I haven't dealt with death much recently. Many of my memories of funerals and hospitals date back to when I hit the age of 16. That is when my my Grandparents as I knew them no longer existed. That was tough, seeing my Dad & Mom cry and all. It brought tears to my eyes, but I would not cry. Trust me though, it is rather difficult seeing someone you love bare their soul in that form of expression.
And it wasn't until years later when a guy I met at the Federal Grill named Lenny went into the hospital that I cried at a funeral again. That time, my parents were not there. I cried all on my own.
Sometimes I think I'm a tough guy, able to handle pretty much any physical, mental, or spirtual hurt ... but I know I'm not. And I know that because yesterday My Jennifer went in for surgery ... on a tooth. Pretty simple, I guess. Yet when I walked in the room after she had that surgery, I saw that little angel not awake and not in control. She's fine now. But it brought closer the inevitable time when someone close to me is no longer in control. It is that moment when I wish they could just flip me off, kick me in the nuts, do anything to remind me ... that they are reminding me that I have the ability to piss them off.
Jennifer reminded me she is a trooper. She tried to be tough throughout it all, which I thought kind of cool. When I took the car and drove the interstate to take us home, that's when I found weakness again. That cold embodiment of anxiety swished with daydreams, mixed with not having control. I saw it in her then, felt it in me right there.
Maybe I'm not so tough.
And that's okay. A tooth ripping into my soul now and again keeps me knowing that it isn't easy potentially losing someone you love.