A moment of grief, and of love remembered

So, during my evening commute today, I was going through some playlists on my phone. I came across "Always" by Tony Lucca from the NoiseTrade Summer Mixtape collection.

I've had this collection for a few years, and this wasn't the first time I'd listened to this particular tune. But this evening, it hit me quite differently. Lyrically, it really felt like a message from a parent to a child. Specifically, from my parents to me and my sister.

And, lo, the tears did come.

I might never hear this song any other way again. And that's perfectly all right.

Here are the lyrics:

// I wish I could tell you what's goin' through my mind I wish I could promise it's gonna be just fine one thing's for certain: till the end of time I'm gonna Love you like no one will ever Love you I'm gonna Love you always I wish I could tell you dreams always come true that Lovers and strangers won't ever get the best of you for better or worse now, we always get what's due so I'm gonna Love you like no one will ever Love you I'm gonna Love you always I'm gonna Love you more than words and stars and tears and grains of sand, best I can for good. I wish I could hold you and never let you go I wish I could show you everything you'll ever need to know best I can do is give you freedom to grow and I'm gonna Love you like no one will ever Love you I'm gonna Love you always //

#grief #love #parents #GoodbyeMom #GoodbyeDad #StillSayingGoodbye

On the Fifth Anniversary of My Father's Death

Dad crossed over at 3:07am on 5/3/2013. In my eulogy for Dad, I quoted Deng Ming-Dao's meditation on death. On this, the fifth anniversary of Dad's passing, I still find solace and wisdom in those words:

We give death metaphors. We cloak it in meaning and make up stories about what will happen to us, but we don't really know. When a person dies, we cannot see beyond the corpse. We speculate on reincarnation or talk in terms of eternity. But death is opaque to us, a mystery. In its realm, time ceases to have meaning. All laws of physics become irrelevant. Death is the opposite of time. 

What dies? Is anything actually destroyed? Certainly not the body, which falls into its constituent parts of water and chemicals. That is mere transformation, not destruction. What of the mind? Does it cease to function, or does it make a transition to another existence? We don't know for sure, and few can come up with anything conclusive. 

What dies? Nothing of the person dies in the sense that the constituent parts are totally blasted from all existence. What dies is merely the identity, the identification of a collection of parts that we call a person. Each one of us is a role, like some shaman wearing layers of robes with innumerable fetishes of meaning. Only the clothes and decoration fall. What dies is only our human meaning. There is still someone naked underneath. Once we understand who that someone is, death no longer bothers us. Nor does time.

-- Deng Ming-Dao (from 365 Tao: Daily Meditations)

Although he is gone, there are tangible reminders of my father. For example, I usually have at least two of the following items with me on a daily basis:

• one of Dad's pocket watches
• some of Dad's ashes in an old film canister
• Dad's ring

Comics, Cancer, and Captain Marvel

Mar-Vell confirms his diagnosis in The Death of Captain Marvel (1982)

A year ago, I lost my father to cancer. In fact, one year ago this very day (but not the date, that would be tomorrow), I delivered the eulogy at his service.

Dad's final journey began, I would say, in March of 2013. Because I was driving across the state (from Bucks County, PA, to either Cleveland, OH, or Johnstown, PA), and then staying in hotels for big chunks of March and April, I had lots of time to read or listen to stories. I mean, sometimes I needed to escape into stories far removed from my situation. Comic books, obviously, were part of that although I couldn't right now pinpoint any stories I was reading at that time. I mainly remember some podcasts and memoirs I listened to.

Anyway, this past week, I've been thinking of comics as a medium for not only communication, but also transformation. All good storytelling is a vehicle for healing, so why not comics? As far as I can tell, the earliest comic book I can list as an example of this would be Marvel's THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN MARVEL (1982). Sure, there had been "death of a hero" stories before this, and I'm sure other comic stories tackled the notion of a loved one's loss to illness prior to 1982. However, THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN MARVEL (Marvel's first, true Graphic Novel) was the first book to tell the story of a hero's death due to cancer rather than self-sacrifice during some cosmic or otherwise world-shattering threat. And, as it was Marvel Comics Group, this was the first time that death due to illness was played on such a huge stage. And, in my opinion, this is a story that achieved, at least on some sense of scale, that concept of story as healing agent. No, people who read the story were not cured of anything. But I know folks who were touched by that story, by the sense of identifying with the cast of characters who were watching Mar-Vell's life fade away while they could do nothing. And many of those folks continue to be touched by it.

So, are there books or stories that you turn to again and again? Are there "mere" comic books that are transformative tools for you, that enable you to process difficult emotions, to transform grief or even rage into something more useful?

My Veterans

For Veterans Day 2013, I am posting a photo collage I call My Veterans:

Clockwise from top: Paternal Grandfather,
Maternal Grandfather, and Father

My paternal and maternal grandfathers served during WWII (Navy and Army respectively). My father was in the Coast Guard during the latter half of the 60s. All three men returned home after their respective tours of duty. I am indebted to all veterans of the US Armed Services, a debt I cannot repay, but I am particularly impacted by the lives of these three men.