Just as the builders of the Titanic learned, we cannot afford hubris when dealing with our headaches.
I am floating in unfamiliar territory. My nephew died of acute lymphoma on Sunday evening, only three weeks after first showing symptoms. He was 42. An aggressive course of chemotherapy proved too much for him, and by Friday all of his extended family had gathered in the Mount Sinai ICU to be with Jordan in his last moments.
I was there as the strong one – to support his parents, who were going through the death of their child; his older siblings, witnessing the unimaginable; and the more emotional people in our tribe. My children also needed special comforting. By nature I am more taciturn.
The next day, the day of the funeral, I awoke with a headache. I had not eaten regularly over the weekend, and the repressed emotions were probably taking their toll as well.
With great courage, Jordan’s brother and sister read the eulogy. When they began to describe the lengths to which his parents had gone to improve the quality of his life, I broke down and wept. For Jordan was physically and mentally challenged all his life, and they were his advocates and saviors…until this completely unanticipated tragic end result.
After the funeral, I had some delicious strudel which contained chocolate – no one knew about this ingredient until later, even my wife, my guardian angel on such matters. Now it is Wednesday, I’m still not well, and I am harboring guilt about not being with the family.
3 day headaches are no longer the norm for me. I know this one will end, like all the others. I’ll do what works for me, only longer.
Sometimes an iceberg comes into our path, and all we can do is the best that we can.
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