Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Epilogue
He went in his sleep. I want you to know that. The pronounced day he died was Saturday, Oct. 30. He died of an enlarged heart, a rare condition shocking many families in taking loved ones thousands of times a year.
When I met Dan's parents at the funeral, his father seemed more preoccupied with trying to make us feel better, even in the face of his own personal tragedy, the loss of his son. He said he never had to experience the kind of loss we must be feeling right now, while he was in college.
His mother gave me a hug. "He was my happy child," she said. And something about how sometimes she felt convinced his only goal in life was to make people happy.
"He did," I told her. "He really did."
I will never forget dropping the dirt in his grave. It's a Jewish tradition for families and friends to bury their own. I didn't have to, but I wanted to. I wanted to stare down into it. I wanted to make my own goodbye. But in the awkward moment that followed my decision, I realized just what I was doing in time to pass the shovel to Anja.
Nikki had been the one to pass it to me. I had held their hands in the line. Tears streamed eyes, she later told me she had a horrible fear she would lose hold of it.
I wrote a new song the other day, after the funeral. A song for Dan. Nikki is learning bass, and she, Nathan and I have been starting a band. As we worked on Dan's song, the emotional energy hit such heights I think it carried us all through. Nathan was close to Dan too. And I think this drove us even more to focus on what we were doing. It almost felt like something more than our own pure desire to play moved us.
And I guess the healing process has to start, because life keeps moving, and time passes, and financial responsibilities and the "real world" can't ever be ignored for long.
We're getting together again Thursday, to finish it. And we're going to work on one of Nathan's songs next.
I'm looking forward to our next practice. It's nice to have something to look forward to.
It's nice to have something.
He went in his sleep. I want you to know that. The pronounced day he died was Saturday, Oct. 30. He died of an enlarged heart, a rare condition shocking many families in taking loved ones thousands of times a year.
When I met Dan's parents at the funeral, his father seemed more preoccupied with trying to make us feel better, even in the face of his own personal tragedy, the loss of his son. He said he never had to experience the kind of loss we must be feeling right now, while he was in college.
His mother gave me a hug. "He was my happy child," she said. And something about how sometimes she felt convinced his only goal in life was to make people happy.
"He did," I told her. "He really did."
I will never forget dropping the dirt in his grave. It's a Jewish tradition for families and friends to bury their own. I didn't have to, but I wanted to. I wanted to stare down into it. I wanted to make my own goodbye. But in the awkward moment that followed my decision, I realized just what I was doing in time to pass the shovel to Anja.
Nikki had been the one to pass it to me. I had held their hands in the line. Tears streamed eyes, she later told me she had a horrible fear she would lose hold of it.
I wrote a new song the other day, after the funeral. A song for Dan. Nikki is learning bass, and she, Nathan and I have been starting a band. As we worked on Dan's song, the emotional energy hit such heights I think it carried us all through. Nathan was close to Dan too. And I think this drove us even more to focus on what we were doing. It almost felt like something more than our own pure desire to play moved us.
And I guess the healing process has to start, because life keeps moving, and time passes, and financial responsibilities and the "real world" can't ever be ignored for long.
We're getting together again Thursday, to finish it. And we're going to work on one of Nathan's songs next.
I'm looking forward to our next practice. It's nice to have something to look forward to.
It's nice to have something.
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