Dealing with the loss of a loved one is never easy. Whether it’s your sibling, friend, girl/boy-friend or your parents. Experts claim everybody goes through the seven signs of grief (shock, denial, bargaining, guilt, anger, depression and finally acceptance). I’ve never really believed these and still don’t. Recently, I lost my mother in a motorcycle accident while on vacation. The problem then became “How does one really deal with a loss?” Some would suggest drinking your problem away. Others would suggest talking your problem away. Still, others strongly suggest surrounding yourself with family and friends. Which of these remedies works? In truth, none and all of them, it just depends on who you are and how you deal with pain and grief. So why am I writing this article? Maybe to deal with my own grief, but maybe this will help others deal with theirs.
Since I was young, I’ve always been surrounded by death. I attended my grandfather’s funeral at the tender age of 8, my grandmother's at 14, not to mention several family friends during that time. My time in the military also helped me cope with death with sad thanks to fallen soldiers and friends. I remember, while being stationed in Iraq, talking with a Staff Sargent at dinner chow one evening, only to hear of his death the very next day and attending his casket procession to the plane the day after that. I’ve even dealt with the loss of a girlfriend, though I must admit that was the hardest of them all. But through all this death and loss, I figured I had grown a rough callus over that part of my heart. I was wrong.
Bad news on Friday the 13th
My father and mother were celebrating the 70th anniversary of the Sturgis Bike Rally when they were involved in the accident that claimed my mother’s life. When I had heard the news, I had just gotten off of work, wondering what evil horrors could befall me on that particular Friday the 13th. It was a joke at the time, but the phone call I received from my father shattered the joke, and my day. At first I didn’t want to believe my dad, not because I didn’t believe the story, but because a) the news was rather too disturbing and I didn’t want to believe it and b) my family is known for being a bit of a jokester group, where we can take a joke too far. This would be the first time I’ve ever heard my father cry, solidifying that the news wasn’t a joke, but a rather bad waking nightmare.
