knowledgeable than I am in this area. Many of the ideas in the conference sessions were basic for her but for me the opposite was true. I had my eyes opened and many of my concepts about conditions such as Dementia have now been thrown out the window. I cannot begin to describe how much I learned at this conference and how valuable the ideas were for me.
Aging Capriciously 