These are the two most influential people in my husband's life: his younger brother Max and his father Isaac.
Isaac passed away three years ago, the result of complications during a surgery. He'd been ill, had had cancer, had beaten it, had had liver damage, had beaten it... he'd been a fighter. He was nearly dead seven years ago... and then, miraculously, he was at the hospital after I gave birth to my youngest daughter a year later. He was loud, told it like it was, loved his kids and grandkids so fiercely. My husband and his brother Max lived by his "rules of life," written on a piece of paper in the entry of his home, which included such simple lessons as don't cheat, don't lie, don't steal.
Max passed away a few days ago, at the age of 37. He'd been ill throughout his life and suffered from a rare condition (only recently diagnosed) that caused his glands to swell suddenly... not that you'd know it. Max lived large. He drank and smoked and had more friends than I could even keep track of. He was loud and told it like it was. My husband says that, after his dad, Max was the only one who could keep him straight on what was real. There was no black or white with Max, only what Max believed... and that, for all intents and purposes, was the truth.
I feel so sad, not just for the loss of my brother-in-law, whom I loved dearly, but for my husband's loneliness. On the surface, he's still surrounded by family and friends. His mother is very much alive and present in our lives; if you've read my recent posts, you'll know that we are actually staying with her right now while we wait for our new house to be remodeled. He also has an older sister and another younger brother (from Isaac's second marriage) with whom he's close, but there is a hole in his heart that cannot be filled again. I stand idly by him, offering only a warmth in the absence of words.
He told me this morning that one of his biggest regrets is that our three girls won't get more time with Max. "What really sucks," he said, "is that they'll only remember him from pictures." I don't know if that's completely true; Max was a favorite uncle and adored my girls. He nicknamed my oldest daughter "Babe-a-line," which rhymes with her real name, and the more he joked and cajoled and picked on my kids, the more they knew he loved them. But they knew better than to argue with Max, about anything from whether the sky was blue or if the Lakers were better than the Clippers (he was a Clippers fan, we are die-hard Kobe fans... don't even get him started!).
I don't think I titled this post correctly; I don't know if there really is an "art" to letting go. Is it just in living after your loved ones die? Is it in allowing the time to pass, accepting that the earth will continue to spin on its axis, the sun will set and the moon will rise, day after day, no matter how hard it is to sleep? And, even if someone is no longer alive, do you have to let go?
Because I don't think I can. Not yet.
This is an original post from the Los Angeles Moms Blog (www.lamomsblog.com/). Erin also blogs at www.poprocksandgoblins.blogspot.com and www.erin-travelingcircus.blogspot.com. Distributed by McClatchy-Tribune Information Services.