Shrug.

My boss’ father was driving to a different city for Thanksgiving and had a heart attack during the drive, crossing over the median and crashing head-on with another car. I’m not too sure on the specifics, but he was travelling fast enough to effectively smash the top of his head into goop. He died. The guy he crashed into was in critical condition, but that was 2 weeks ago.

I bring this up because I had to tell the place we rent our location from that that’s why we were late with the payment; because he was dealing with all the funeral arrangements in another state, etc. When I first told the lady at the front desk that I had the payment, she gave me an exasperated look like “finally”. Then I said, “my boss’ father died and” — immediatelly her face got soft. “Oh my gosh, that’s horrible.”

I continued on with the story, un-needingly letting her in on the juicy tale of The Thanksgiving Day Heart Attack, and her reaction was the same. “My God, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

To her, it wasn’t that he died so horribly — it was that my boss had lost his father. I can’t comprehend that pain, and therefore have a hard time sympathizing (without the aid of a horrible car crash story). Whenever someone brings up a death to me, I give a look of understanding and a Bill Clinton “I-feel-your-pain” thing.

But I don’t. And I wish I did, and I’m glad I can’t. Every now and then I’ll have a glimpse at life with the absence of my mom, the emptiness her birth will leave for me. When I think of it like that, like her finally becoming what God has always wanted for her, it makes it easier, to think about at least. And the same with my father, even with our dysfunction. People who have eternally existed from my perspective.

Yes I would imagine that would be hard, even without the image of a deformed corpse left behind on a national holiday weekend.