NFL
However this isn’t about sports, it’s about grief. The grief that comes with death. Two weeks ago, my Uncle Kurt passed away. A life taken too soon by the dreaded C word. Only 56 years old, he had a lot of living left to do. The man was a surfer, a volleyball player turned coach. A devoted husband of over 30 years, a proud father, and a good man. Now I was never close to him. Neither of our faults, we just never were in the same location, we didn’t have the opportunities to interact with each other often but the few times we did, he was just Uncle Kurt. A simple guy you knew you wouldn’t have any issues with.
Never had to worry about and trust me, that means a lot when it comes to family members. My uncle however was very close to my mother and it was important to me to attend his funeral in California, to be there to support her and the rest of my family. The fears my Aunty (my uncle’s wife) had about people not showing up to his funeral were quickly quieted when over 700 people arrived. So underestimated was his impact on the community, the church opened up a divider and filled a basketball court-sized room with even more chairs, and seats, set in rows that were stacked up to the last inch of space available and would all have butts in it.
My uncle was a good man and the stories told about him reflected that. So powerful was his 56 years on this planet that grown men were brought to tears, including me. I often found myself looking to the sky during his service as the only remedy to prevent tears from falling from my face. They fell anyway.
In my 24 years of life, I have witnessed my dad shed tears on 2 occasions. One was during an emotional ceremony before I graduated high school and the other was when we said goodbye to my grandma, his mom who was on life support. Being seated behind my father at the funeral was a blessing as the sight of his face while he wiped tears from his eyes would be too much for me to have kept it together.
My uncle’s wife and children are so strong in this time of grieving. Their speeches of warmth and reminiscence made my girlfriend grab my arm tighter, an action shared amongst the attendees. Today was a day built to grieve.
How could a man of such respect and love be taken so prematurely? Well, I found my answer. Today at breakfast before we all departed back to our homes, I found myself sitting at a table with my Dad and my papa (my Uncle’s dad). My papa who has to carry the unenviable weight of burying their son sat and ate while staring off into the distance. Gone unnoticed as my Dad and I descended into conversation, my father asked my papa what he was doing. He responded “reflecting.”
My Uncle who bravely fought cancer, defeated it the first time. It, unfortunately, came back. This time with a grim diagnosis that I wasn’t aware of until after his passing. He had two years. My papa who also fought prostate cancer said something to my Uncle which shocked me to my core. My papa who has never sugarcoated anything told my uncle that he might have two years, he thinks he might have two months. He told him it was okay. It wasn’t his job anymore to worry. To not fight it if it’s too much to bear. To let it be time when it is time to go.
He told him he doesn’t have to fight it and despite the sadness that my papa will endure, he will be even happier knowing he will go to a place will there will be no more suffering.
When my uncle realized his time was running out, he chose to do hospice from home instead of another procedure. A difficult decision that helped ease his pain into the great beyond.
Yet we who continue on, living on in this temporary plain of existence have to carry the grief that comes with death. Grief greatly impacts those who knew him best. To say it was easy to sit in that church would be a lie but the difficulty that I had to endure will never come even remotely come close to the pain that his wife and children have to endure for the rest of their lives.
To hear a woman speak in front of a group of people, dressed in black while the body of her husband lays in front of her is not an easy sight. To watch someone have to give the most painful speech she will ever have to give is not easy but to have the strength to tell the world that you’re gonna miss him. I couldn’t even imagine. To say that the love of your life would give the best hugs ever and that you’ll never get to hug him again and you’re gonna miss that. To say that he told you, he couldn’t do it anymore and that it was his time, to be there to tell him it’s okay to go. To be there in his final moment, to watch his body draw its last breath. To tell him that everything will be okay requires such courage that I still can’t understand how she had to power to muster it under such horrible circumstances.
But in the surrounding, I saw the beauty in the post-life process. As fall came and we entered winter, the sadness of losing a loved one can not be put into words. There are no remedies and though time may ease the heartbreak, the crack will periodically expose itself from time to time. That is the tragedy.
However winter does turn into spring and when we left that church, the sun shined bright. A far contrast to the gloomy morning in Santa Maria before we entered the church. The gloom was gone and the party held after spoke volumes of the reality for which we currently reside.
The shared food and conversations, the family members who haven’t been in the same space in forever. The memories shared about the man who will never have to battle cancer again. About the man whose earthly life held such meaning that the beauty of the reality that he’ll never have to go through what he went through again is so comforting that we could celebrate and share laughter on a day meant to cry.
Now I am not trying to preach and I understand some people are atheists or don’t believe in an afterlife. I am not here to change your mind. However, seeing his casket draped in maile lei. Seeing the emotion expressed. Seeing the tears being washed away with the smiles of a new tomorrow, I refuse to believe our journey is finished at death, for it is just a necessary process to evolve. My Uncle Kurt will live on, a spirit that was trapped inside of a single man who could only do so much had transcended into the hearts of all those he impacted. His body may be in a casket but the man who made men weep will make men better and definitely has made a better man out of me.
The power of grief only gets talked about in the negative but the power of the positive is so transformative, we fail to recognize it. His story continues to be spoken, his love continues to be felt. Enjoy the next journey Uncle, for you are the catalyst for so many to emulate the way you made people feel. May the place in the sky bring you comfort and peace, may the gates of heaven gleam with the beauty of which we can only dream. In Hawaiian, we have a saying so this I say this to you. A hui hou Kākou or until we meet again and for all those who have lost someone, shall the end of our physical beings wash away the pain derived from the human condition, and may we all live with the knowledge that we do not die in death but become even more powerful through the people we live through. Rest easy Uncle Kurt.
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