"The Fine Print", by Michael
Schrader
REFLECTIONS ON THE DEARLY DEPARTED
(Written and posted 14 December 2009)
In my 43 years,
I have known many people who have died.
When the dearly departed is older and has reached a ripe old age, it
doesn’t seem to be as hard as when they are young and close to my age, as they
have had a chance to live. Within a few
short years, I lost both of my grandmothers and several great aunts and uncles,
and while I was sad to see them go, I consoled myself with the fact that they
had lived long and rewarding lives. When
my uncles and aunts passed, I was much sadder, as their lives had been cut much
shorter, but they at least were able to see their children grow to
adulthood. My heart is filled with the
greatest sadness when it is a young person who dies, someone who leaves behind
small children or who never had to opportunity to marry and have children. I have vivid memories on each and every one.
When I was a
child just beginning school, there was a fourth-grader, Michael, who was struck
by a car and killed while trying to cross a busy street. Being as I was only five or six at the time,
I really didn’t understand exactly what happened, I only knew that a little kid
like me had been hit by a car and was dead.
I didn’t really appreciate why the older kids like my siblings were so
sad.
In 1980, Ellen Dooling, a friend of my sister’s, was shot dead, along with
her boyfriend, while they said their “Goodbyes” in his car in front of her
house. Ellen, being my sister’s friend,
was a frequent guest at our house, and was one of the kindest and gentlest people
I knew. While I felt a sense of loss at
the senselessness of it all, I am confident that my sadness paled in comparison
to what my sister felt. After all, her
18 year old friend, who had shared her life plans and ambitions with my sister
like I am sure my sister shared hers with Ellen, was now gone. I am sure that my sister was forever changed
by this loss.
When I was in
high school, two of my fellow Jr. Bills, brothers, died in an auto
accident. Since reckless driving was to
blame, I felt more angry than sad, angry that because
of the stupidity of the older brother the younger brother lost his life. There were friends of mine who found my
callousness to be quite disturbing, and didn’t hesitate to tell me so. Any loss of one so young is a tragedy, and as
a parent of teenagers, I can only imagine the grief of their parents. What made this tragedy even worse is that it
was self-induced, and many “if onlys” were invoked.
In 1990, I had
a part-time office mate in the graduate student office that would, quite
frankly, annoy me. I had no problem with
Teresa personally; I did have a problem that she would bring her young sons,
who were 5 and 6, to the office with her.
As any parent of boys will attest, five and six year old boys are very
energetic and get bored very easily, which means that they are prone to get in
trouble. Teresa’s boys were no
exception, and therein was the rub, as they would run around the office being
loud and obnoxious and would have the habit of getting into things they weren’t
supposed to. I remember talking to some
of my other officemates right before Spring Break that when we returned, we
would have to tell Teresa to stop bringing her boys to the office. We never had the chance. Over Spring Break, Teresa was riding her ATV,
and it flipped and crushed her. When one
of my fellow officemates and I attended the memorial service, the line was out
the door, and I can’t speak for him, but I know that when I looked into the
eyes of her husband and her two boys, I felt very bad. These two small children would never have the
joy of having their mother attend their high school graduation or bake cookies
for the Christmas pageant or beam from ear-to-ear as her son walked down the
aisle, and here just the week before I was griping about her bringing her
disruptive children to the office. I
felt ashamed of myself.
My best friend’s
girlfriend’s roommate at the
In 1996, my
cousin’s wife, Linda, was driving her children down the road when she
passed. As the story was relayed to me,
she complained to her son that her head hurt, and that was the end; a brain aneurysm
burst. With divine intervention, none of
the children were seriously injured in the resultant crash. That was the saddest funeral I have ever
attended. I can’t speak for the rest of
my family, but I will say I was overcome with profound grief. Suddenly, in his 30s, my cousin became a
widower and a single father, and his children would grow up without their
mother.
Sometime in the
past decade, I lost a classmate, Don Scroggins, whose friendship I
enjoyed. Yet another life lost.
Finally, we
come to this year. I found out just over
a month ago that my friend Johnny Dollar was struck by an ambulance and died
while trying to rescue an injured dog off of the highway. This past Friday, I found out that one of my
grade school classmates died suddenly of a heart attack. Despite all of the deaths of friends and
family I have experienced over the years, it still doesn’t get any easier,
especially when they are young.
If you’ve ever
listened to the song “Seven Year Ache”, Roseanne Cash sings of the guy that all
the girls love and all the guys envy.
Ronnie Barlow was one of those guys.
To a dork like me, he was the epitome of what a guy should be –
athletic, intelligent, handsome, and nice.
Ronnie Barlow was one of those people that everybody liked, and it was
hard not to; he was just one of those kind of people. He was the kind of a guy growing up that
would have graced the Archdiocese’s “Catholic of the Month” calendar if there
had been such a thing. He was an
excellent representative of our church and our school, and someone that I am
proud to say that I knew.
Ronnie was just
a few months older than I am, and he had a sudden heart attack and died,
leaving behind a grieving family and children.
I know that my mere words cannot begin to express the profound sadness
that the Chaminade and
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