How to Deal with Death for the First Time

Death must have heard me that day. Another boring afternoon wasting away in Mrs. Geuss' seventh and eighth grade classroom at St. Augustine's private Catholic school. There was an announcement for me to go home early. I was so relieved that my bullying from the boys, denial of existence from the girls and the droning nonsensical science lesson that was going on. "Ha! I'm out of here!" How naïve I was.

I headed out into the hallway without hesitation. I saw my siblings Jackie and Joey also heading out of their classrooms at the same time. In unison with excitement, we chanted between one another how happy we were that we were missing out on school - and we all rubbed it in the faces of our classmates that we were leaving early.

"Give me two cards!"

My father was at the end of the long drab hallway, he was standing there with a very young Jolene who just got picked up from the younger classrooms from another hallway. I could see his mighty blue Suburban parked next to the curb outside of school and I knew that something special must be in store for us today.

Dad almost had this lost look in his eye - if I saw the same look now, I could tell that something was terribly wrong. I forget what excuse that he gave us on about our early departure, but we were just too high with excitement that we were going home early. We climbed into the mighty big blue bus and headed towards our mansion - the Log Cabin.

"I'm sticking."

Dad's head hung low but he still held it together with great composure. My siblings and I were still quite excited during the fifteen minute ride home. We all plotted and thought about what we were going to do with our extra time home. A new video game with Joey perhaps? Or partake in early weekday afternoon programming that is only set aside for summers and holiday breaks.

We entered in through the basement and we came pounding and rushing up the echoing wooden steps in our "still under construction" basement. I ran into my bedroom and dived into my bed - which also doubled as a great couch in front of my cable television. The walls of my room showed water stains from the leaking walls of our poorly constructed "Log Mansion." I decorated my first solo bedroom with cheap movie posters that I inherited for free from our local video store in Marlboro. They were really low budget movies that not too many people would care about or had even heard of before: Trancers II, one of the numerous Witchcraft films that had a hot girl on the cover and my infamous and trusty Star Wars poster that I got from Florida just a few years prior. Then Dad came into my room with all of the kids and said that we all needed to talk about something.

"Are you gonna fold or show me what you got?"

I thought that I was in trouble. Was I meant to be put on a chopping block and put on trial amongst my siblings? My dad gathered Jackie, Joey, Jolene, JoAnna and Julie in my room. Julie was but a mere infant at this point so she may or may not have actually been there. The same thing goes for my Grandma - not sure if she was definitely there or not.
I can't remember my father's exact words during that afternoon, but it was something along the lines of "something happened to Grandpa today. He had a heart attack and passed away."

"Royal flush - house wins."

Joey instantly crumpled up like a ball of paper and landed into someone's lap so that his tears stained their lap. The girls were next to go, sliding their bodies off of my Transformer bed sheets covered mattress, and onto the dark blue carpet - like the rolling of tears off of their faces. While what seems like minutes of crying and sobbing was going on around me, I sat there in disbelief. "No, this can't be, it's gotta be a joke - Grandpa wasn't even sick." After a little while of not hearing a sick sort of punch line of "Gotcha," the tears swelled inside of me, as did the pain - the loss - it all came falling down around me like high stacks of poker chips being shoved back to the dealer.

I cried. I cried the hardest that I had ever cried before. It was worse than the pain of when I knelt down on a thumbtack that went into my knee. Worse than the crying I did of when that stinging bug flew inside my ear. Even worse than every promise or heart that was broken.

"Up for another hand?"

Death had won that day. She had gathered all of her chips and left for town. Grandpa's body was already gone. Apparently, the paramedics took him away after they couldn't revive him. I was angry that they didn't get there in time to resuscitate him. My siblings and I were still all in shock and demanded answers; I can remember Joey's expressions of appearing to be hurt the worst of all of us. I believe I can even remember Grandma talking about the connection of Joey and Grandpa during the wake, she knew they were very close. We were ALL very close to Grandpa.

It is sad that not enough children are blessed enough to grow up with both of their parents AND grandparents in their home. Grandpa was like a second Dad that I could go to. I believe I have developed my love of film and a sick sense of adult humor from him. If you knew Grandpa, you would know how much he admired and respected the adult entertainment industry - God bless his smutty soul. Or the other small great memories of our lives, like the games that he would play with us. He would always carry around a thick roll of one dollar bills, he would tell us, "if you can guess the last serial number of this dollar bill - you can get it." Grandpa was SO full of life, joy and laughter - damn you Death for taking that away from us.

The remainder of that first day was the hardest of all my days prior to that in my near fourteen years of existence - when you could hardly breathe between all of the fits of tears. I don't even recall seeing my mother that much on that day. She was up in her room either sleeping or probably crying as well. Dad was the backbone for us all; he seemed impervious to the tears, strong, invincible to the event - a true "Man of Steel." But he was also a great shoulder to cry on and tell you that everything was going to be okay. Even though you knew it was unfair in your childish mind, Dad had a way to take the ease of the pain off of you, "it was just his time to go." And with that, the rules of the cosmos and the ways of life were all summed up with a mere sentence of consolation.

And then there was Grandma. If Grandma and Grandpa were a comedic duo, like Grandpa's favorite: Laurel and Hardy - then Grandma was the one that was straight laced, no nonsense, and chase you around the kitchen with a wooden spoon while saying, "I'm gonna brain ya!" Apparently, Grandpa's dying wish to her was for her to take care of JoAnn and the kids. Something that she vowed to do until she could. Unfortunately, the events of Grandpa's loss and Grandma's age became harder for her over the years. Her mind has been slipping into dementia and possibly Alzheimer's, the kids and I were getting bigger, older and yes, sometimes even more defiant. On top of all of that, Grandma no longer had that one person who could calm her down, complete her and listen to her complain about the day. Now, don't get me wrong - I love my Grandma with all of my heart, but I have watched her through the years and I consider the day that Grandpa died, a part of her died with him.

A few days passed as the family tried to get it all together. We had Grandpa's wake in a funeral home near St. Augustine's. I entered the flower filled lobby with my family, we were all trying to get through this new "hand that was dealt to us," and all of the excess baggage that comes with it. The process, the order of things, the traditions - and I didn't understand what a wake was. Or what it felt like to see your Grandfather's made up dead body. He wasn't like the dead bodies that I saw in all of my horror films over the years. He had a terrible amount of excessive makeup on his lips and cheeks - really just an impression of the man that he once was. He was dressed in this funny kind of suit, the same kind he would wear to the Poughkeepsie Galleria so that you could spot him amongst a crowd while Grandma and he waited for us underneath the steps in front of J.C. Penny's.

The colors of the floral arrangements were mainly reds and whites - like a full house that not even Death could beat. Each was handcrafted and had a consolation card from relatives and close friends - why, there was even one from Joe the Barber. I don't think the little Italian stylist frequently gave bouquets to his customers, so as sad as it may seem, it was then that I realized how many lives that Grandpa had touched over his seventy years. Grandpa helped to show me the importance of relationships: be kind to others and they will remember you for it.

Then that day of the funeral came - most of my memories are bits and pieces of flashes of people and events. I think it was the last time that I saw some relatives, such as Grandpas' side of the family and "Crazy 'ol Aunt Peggy." The funeral mass was held at St. Augustine's church, just a short walking distance away from the school that my father scooped us up from the other day. It was on this day that something finally dawned in my mind that I continued to forget or not even acknowledge from days prior to - this is the last time you will see Grandpa's body. Isn't that just something that never dawns in your mind as a kid - "you will never see this person again?" It is quite devastating. I can remember slowly walking up to the casket, paying my final respects to a most loved one.

Then, there were the proceedings of the priest, the prayers, the passing of tissues and bonding with my family as we made it through our first crisis in our young lives. The wooden pew creaked with the unison of everyone sitting, kneeling and standing in the Catholic Church. Then at some point, they announced for my father to come up to read the eulogy. I didn't know what a eulogy was - perhaps it is a special prayer that they reserved for my father to read due to his devote Catholic background. Nor did I know that they reserved this for my father. I guess a part of me was unsure why Dad had to do this, since he wasn't even technically blood related. And yes, I hate to say it, but perhaps I was even a little jealous that he would have the sole duty of seeing Grandpa off with a final message before he headed up to that big poker table in the sky. But when I heard my father's words, these feelings of being lost, sad, angry or even jealous were all washed away by his speech.

I wish I had it on tape of some kind, or at least the copy of the eulogy speech that Dad was reading from. I thought Dad either got this duty because everyone else was much too emotional to get up in front of everyone and say how they felt. Or perhaps Dad wanted to take a stand and let everyone know, (and to me, especially for the first time in my life) that you don't need to be related to let people know how much you love them or how much they mean to you in life. Dad recollected moments; I'm sure thanking Grandpa for letting him be with my Mom and moving in with all of us to make a big family even bigger. But the very second my father wrapped up the eulogy with closing words of sadness and holding back his tears, "I'm gonna miss you Sal," he again helped me see the importance of cherished life.

Dad helped me see in my young life the importance of people and how important your actions of love, kindness and togetherness push out all of the crappier rotten points in life. At that moment, I forget about all of my pains besides the loss of Grandpa, and I thought on how I can improve my relations with my loved ones. I got closer to my family and we held back and/or cried a little with Dad at the commencement of his speech.

Grandpa was laid to rest at the cemetery that bordered our hometown of Milton and Marlboro. We had to drive all the way to the back, near the fresher plots underneath a rather elaborate and ornate statue of the Virgin Mary who holds out her arms for one of the big Italian families in town - Palermo or Amedeo, I think. Someone there told me that they don't lower the casket or throw earth on it, as, "it might be too much for some people to witness." I remember seeing Grandma lose it for a second and tried to lunge for Grandpa's casket.

Some soldiers folded up an American flag into a triangle and gave it to Grandma for his service in World War II. His involvement with the War was something that he always joked about for years - including his task of being a delivery boy on a bicycle and once almost driving a tank off of a cliff. Grandma cherished the flag as a final remembrance of Grandpa, she even bought a triangular glass case frame that she always placed on his side of the bed after she made it.

Some years went by, as the loss of Grandpa was and still is something very hard to get over. On the first anniversary of his death, Grandma put out an ad in the paper in memory of him and showed off the last known picture that was ever taken of him - just a few weeks prior to his death. Thank goodness he looked good in the professionally made picture taken at the mall. For more years to come, the anniversary of his death was always a dark one. But his birthday was a moment of celebration as we would reminisce our favorite moments of him (which would typically get us all rolling into tears, {both from laughter and for loss}). We would even partake in his favorite foods like roasted chestnuts, I can still remember the small chunks that laid in the corner of his mouth while he yelled for "MARGIE," and Grandma would go fetch him something.

But unfortunately, Death didn't cash out all of her chips just yet; more hands were dealt to us in but a mere few years. But I guess it was almost a little easier to deal with after your first big loss. My Grandpa Albany was my father's father and he was next, but unfortunately I wouldn't be able to attend the funeral due to a Regents exam that I had to take in high school. Looking back, I felt terrible for my father. I'm not sure if it is because I wasn't as close to him as my other Grandpa or because I was probably at my peek of drug abuse in those teenage years when I felt distanced and segregated from parts of my family and the outside world.

Things were a little different when word came out about Grandma Albany. I think this time I really wanted to be there for my Dad. He took a few of us up to a hospital in Albany, at least we were prepared this time with "this might be the last time you see your Grandma alive." She was sick and weak in her hospital bed. Her eyes were barely open but I could see she was happy to see Dad the moment he came into focus - "Jimmy," she pushed out with the bits of strength that she had left in her voice. I again can't entirely recall all that was said to Grandma, except JoAnnna said some words in Polish to her. A few days later, Grandma passed away.

Grandma's wake was quite a bit different in comparison to Grandpa's. Perhaps it was because I was a little older and mature, or a little bit more used to playing a hand against Death. I realize now that I didn't mean at all to disrespect Grandma, but this time I tried to look at Death as "if it deals you a hand-laugh it up and recall the best memories." And that was how I tried to deal with it, less tears and more laughs. Besides, laughing was a lot easier to cope with this instead of seeking gasps of breath between waves of tears. I greeted cousins with opens arms, firm handshakes and laughs of old times.

But all of those delusional words of laughter and my coping skills to deal with the real world came to a halt when I saw it really hit my father. When Grandma was officially laid to rest, I watched Grandma's children and their significant others stand around her casket. With the priest's closing words of prayer, I watched my Dad lose it a little. My Dad, the strongest, impervious hero who I grew up idolizing as a little boy when I dressed up in his oversized steel toe boots, denim jacket that draped from my shoulders and a blue Tilcon hard hat that rocked back and forth on my head.

The man who I never saw truly cry before, lowered his head and cupped his right hand over his face. The bald spot on the top of his head angled towards me and the winter sun bounced its glare into my eyes. His upper torso shook, bounced and vibrated from his tears. Some of them even landed on his green suit that he wore to all of our important family events. And what do you do when you see your childhood "Man of Steel" cry? You can't help but have your delusional wall of "coping with it" come crashing down around you.

So, those were my dealings with Death. Even though I may have temporarily won a few hands based on how I coped with it - there will be more hands. As I get older, I know I will have more run-ins and gambles with Death, I just hope I won't get cheated. I'd like to leave you all with this as I have been recollecting all of my saddening memories. Live your life to the fullest and treasure the moments of life and others will remember you for the relationships that you had together. Don't cheat Death or it'll come back on you in full force - I guess similar to these memories that I nearly had repressed or how the emotions that have been pouring out from my eyes and onto this keyboard.