When the end result is the same

When we got the call about my father-in-law, our lives changed. We all knew that it would. I started to hyperventilate. Justin was calm. He went down to his knees, but he remained calm. He was on the phone with his Mom until I heard "Hi ________, my name is Justin and I'm with the Madison Police Department. Can you please tell me what you know?" He was obviously talking to someone in law enforcement.

I immediately called Tracy. What was in my head was clear as a bell, however, what was coming out of my mouth was not. "Ker! Ker! I don't know what you're saying. You have to calm down." I was crying and coughing and trying really hard not to throw up. She told me she'd be right over. At that point I believe she understood enough that Gary was gone, but I'm not sure how much more she was able to understand.

Justin got off the phone with his Mom and started packing his things. He called his work to let them know he would be gone for a while. All I could think of was 'if he's leaving, who on earth is going to tell the children?'.

I've never experienced shock like I did that night.

Many times when I was a dispatcher I'd have to send an officer over to someones house to let them know of a death in their family. I'm curious by nature. You can call it nosey if you want - I don't care. I call it curious because I actually care about the information that I'm getting. I think if you're nosey you're just getting information to feed your need to be in the know. That's not me.

One time Justin went with an officer to give a death message to someone I ended up becoming friends with later in life. Their daughter/sister was killed in a car accident out near Rapid City. I wanted to know every detail. I wanted to know if they fell to their knees when they heard the news. I wanted to know if he gave them a hug - to let them know that he cared. I wanted to be able to feel a part of what they were going through.

The shock of never seeing my father-in-law again was very hard for me. He and I sparred so much that I wasn't positive that he knew that I loved him. I didn't realize how much I loved him until he was gone.

When I got back to work, I felt comfort in talking about my loss. It was hard at first, but then I realized the more I talked about it the better I felt. I started to wonder and ponder a question; is it easier to lose someone the way we lost Gary, suddenly in an accident or to be able to say good-bye but watch them die of an illness that possibly robs them of who they are?

One day my dear friend Lucy and I went out for lunch. Her uncle had been battling cancer for a good year plus at that time. She'd just gotten news that his cancer was back and the prognosis didn't seem good. I asked her the question that I'd been pondering. She said she didn't know, but she knew it was hard to watch her uncle go through such a rough time.

From the start of Uncle Paul's cancer, I'd been there for Lucy. At the same time she was going through that, her dad found out he had prostate cancer. Her Dad's prognosis was much better than Paul's. Her dad had surgery and recovered with no problems. Paul wasn't as lucky. His cancer started in his lungs - as a non smoker. After that was taken care of, it came back in his brain. They were able to remove that tumor with no problem. Then, it came back "like a carpet on his brain", as Lucy explained it to me.

It seemed she and I would get the answer to the question she and I both now pondered.

On July 13th, Paul went Home. He was surrounded by family and was given the gift of love by so many. What was even better was that he too was able to give gifts of love to them as well. He'd been pretty out of it but somehow found the strength to thank his caregivers. He gave Lucy a hug, patted her on the back, and thanked her for taking care of him. He died the next night.

I went to Paul's prayer service, never knowing the man that was being honored and remembered. I was there for my friend and her family. I heard high school kids talking about their ROTC instructor whom they respected more than themselves. I heard from Paul's family who knew that his death ended his suffering, but left an open wound in their hearts - their souls.

I would have loved to have been able to say good-bye to Gary. I would have loved to tell him that even though many days he was a huge pain in my ass - I still loved him like my own father.

I'm glad that Gary didn't have to suffer. I'm sorry that Paul did.

I realized when the end result is the same, so is the pain left behind.