Suffering Alone

Rudy received a call from his brother in Honduras last night; their uncle had died, just moments before, suddenly, from a heart attack.

When the kids and I went to Honduras several years back for a visit; to explore and see where Rudy grew up, one of the must meet relatives were his aunt and uncle. They owned, and distributed bottled-drinks throughout the country. My impression of the family was one of love and caring. People who have grown together for years and years, comfortable in their relationship. After spending the day with them, eating and socializing, they offered us a case of drinks for the road. Even Brad felt a kinship with Rudy's elderly aunt; she reminded all of us of my own mother - a sweet-looking face to go with her sweet personality.

Rudy told me how, when his own dad had to move elsewhere for a job - how ironic is that? - that his uncle took adolescent Rudy under his wing, looked out for him. An impression was made to last a lifetime, and beyond.

When Rudy called me, after he had spoken with his brother, I knew something wasn't right. "Are you okay?" I asked him.

His voice cracked, he broke down, replying, "My uncle just died. Just twenty minutes ago."

Of course, I consoled him the best I knew how, telling him to be strong, to think of the good times. To feel the sadness, let it ride through him, then let it go.

But what I really wished I could be... was there.

I wanted to hold him, hug him, tell him it was going to be okay. Just my presence would be soothing for him, having my hand to hold, knowing I understand. Just to be there would make a huge difference.

This is the second time this has happened since Rudy moved to Arkansas. Just before I went to stay with him for the summer, his sister passed away after a drawn-out illness. He was alone when he got the news. He called me, very upset. The small apartment felt huge, he told me. He knew there nothing he could do except send his thoughts through the divine universe, sending his love.

On my end, it is hard when someone that you love is hurting,  and a phone call is the only way to connect, to feel. Words are touching, and helpful; yet, most times it's the physical touch he needs. What I want to provide.

Knowing he has me to figuratively lean on, does help him through these lonely days, if only to hear my voice.

All we can do to endure the sadness that presents itself into our lives is to compassionately own it.