Being A Friend To A Bedrock

One of my oldest friends, someone I consider blood family, is presently dealing with the unexpected death of her nephew.

He was a young man, younger than my eldest. A good and decent member of society. His stellar professional success wildly outpaced his common, modern day relationship issues. His aunt was extremely close to him. Daily conversations. His friend, confidant, counselor. She kept his secrets.

Now this woman has seen the unexpected death of a lot of family members in her life. Three brothers while she was still a youth. A wonderful sister-in-law in early adulthood, and more recently, an equally wonderful brother-in-law, the husband of the younger sister who just lost her son. There was also the more natural passage of her parents whom she was extremely close to, and thus impacted her more than expected. In such an extremely large and equally close family, this amount of sorrow was statistically skewed and unforgivably unfair. Comparatively speaking, because this is a devout Catholic family, Job had it easy.

Throughout this all, my friend has been a bedrock to her family and friends. She’s repeatedly kept it together so that others can go to pieces and properly mourn in the moment. Her emotionally broad shoulders have absorbed a lot of other people’s tears over the years. Durable, dependable strength during moments of adversity.

But repeatedly assuming that responsibility takes it toll.

This death has really rocked her. Almost broke her.

Last night she texted me to see if I was available for a call. I dialed her immediately. For the next hour plus, Lisa and I listened to her unburden the pain that shredded her emotions. Through her tears she shared the story of her brilliant and delightful nephew, his successes and challenges, and his impact on her and all of the other family members who rejoiced in his life and are devastated by his death. A young child left behind. Anyone who has been embraced by this family could readily follow this complex and extensive emotional roadmap. As I mentioned, this family is large and close. And Bronx Irish.

But underlying the emotional recitation of this latest challenge to familial life by death, and there are no people more naturally suited to this calling than the Irish, was this woman’s admission that she was not sure she could handle her role as the family stalwart this one last time.

At times like this, you listen. That’s all you can do.

But when this woman rage and anger and tears over the loss of her nephew, and the impact of the tragedy on her younger sister and the rest of the family were finally spent, and she told me yet again that she didn’t believe she could step into her historical familial role, I told her over her repeated protestations that while her feelings were completely understandable, and warranted, that she would nonetheless assume that role this one last time.

It wasn’t a command, suggestion, or an order. It was an honest observation by someone who knows this unsinkable woman and her remarkable family.

I knew that despite her emotional devastation, she would pull herself together and do it for her younger sister, and for the nephew she was so close to. Because that is who she is.

Once more into the breach. But she didn’t want to hear that.

So, with no experience in counseling beyond a lifetime of Irish deaths and wakes, but knowing this woman like an older brother – indeed, only this woman, Lenny and Serrano appear in different books as different characters in The Claire Saga – I did what I always do and acted inappropriately and intentionally made her laugh with an apocryphal but salacious story of her nephew’s last moments on this energy plane in a shower immediately after bone rattling, repeated, randy heterosexual sex, with a huge shit eating grin on his face, followed by a painless cut to Soprano black, and then an embarrassing instantaneous appearance wet and naked on the other side of the veil standing before this woman’s equally unforgivingly hilarious brothers. Heavenly indeed. For those of you that have read FJM, her oldest brother, who tragically passed when we were young, appears most notably in the kitchen pizza chapter. Enough said.

I knew, as the words spilled out of my mouth, that it was completely inappropriate. But probably not unexpected.

It seemed to do the trick. It stopped the spiral. Pulled the woman back from the brink of her understandable despair. The pain was still present and deep, but the unexpected and hearty laugh gave her a chance to take that emotional cleansing breath and remember who she was and what her role in her remarkable family required of her at times like this.

She promised to get some rest, told me she would keep me informed over the coming days and acknowledged that she would once again step up to the plate for her wonderful family. After a good cry.

I never doubted it for a moment. As I said, that is who she is. Pure bedrock, hardened from Irish Peat. I am honored to call her my friend and family.

Prayers – Catholic and otherwise – for my friend, her nephew, her sister(s), brothers and the remaining tight knit and loving multigenerational family. Death never gets easy, even for the Irish.