Peter Dononue: Death a blessing
The death of a loved one, a close friend, and even one we have grown apart from, forces us to don a heavy mantle. The sense of loss; the void created by their absence, causes us to reflect on memories; days gone by. The sadness that haunts me following death I find is proportionate to my emotional tie to the person whether in the recent past or even the distant past.
Oh, it is easy to say the decedent is free from pain and suffering and his passing was a blessing, a true blessing. In all honesty it is a blessing to the one who died but few others. I can hold back the tears in public and also choose to think of something else if I feel sadness welling up inside to the point of crying. That conduct of course just stalls the outburst and physical expression of sadness, pain, and suffering. I often think of the song “Don’t Do Sadness” sung by Mortiz and Isle in “Spring Awakening” when sadness begins to take hold. It is a haunting piece that has a way of repeating itself over and over again for a while as I move through the feelings.
Late last night a friend texted me of the death of a member of my high school debate team. He was on the A team I was on the B team. He beat me at many endeavors in high school, but I looked up to him, an upper classman. Our lives would cross several times after college as we both stayed connected to theater. To say they crisscrossed would be an understatement. In recent years I remained close to his former wife and so it made things a little dicey, a little tense at times. Nonetheless, I am feeling that sense of loss and remembering good times and periods of pain and suffering as his life was filled with roller coaster ups and downs. That is what life is, I guess.
Out of nowhere I began to move deeper into myself beginning to recognize that I had stuffed my sadness at the death of a close friend a couple of months ago. The death of one friend triggered the delayed expression of loss for the other, one who was very important to me in recent years and with whom I had shared countless good times.
I met Jerry Lahr when my children were very young. It was a surprise that I had not met Jerry earlier as we were both strong supporters of Cathedral High School and frequent volunteers for many good causes.
Jerry was gentle and stalwart; soft spoken and never given to criticism or complaint. He was a big part of our lives as my children grew up. Memories of trips to Lutsen to pick blueberries and ride down the mountain slide with my youngest cradled safely in his lap and teaching my kids to skip stones against the waves in Lake Superior come back to mind as if it were yesterday.
We picked wild grapes every fall and made grape jelly to give away at Christmas. One year we canned 79 jars of jelly in August while we played Christmas carols. We made paper to make greeting cards and hosted murder mystery dinners with friends, each playing a part and dressing for the occasion.
One fall I failed to get the raft out of the lake in the late summer/early fall. Jerry and his brother came to my rescue before the lake froze over, wading out in the frigid water to safely guide it to shore.
I participated in a dessert contest one year making more than 100 small samples and a large dessert centerpiece. Jerry was there to help transport the finished product safely to the venue and stood with me to serve the judges and those attending the competition. He was always there for important life events, First Communion, Confirmation, Graduation, Marriage, Funerals.
There is a tremendous sense of loss in the death of friends. There is beauty and joy in the memories of times past. To experience that sense of loss, the sadness at their absence, and the void that death creates comingles with the joy of having known them and lived life with them. The depth of these feelings makes me cherish this life I live and the wonderful people who have been a part of it.
— This is the opinion of Times Writers Group member Peter Donohue, who has been involved in the arts in Central Minnesota for more than 35 years. His column is published the third Sunday of the month.
This article originally appeared on St. Cloud Times: Peter Dononue: Death a blessing
