Level 6 Adventures in the Life of a Grieving Big Brother

I felt better today - in general.  More like about a 6.  Does that mean it was a better day overall on a scale of 1 to 10, in the "how's my grieving coming along sweepstakes?"  Well, compared to the other day when I thought you were going to "flush" my blog for being so angry that I hollered at God, that's pretty good...cuz I'd give that day about a 3: 1 being the worst and 10 being the best...gauging a day in the life of a grieving big brother.  Hmmm...so why was today better?  Well, I have my hunches:  For the past couple of days, I've done something really good for myself.  Yesterday, at a big monthly celebration meeting, I stood up and received some accolades from a fellowship I love to be with for accomplishing something that this group of friends really likes to honor, and then hung around for the two dozen hugs that come with that moment.  (Actually...just between you and me, the BEST moment was when the big room cleared and one young, fairly "new" guy approached me and thanked me for my transparency...and told me that it "gave him permission" to be the same kind of "open" as I'd been when he looked at his own feelings of inadequacy and struggle.  Then I got a huge hug while he told me my favorite tie-dyed shirt was "killer" [and he meant it!] - and he's one of those young, hip, shirt-tail out, plaid pearl-button-wearing dudes from California that those young hot chicks REALLY dig.  I bet he has NO idea how good he made a 50-plus guy feel about himself in that moment.  I bet I looked like I won the lottery walkin' outta there!) 

Then, as if that was not enough, I did it again tonight.  Went to my favorite Monday night Men's Group that met at my buddy's brand spankin' new custom home, where, after a hot, delicious plate of Rudy's barbecue, I got to bawl and snort my way through an emotional check-in from my private grieving life...wide open and vulnerable to this safe, loving group of guys who KNOW my stuff stinks and STILL love me.  So, they listened to me pour out my heart and then proceeded to share their own stories of loss and pain...after which we prayed ourselves out, and then they hit me with a bunch of honest to goodness manhugs.  All the way from the "chest bump" to the "point n' go" to the "bro hug double back tap combo"...and these guys, they freakin' MEAN it.  If I said, "dude...I need you to come with me to my house, sit and watch Spike TV with me eatin' Funyuns and drinkin' YooHoo until midnight, then sleep in the extra bedroom, just in case I wake up sad, havin' a bad dream...they'd come do it...in a second.  And don't even GO there.  These are the kind of men's men who would kick your tail for even making a joke about someting as sacred as that...except they've all learned healthy boundaries now and would quickly "play the tape all the way to the end" and realize you aren't worth getting all wrapped around the axle for...and they'd blow you off.  These guys are my defenders.  They'd go to bat for me even if I had willfully gotten mySELF into some huge bind.  Because they LOVE me.  NO judgment allowed.  That's right, John Wayne!  Roll on over in your grave now, because I've got a whole pack of manly dudes who've GOT MY BACK...and they're not afraid to show it.  Hell, a handful of 'em shared a few tears with me tonight when I read my "randomly assigned" reading as it came my turn in the circle to read and the text discussed how we sometimes have a hard time with God when we lose someone we love and in trying to process it, find ourselves blaming God for it...even tho it's probably irrational.  (WHEW! That was a freakin' LOOONG run-on sentence.  Sorry, Miss Walker...you tried really hard...but now that I think about it, you're probably hanging out with my brother and my dad about now up there laughing about that sentence...so I'll retract the apology.  I might need it later for another infraction.)  Back to the "co-incidental reading topic deal".  I've got a question:  Are you going to stand there and call that a co-incidence that it was MY turn to read and that Grief and Loss just happened to be the subject matter in THAT paragraph?  I didn't think so.  (the chapter is about coming to believe in God...not "On Death and Dying")   It's called a GOD-incidence where we come from and it happens MORE frequently than you'd THINK it would.  Way to go, God.

So, I guess you could say me and God sorta worked a few things out since our little talk in the workshop on Sunday.  (Sounds like it, huh?)  Oh, I haven't told you about that deal yet?  Well, somehow in the process of repairing the laundry room door that goes over at my rent house, I was sanding down a blob of hardened wood substitute, preparing to drill out a new hole in the bottom of the door for a new spring loaded peg-thingy that holds the door on it's axis, I guess I slightly OVER-sanded the door during a rather intense GRIEF reaction and now the door is shorter than the other one.  However, because of the aforementioned grief-driven-I-don't-know-my-own-strength episode, I had enough gas left in the tank to even out the longer door...and now they match.  How nice.  I had never noticed the reluctant byproduct of mixing salty tears and sawdust together, but they do make kind of a weird paste that could probably be used to improve the planet somehow...but then, I'm one of those wackos that doesn't have the arrogance to think that I'm powerful enough to destroy one of God's most powerful, resilient, self-preserving objects of creation as this planet...but has the gall to think that Global Warming is a hoax, devised by some crooked, granola chompin' people who's sole aim and end in life is to suck in the largest pile of jack ever grifted by one group of yayhoos, while disguised as honest, caring, GREEN, planet-loving humans ever crammed into one corn-gas guzzlin' Toyota Prius.  But I digress. 

Perhaps I'll be given some "emotional leeway" in my grief as I occasionally skate over into a bit of self-justifying, somewhat judgmental, slightly prejudicial voicing of my political opinions...since we all know that I'm under stress and need to "vent" now and then.  So, thanks...and don't take it personally.  I'll let you do the same when it's your turn to grieve.  And believe you me...your time is coming.  Because this grief thing is NO respecter of persons....and it ain't for sissies.  It's comin' for all of us, like the locusts were comin' to all of those Egyptians while they defied God with their unbelief.  The good news is...if you're as lucky as me, God's gonna surround you with a group of loving, accepting, nurturing friends who have your back while you divert your gaze from your usual hyper-vigilant pursuit of happiness and joy in life...and who will hold you while you tend to your broken heart for awhile...until it mends.  And when He does and they do, you're gonna write over-the-top stories about it, and maybe even pump your score up to a 6 that day...because compared to those grueling level 3 days, a day spent feeling like a 6 is better than a quality first-run movie that lets you disappear into the characters and the story long enough to forget about your grief while you enjoy a huge Mr. Pibb and some of those Nibs ice cream deals that ring up at about a DOLLAR a NIB at your local multi-cinema.  But, hey...life is short...on a level 6-worthy day, shouldn't you just go ahead and eat your NIBS first?