Everyone deals with loss in different ways, and it affects each person in many ways. Since I became an adult (almost 8 years ago now, it’s hard to believe I’m turning 26 in two short months), I’ve really only lost two people who I was close to. There have been other losses, but they haven’t affected me as much as these two have.
The first was my grandfather in 2003. He was my “Zaidie”, and the ultimate grandfather. He cooked, he gave amazing bear hugs, and he listened to your problems. We found out he was diagnosed with lung cancer in the spring of 2002, shortly around the time my father won his job competition to transfer to Ottawa. Knowing that Montreal was only two hours away, I could deal with the move from Calgary.
I was blessed enough to be able to see my grandfather at least one a month upon arrival in Ontario in August 2002. He was admitted to the hospital in late December 2002, and since I was in for Channukah, I was able to spend time with him. January 3rd, 2003, I remember bussing back to Ottawa, and planning a trip for February.
I remember the next part, clear as day. It was a Sunday afternoon, and I was sitting at the dining room table, after church, reading the newspaper. I was home alone – Michael was with friends, dad and Tina were grocery shopping. It was my grandmother, my Bubbie. She told me the news.
I don’t know how I got through the next couple of days. The Monday was the first day of my 2nd semester of university, the Tuesday was the funeral and part of the shiva. I remember crying in the van on the drive to Ottawa, being the emotional rock for my mother, and a snowstorm on the way back. Somehow, I think I was able to resume my studies on the Wednesday.
I’m still dealing, and reeling from this next loss. As you all know, I am a passionate, dedicated karate student. At our dojo, we have a family-like atmosphere, you make quick friends, and even though you mainly only see each other at karate class, you build close friendships. It’s especially true for the higher colour belts, more so when you are brown, or just testing for brown.
Wednesday night, I go to the dojo to teach, and I was speaking with Sensei P. I asked, “have you seen Connie and David?”. I’ve been missing some classes myself, so I thought they had perhaps shown up when I was away. That’s when I first found out the news, B and L confirmed it to me when they arrived for our class later on in the evening. Connie had cancer. It was bad, it was in her liver, and she was in the hospital. That’s all I knew, and I was able to go through my class, joking around as usual.
Last night, I arrive early for my class. Sensei P. had this look on his face, and looks directly at me. I get off the stairs, and he approaches the back. “it’s bad”, he said, “Connie”, and then he did the baseball “it’s safe” motion. Instantly, I knew what that meant. After conversation with B, it was confirmed. Connie had passed away from the cancer on Monday, they only diagnosed it two weeks previous. She was 52. I can’t imagine what David and her kids must be going through. Sensei V. told me (and a few others) that they were shellshocked – I think that is an understatement.
Needless to say, class was very hard on all of us. Sensei M. had to go into the change room during the warmup because she was emotional – I was almost crying myself. When Sensei F. announced it, and the wake time, to the class at the end, L was crying. You could see how Sensei F. was affected as well. I was on the verge still, but the tears wouldn’t spill. They wouldn’t spill either as I walked home with D. I was restless all night, finally managing to drag myself to bed at 111ish.
I’m still struggling to deal with it this morning. It’s very hard to concentrate on my work (thus the blog entry).
Connie was a great friend from karate – we helped each other out a lot, fed off each others energy, and were planning to partner together potentially for the black belt test this year (we were similar heights and builds). While we never got together outside of the dojo, it felt like my friendship with her was as strong and deep as the one I have with ladies such as Cat, JNet, and Karen.
It feels that now, at almost 26 years old, the loss of my friend (who was only 52) is affecting me more than the loss of my grandfather (who was 83), that happened when I was 19. I was less emotionally stable back then too. Is something wrong with me? This picture just doesn’t fit….while I know grief is personal to each person, it just feels odd that this situation (described in this paragraph), is happening.
Prayer, is all I can ask for at this time, and if you happen to see me, or talk with me on Twitter, Google Talk, Facebook, or MSN, try and make me laugh and smile. Humour, I think, is how I can deal with this life situation the best……
