I have lost my direction. My son passed away Friday morning. My hands are too shaky to write more. For more information read my “About” page, or go to www.carepages.com
Cole M. Bent, 01/28/1991-05/17/2013
The day before surgery, March 13,2011
The following video link is for me.
Tonight I lie here, in my bed, a bit under the weather. Yes, the respiratory bug has come by for a visit and I am the one to catch it. And with me are what my family refers to as my “stinky socks.” Which in fact are my microwaveable slippers. Each slipper has a removable insert which is filled with some sort of grain. When microwaved and reinserted into the slipper, they do a fantastic job of keeping my ice block feet warm and toasty while stinking up the house with their foul odor. I do believe my daughter likened it to the smell of urine. No matter…my sinuses are stuffed up thus disabling my olfactory perception. My feet are happy and I know not how they smell!
I do, however, know a thing or two about sadness. But I am not quite sure how to ease into this with the ‘grace of a lady’ I wish to posses. Therefore I will bounce clumsily into the subject. My heart is quite heavy with the losses incurred this past week in Connecticut. Last week, while I was fighting for the life of my son, I could not take on the additional burden of the unconscionable actions of the young man, as provided by the news coverage. I confess, I had to abstain. It wasn’t until Sunday night I was able to embrace the sorrowful occasion and painstakingly read the names and ages of the victims, knowing full well that the numbers and monikers did not fully represent those affected by such a tragedy. Yes, along with the rest of the empathizing individuals of the world, I am profoundly sad. And with the sadness comes the tidal wave of philosophical questioning that seems to always follow an inexplicable act of evil. The questions such as, “Why did G-d allow this to happen?” And, “If he is a loving G-d, then why does he allow evil in the first place?” Of course my son always seems to come up with the hardest of the hard, in terms of questioning…”Why to innocent little children and not the asshole’s who beat their wives? Or the sons of bitches that abuse kids?”
And along with that line of questioning then comes his own angst about sickness and more specifically cancer. “Why me, when there are other jerk-offs who don’t deserve to even be alive? Why my friends wife, Michelle, when she is the sweetest lady on this earth?” Honestly, this type of questioning can go on for hours. I know it follows me for days. And quite frankly, to be able to rise and smile anew every day I have to deliberately turn the questions off with a knowing that I just might not ever be given the answer…this side of Heaven (and perhaps the other side as well). But I choose to believe G-d and what he says, that he is for us and not against us (I make this choice even with the spiritual interrogations present within me).
Yet amidst these heavy hitters of real life circumstance, we do have the privilege of seeing goodness and miracles. For instance, last week Cole was struggling to be alive, and considering in-patient psychiatric intervention as a result. His dad and I were along side him, fighting for his life…monitoring him moment to moment, showering him with love and compassion, praying for his body, mind, and soul, and reaching out to others for prayer and guidance so we, too, could stay afloat. And float we did. In fact, I had specifically called out to the Lord of Hosts to meet my son on all three accounts (body, mind, spirit) by the weekend’s end. You know what? On Thursday last, Cole’s body was attended to by way of a new medicinal regimen. Friday last, his mind was given a renewed sense of purpose through a new gym membership. Saturday and Sunday last, his spirit was given some soul food which carried with it the nutrient rich infusion of hope…a staple he had been without for quite some time.
So as I write this post, in honor truly of the many people who are experiencing the profound sadness of a significant loss, I cannot offer an insight or wisdom that will soothe the inescapable pain, though I can remind us all that miracles are still a present force in our life. I can remind us that our Heavenly father is mysteriously present and his claim is that of love. I can remind, that even though evil is allowed to walk among us it is not overtaking the world. Goodness, and good, are still the reigning force. I know this not only because G-d says so in his Word, but because if it were not so we would all, each and every one, be overtaken. And even a glimmer of hope would not be possible in the life which had been completely drained of it.
Bottom line (a line I should get to quickly, as drowsiness from the Vick’s NyQuil is starting to kick in), I am sorry to my family for having stinky socks. I am so very sorry to the many people affected by the gunman’s aim. I am so very sorry we have to grapple with the philosophical questions which come as result of breathing. I am sorry to my son, and Michelle, who have to daily deal with the overhanging statistical information regarding their diagnosis. I am profoundly sorry.
And now I must rest.
I have lost one of my blog readers. She was a faithful friend to each of us Bents. Fern, though we always called her “Fernie”. A vibrant woman, she was a continual example of charity, fortitude, love, generosity, laughter, and so much more. She was one of my cheerleaders in life. She was also Cole’s, Brian’s, and Esther’s cheerleader. She gave us a sense of family, right here on our block. I would, occasionally, take my afternoon cup of joe and walk to Fernies house to sit in her beautifully kept living room or sunshiny, avian friendly backyard. And just like that, a few days before we head to Sacramento for my grandmother Ella’s funeral, Fernie herself traipsed to Heaven.
I know in my head that living until you die is a true gift. I have seen life taken from the body one function at a time until the angel of light finally emerges. My grandmother, like Fern, was an avid quilter. Having the ability to use her fingers and hands removed from her was a great hardship she bore. Fern didn’t have time to bear those type of physical inconveniences. Her time to be with our heavenly father came very quickly. And though I understand she is the lucky one, I am so broken up about her being gone. Brian is broken up, Cole is broken up, and Esther is as well. And today our rental van awaits our departure to Sacto…
Swinging low feels bad. I began this 2012 so hopeful that the emotional burdens of 2011 would fall off my shoulders and I would find a new spring in my step. Instead, I have unleashed an ability to curse that is new to me (yes Stacey, your debt is now paid in full). Instead of smiling at offending drivers and blowing them kisses, I’m daydreaming of bashing in their windshields with a sledgehammer, or having my neighbor Mark (the laser engineer), devise a watch-like device that shoots tranquilizing darts at people who display inconsiderate arrogance. Not to mention I actually let Betty Cranker out of her cage this week…and though Brian has only heard me use the “F-word” once or twice in our 24 something years together, in one hour–a couple of days ago–he could have sworn in court the word was a common place adjective. In essence, swinging low is not so great.
And as I think of why I am so emotionally depleted, I think of the women I mourn and the losses they have suffered and the joy they continued to emanate. Their very manner reminds me I don’t want to turn into the crotchety woman who, like the old man yesterday with scrunched face–big black eyebrows smuushed almost on top of his lips– yelled at me from his open car window, “IDIOT”, because I didn’t move fast enough out of his way in my newly acquired minivan rental, sees life through a negative lens and terrorizes those around her. No, I want to “lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help” (Psalm 121:1). I want to smile in hardship and I don’t want to take on the mouth of a sailor. I once was going to write a saying on the wall above our kitchen table. I wanted it to subliminally ingrain itself into Cole’s adolescent mind. I never did get the verbiage on the wall, but I have memorized it; and apparently I am the one who needed it engrained in my mind (for you word aficionados, engrained and ingrained are both correct spellings):
“Be careful what you think, for your thoughts become your words. (True, I used to only think cuss words…now they’re audible). Your words become your actions. Your actions become your character…and character is everything.” Thankfully, I don’t carry a sledgehammer in my car!
I know it is a part of life to mourn. All I ask, dear Lord, is to please give us a break for a while. Let us mourn but please let joy fill our hearts and may your peace be in us.
living in loss and gratitude 
The Noise