Condolences

(Author’s note: Any condolence you give is a good condolence. Don’t let my irreverent explanations seem glib; I cherish everyone letting me know that they care, no matter what form it comes in. Writing is how I cope.)

Steve’s death this year made for a real shitty 2017. The five stages of grief have been less of a path and more of a game of Twister where I spin the dial and deal with a new emotion every day (Left Hand denial!) Acceptance is there one day and fleeting the next. I still cannot imagine what it is like for Kelly, the kids, and Steve’s close friends.

I can’t speak for anyone else in Steve’s circle, but I do appreciate everyone who offers their condolences today, through the holidays, and moving forward. Steve pops into my head several times a day and someone mentioning him isn’t unwelcome.

There are five types of condolences I’ve encountered: the pursed lips, the standard condolence, the friend condolence, the meandering condolence, and the smile.

Pursed lips
This is the condolence the consolee receives when the consoler isn’t sure if they should say anything or doesn’t know what to say. He will greet me and then pause with his lips pressed firmly together, either because he doesn’t know what to say or he does know what to say, but wants to keep from saying it. I see this and I thank all of you who desire to say something, but don’t or can't. 

Standard condolence
This is the standard expression of sympathy. The person gets in, says the thing, and gets out. All business. Similar to how the people at the funeral home do it: Eye contact. Hand shake. Say it. Move on.

Friend condolence
It’s good to be surrounded by people who know you. They can quickly judge if you need a distraction or an opportunity to vent or a hug. These people know how to say sorry without saying sorry. They also know how to jump in when a meandering condolence has been initiated. 

Meandering condolence
This is what happens when a pursed lips condolence giver starts talking, but doesn’t know how to stop. I feel sorry for these folks who say one thing out loud and another thing in his or her head. Then the silent thought becomes a spoken thing and a new thought spills out in reaction to the last one and then it’s a line of dominoes until the person stops when their pursed lips take over again or when a friend jumps in to stop the next domino from falling. I really appreciate this condolence because it gives me a chance to console them, which is helpful when maintaining denial.

The smile
Smile is the best condolence. This person will start out with a standard condolence, but they can’t help smiling a bit as they continue with a story or a memory. I’m still hearing new stories and value each and every one of them.  Even better is when someone overhears this conversation and then is drawn in, adding what they know or jumping into the conversation by saying, “No way!” or “I didn’t realize that is what caused the Detroit power outage!” Smiles, followed by stories, help the most.

When you see me, if you feel like you need to say something, say it. I won’t mind. Even if it is the eighth time or you keep saying the same thing over again. I appreciate it. And when you don’t say anything and you stand there with pursed lips, I’ll know that means that the most, because words cannot express how you feel.

Religious Backlash against saying “Turkey Day” instead of “Thanksgiving”

COLUMBUS, OH (FD)– Joyce Withers stands outside the Kroger’s grocery store in the 43 degree weather with her three year old grasping on to her leg. The sign Ms. Withers holds reads, “Thanksgiving: Thanks to Jesus.” Her daughter’s sign, which is lying forgotten against a row of carts reads, “It’s not Turkey Day, Give Thanksgiving to the Lord!”

Ms. Withers is part of a growing group of religious devotees that believe Thanksgiving is losing its religious focus. “Saying Turkey Day is just as bad as saying X-Mas or Bunny Day. It’s downright evil.” She and tens of others plan continued protest today across the United States and Texas.

"As many are aware, the Pilgrims sought religious freedoms when they came to America," Ms. Withers explains, “The dinner with the Indians was a lot like the Last Supper. Bread was broken in the name of the Lord. Nowadays we celebrate in a similar way: The Turkey represents God. Jesus is the gravy and the Holy Spirit is the stuffing. I like the Holy Spirit part the best. Especially when it is cooked inside God.”

Ms. Wither’s plans on protesting up until Turkey Day. “We’ll be here through that Thursday night and then we go and stand in line at the Wal-Mart so that we can get in on the early morning sales for Christmas.”

The REAL 13 Things Your Pizza Guy Won’t Tell You

I read an article on the 13 27 Things Your Pizza Guy Won't Tell You. They were pretty much bullshit. Here's a list of the REAL 13 things the pizza guy wont tell you:

1. The sauce really stings the open sore on his finger.

2. The cheese that misses the pizza and lands all over the place will make it back on top a pizza at some point in the night.

3. Pizza ain’t all he’s delivering.

4. The soap is still out in the employee bathroom.

5. If you do not tip him well, your next delivered three topping pizza will have four toppings.

6. He does wish you would come to the door topless.

7. The delivery guy is not en route and you are going to get the next thing that pops out of the oven.

8. It is hard to wipe a runny nose with the plastic gloves on, but he'll keep trying!

9. 30 minutes or less is a suggestion and not a goal

10. Long, scraggly hair is in. Hair nets are out.

11. Its hard to catch the flying disc of dough, but luckily the floor has enough flour on it to keep most of it from sticking.

12. Pizza guy is always very happy and he always seems to have red, bloodshot eyes.

13. You won’t believe some of the shit that will fit in the dough presser machine.

Two Days

My friend shared some terrible news about a person in their life that might have a very poor diagnosis and a limited time to live. For the next few days, their family and friends are in limbo while the outcomes of the tests are determined. How much time to live. What possible medical actions to take. What to do. What they don’t have time to do. Helpless. That maybe hoping upon hoping that just maybe it’s nothing. Hopeless. Heartbreakingly sad.

And while we were talking, I thought about recent events in my life and how it would be interesting if friends or relatives could appear to you and explain that they would be dying in 48 hours. That you could have two whole days to spend with them and prepare. The deal would be that you cannot change the future events; that they are given those two days on the promise that they could spend them with loved ones, but that after 48 hours they would die.

Then I thought about what I would do with that time. What would I do with those two days? What would I do and who would I try to see before those 48 hours were over? I have a bad feeling that I would completely waste them. I have poor time management skills and near alcohol addiction and I can see myself getting people together for a party that I get completely drunk at and wake up, hungover with just enough time to say something cryptic before I die.
So here’s my 48 hours.

0:00 The 48 hour Death Courier appears and lets me know that I have 48 hours left to live.
1:30 I get done having the Death Courier explain for the 48th time that no, it’s not a joke and that I’ve wasted 90 minutes.
1:31 Post of Facebook that I have less than 48 hours to live and I want to say as many goodbyes as possible.
1:32 Unfriend all the people that I really never liked in the first place, but felt obligated to follow.
(Not you.)
3:57 Realize that I just wasted two and a half hours watching YouTube videos.
5:00 Gather my immediate family close and let them know how much I love them and that I will miss them horribly.
5:01 Break up the kids from fighting about who gets to hold the kitty at the funeral and who even said that the cat could come to the funeral!
6:00 Friends begin to arrive. Many of them to collect debts. (Redhead Jen still wants that $100.)
6:01 We start to drink.
7:00 I make some poor decisions.
7:30 More poor decisions. Damn you Sailor Jerry’s!
8:00 Additional poor decisions, but I’ll be dead in just a few hours, so what the hell!
28:00 Oh shit. I wake up in my car trunk. I pull the emergency latch and crawl out and into the house. Into bed.
32:00 I’m finally not hungover anymore and crawl out of bed.
32:01 I remember that I haven’t watched Season 2 of Stranger Things.
32:02 I do the math and realize I can watch Season 2.
40:00 Holy crap… completely worth it.
40:01 I eat a whole bag of Swedish Fish
40:02 Shower
40:03 Sex
40:03:30 Nap
42:00 Sign my will. Buy a $1,000,000,000 Life Insurance policy.
42:05 Delete my internet history.
42:06 I make a final blog post, listing my grievances against my enemies and thanking my friends.
42:15 I forgive my enemies. They had their reasons for disliking me. I have to honor that.
43:00 We go out to dinner. I’ll probably get steak.
44:45 Damn, it took a long time for the bill to come.
45:00 Two large Frosty’s. That F*cking no carb diet is out the door.
45:10 I gather my wife and kids and my arms and hold them until the end comes.
45:25 My arms get tired and we take a break.
46:00 We decide to put on “The Princess Bride” and watch it until my time comes.
47:50 There’s just enough time to watch the prologue of “The Royal Tenenbaums.”
47:55 A quick debate about what was actually in the ball shaped present that Royal gave Margot. (It was a ball!)
47:58 My regrets! So many. And now at the end, they stand like an army before me, shouting taunts and curses. In my last despair I look up, and there is my wife, her brilliance destroys those countless demons and all that is left is pure light.
47:59 And then with one minute left, my wife suffocates me with a pillow. “No one is taking this away from me.”


Second Hand Cigar Smoke

Several years ago, Sally and I were driving to a Christmas family event. On the way, we passed a car with a man driving and a woman in the passenger seat. They both looked like they were in their sixties and, we assumed, had been married for forty years. It was cold out and their windows were rolled up. As we passed, we both couldn’t help by notice that the man was smoking a big ‘ole cigar and that the car was filled with thick smoke.

Both Sally and I both felt sorry for that poor woman. Who knows how many years she had to live with that cigar smoke? How many times had she pleaded with him to at least crack the window, Harold? Is that abuse? On the day of his funeral, will she throw all his cigars in the grave and yell, “Take these with you to hell and smoke them!”

A few minutes later, we were stopped at a traffic light. The same car pulled up next to us. It was still filled with smoke and we got a good look at the poor woman and the swirling fog of obnoxious cigar…


…the woman lifted her hand to her mouth. She also held a cigar.