Loss - Again

It was my Uncle Eric who taught me how to cook eggs. It was my Uncle Eric who let Adrian and I stay up late and watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It was Eric who picked me up at the Nashville airport, nothing but a diaper bag and 5-week-old Ethan in my arms, so we could attend Pappa’s funeral. He hugged me and told me that he and Pappa had talked a lot about God in those final weeks and that he knew in his heart that Pappa had made peace with the Lord.

Eric was not there at Adrian’s funeral. In the past year Eric, a recovering alcoholic, had abandoned the responsibilities of fatherhood and marriage and fallen off the wagon. He’d returned to the wild, self-destructive ways of his youth, leaving his family confused, hurt and angry. Adrian was physically mad at Eric for his behavior. So, I understood why Eric was not there as we mourned Adrian and buried him beside Pappa, but the understanding didn’t make the sense that something was missing any easier.

On Friday night Eric died in a car accident. He was drunk. He leaves behind a son, a daughter, three foster children, and a wife who have worried about him these long months. They’ve hated him in the way that only people who deeply love and worry about someone can hate another person. He leaves behind a wider family of sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews, and various other relations. A wide panoply of people are in mourning right now, again.

I wish I had the words to help his family, especially his children, understand. I myself don’t have any greater understanding. Adults don’t have the answers to these hurtful questions- a painful part of growing up that I wish five teenagers weren’t having to learn quite so early.

We’re all at a loss – again. Once again we’re trying to understand why a man we loved, a man we needed in our lives, chose to leave us behind.