Good Grief

I was very lucky growing up; I didn't experience the death of a loved one until well into adulthood. As good as that was, it meant I never learned to grieve...if one ever really can.

I remember feeling a little smug through school still having all four grandparents, losing the first in my 20s, another not until my 30s, and the last two in my 40s. As much as I loved them and it hurt to lose them, grandparents are old, and you feel from a young age that their love is magical and temporary. Grandpa John Wilkinson was the "Marcus Welby" (old reference) of Oconomowoc and I was in awe of how he and Grandma Gert could navigate a full life and household with such love and grace.

From the other side of the family, Grandma Lou Foti was my hero. She was way ahead of her time in acceptance, equality, and woman power. At 100 percent Irish, she had the gall to fall in love with a Sicilian who had come through Ellis Island as an infant. In 1926 you did not stray from "your kind." But Lucille and Salvatore didn't let that stop them, having to elope and keep the marriage a secret until they were found out and disowned by both families. Prejudice and ignorance would not stand in their way, no matter the cost. I own that part of their legacy, and champion it proudly. Lucille went on to support their family of six when men couldn't get work in one of the toughest times of our country's history. Grandma Lou made you feel like you were the most special child on earth, even as she mixed up your name with your sister's!

My grandparents were a big part of my life for a long time, and I surely miss them all. Losing them sucked, each time, and I finally knew what it meant to grieve--or so I thought.

I lost my Dad in the summer of 2008. Not totally unexpectedly, but shockingly. Yes, it's been almost three years, and yet I can hardly see through my tears as I type these words. So this is what it really feels like. How could I have been so lucky not to know for so long? I used to think I had empathy for those around me who had gone through such a loss. I had no idea.

Would it be too tacky and predictable to say that I had the best Dad in the world? Those of you who knew Ned know just how special he was. (He and my mom Jean raised 5 of us in Shorewood.) And the best we can wish any child is that he or she is awestruck by their parents, and are showered with unlimited, unconditional love--just like the Wilkinson kids.

And now here I am, hit at the most random times with the void of him. Reminded at the best of times of the gift of him. Inspired at the hardest times by his faith in me--and everyone. 

So this is grief...and it really hurts. But it is also good. Because it means there was life, love, and an impact. You hear in some lame entertainment acceptance speeches that, "I wouldn't be here without my parents."  Duh! Thanks for the shout-out to biology. But let me just say I wouldn't be here--this place in life--without my Dad, who continues to inspire, motivate, and touch me every day. My brother Jim has a sign in his office: "WWND?" No offense meant in this rip-off from the "big guy." But to us, "What Would Ned Do?" says it all, and is the ideal by which all human behavior should be measured. Ned of course would be touched and humbled, and then would probably make us all matching "WWND?" t-shirts for Christmas.

To say I miss him is so inadequate. To say he loved me is such an understatement. To say I am lucky is the truth. What Would Ned Do? Anything for anybody, with love. Now I am left here to try to live up to who he was. Great goal, and Good Grief!