Some People Just Die
I’ve been thinking a lot about a recent conversation I had with my good friend Charlotte Lankard. We were discussing this series and what an opportunity it is to speak about death, taboo subject that it is.
As we were talking though, I began thinking about all the people that don’t have time to say goodbye before they die. I mean I may not be ”Mr. Lucky,” but I do at least have the opportunity to see death approaching. This gives me some time to plan, some time to spend moments with those I love, some time to say goodbye.
“Not everyone has that chance,” I said to Charlotte. “Some people just die.”
One moment they’re here, and the next moment they’re gone.
This led to two tributes I wrote on behalf of people who fall into that category. First, my sister Karyn. And second, my friend Donya Hicks Dunn.
The tributes apparently hit home, for in the aftermath of publishing them on this site I’ve received note after note about Karyn and Donya. Why the response? Well, first and foremost, these were great people. But secondly, I’m not sure we’ve reached the point of closure yet. I mean, yes, we went to their funerals, but we never really had the chance to spend time with them and say goodbye.
Death can be long and drawn out. Shoot, we’re all dying when you get right down to it. But for many people, and I fall into this category, death can take more than a year, perhaps several.
But death can also strike like lightning. So quick that we never have time to think about it or see it coming. So quick that we never get that chance to say goodbye.
Some people just die.
That’s a fact. And a shocking one at that.
Many of my friends in Norman experienced this painful reality yesterday when our friend Sherri Little died. I don’t know many details, so I won’t get into exactly how, except to say it appears to have been a heart attack.
Sherri Little was 44. Her husband Brad works with me. They have three children. The oldest is in college, while the younger ones are in high school.
Sherri was a twin. Her sister Kerri is one of our dearest friends. I can’t stop thinking about her loss.
I would like to write a tribute to Sherri Little… someday. But not today. Today, her death is still too raw, too strange, too surreal. This week is for their family. This week is for her funeral.
But I would like to say this: Sherri Little was one of the good guys. And I mean that from the very fiber of my soul. She was good. And she will be missed.
Therapy
I have this poem called “Two Guys in Therapy” that was published in Oklahoma Today magazine last summer, in the issue focusing on barbeque. The running joke, or observation, in that poem is that guys are pretty clueless when it comes to depression and therapy. Rather than going to see a professional (therapist, psychologist, psychiatrist, priest, pastor, or shaman), guys tend to go to their favorite barbeque joint and pig-out.
While I like to poke fun at guys, cause we deserve it, you’ve gotta be careful when it comes to issues like depression, counseling sessions, medication, and what not. (Look at what happened to Tom Cruise.) It’s a serious topic, one that each person will probably have to muddle through at some point in his or her life, so long as they live in a country where such options are somewhat affordable.
As for me, I’ve seen my share of therapists, some helpful, some not so much. As a general rule, I think therapy can be wonderful and is, at times, critical. And the same is true for medication. Although it’s arguably true that America is a bit overmedicated, there are conditions and circumstances for which prescribed medicine is truly a lifesaver.
Due to my crappy health, people tend to assume that I’m in some sort of intense ongoing psychotherapy and that I’m popping pills like a guy eating popcorn at a movie.
However, truth is I’ve developed my own mental health wellness plan. It began long ago with a lot of reading, writing, and visits to a variety of professionals in the field, from psychiatrists to church counselors. But it has adapted over time. It is deeper now, more thought out and helpful.
Reading and writing are essential to the plan. Writing, and poetry in particular, is one of my primary methods of flushing the psychological and emotional toxins that build up inside me. Now I understand that many people don’t have creative outlets for the stress and grief they’re experiencing. Few of us are writers and a heck of a lot fewer than that are poets.
But anyone can read, and everyone should be doing it on a regular basis. In addition to books covering a specific topic I may be interested in (like mental health), I tend to choose books about “real stuff,” which means nonfiction, honest poetry, and time-tested classics. Plus, my wife LeAnn reads a lot of books about other cultures, so I get to select from her highest recommendations.
Beyond reading, I do a heck of a lot of one-on-one talking with friends, the true counselors of my life. Each of these friends serves a different function, and together they have helped me make it through this physically and emotionally taxing journey. I’d like to mention some of them here, because they deserve it.
I meet regularly for breakfast with my friends Don Hull and Molly Griffis. Don is older than me, a college professor, writer, cancer survivor, and former minister. With approximately seventy years under his belt, he has much to say about marriage, parenting, work, and spiritual matters. But he’s also very practical. He calls every week, no matter what. He drove me back and forth from physical therapy, and he has rescued me at chemo more than once. From time to time, he swings by work to take me to lunch or by the house with a coconut creme pie, my favorite. And he’s also cleared my yard of leaves several times, knowing that one-armed guys like me are not good with rakes.
I meet with Molly a couple of times a month. She is my advisor on the business of writing. As a former publisher and well-known author of children’s books, Molly tells me who I should call or connect with. Due to my difficulties stuffing envelopes, she mails out books for me whenever someone orders them through my website. That’s a huge help. She lost her husband to cancer last year, so we traveled that journey together. I’m sure she’s adapting to living alone after fifty years (or so) of marriage, so I think our friendship is as helpful to her as it is to me.
I meet with other friends for lunch on a regular or semi-regular basis. I’ve been meeting with Patti Parrish since we worked together at a law firm in the early nineties. Patti is now a District Court judge, and we’re often joined by others who worked with us (Martha Marshall, Travis Pickens, or Lisa Davis). Patti and I are brother and sister in pain. Mine has to do with cancer and the loss of my sister Karyn in a car accident. Among other things, Patti lost her husband in a freakish train accident, her sister to cancer, and her adopted daughter April was murdered by her husband. And together we shared the painful loss of our dear friend and coworker Doyle Bunch, who drowned in a tragic scuba diving accident. Patti and I have a commonality that is unusual in this area.
I meet at least once a month with my good friend Charlotte Lankard. Charlotte is a counselor at Integris Hospital, and she writes a column for the Oklahoman. She is one of the kindest people I know, and she was the driving force behind this “Life is Real” series. Charlotte lost her husband to cancer some years ago, so she identifies with my circumstance personally. She also lost her adopted son quite recently. She’s been through other pain too, physical and relational. So we share a lot in common. As a counselor, she asks me the questions no one else asks, or even thinks of, and she serves a therapist role in my life too that is an extension of our friendship.
Nathan Brown is my poetry buddy and my creative collaborator. We meet for lunch at the Red Cup when we can, and we do a lot of poetry readings and like events together. He gets a gig and invites me to join him, and vice versa. We share a writing madness that is difficult to explain, but it’s good to know there are other crazies out there too. He tries to be the friend who helps me forget about my health and future, however briefly.
LeAnn and I have a whole host of friends we meet with regularly for dinner or a night on the town. Don and Shellie Greiner were our college buddies, and we’ve remained close over the years. We’ve gone on vacation together, attended the theater with them on many occasions, and get together as often as possible for dinner. Don and I also do lunch here and there. They are some of the best people we know, and they’ve been there for us in more ways than they would ever let me relate in writing.
We also get together with Jack and Katie Kain quite often. Jack shares my addiction to the weather (but he’s a professional), and Katie shares my addiction (as well as LeAnn’s) for reading. Jack is philosophical, which I love, and he joins me for coffee whenever we remember to set a date. We talk about some tough things, and it hurts when I share something that brings him pain. But that’s life I guess, and he is wise about life.
We also meet for dinner with friends like Alan and Kerri Tiedeman, Kevin and Kristy Bloss, William and Ginger Murray, Pam and Dwight Normile. These are lifelong friends that have been meeting with us for years. We can get together with them and relax, able to be ourselves no matter what that may mean on the day in question.
At work, I’ve shared my ongoing journey with a host of friends, Lendell Blosser, Lou Kohlman, Allan Smith, Patty Grotta, Melanie Stucky, Linda McGuire, Arlene Johnson, students like Ashley and Linsey, and members of my staff. The whole place has been there for me, donating sick leave, giving my family presents we don’t deserve, praying.
I get together with other friends on more of a random basis, for an occasional meal, to watch a movie, to watch a game, or perhaps sample a tasty beverage. Dwight and Alan, mentioned above. David Payne, Jim Bishop, Mike Bumgarner, Andy Horton, Brooks Hull, Trent Bell, Scott Petty, Tom Hemry. And with many others, especially dear friends who are far away, I do my best to maintain a meaningful email relationship. They send cheerful notes, encouraging me to keep up the good fight.
The point is this: my wife and I have a tremendous circle of friends. We are truly blessed. Without them, I would be much worse off than I am–indeed I’d hate to think where I’d be. I often see folks at cancer centers that have no one at all. So I am lucky, and proud, to have such dear friends. They are therapeutic to me, having become an important part of my ongoing wellness plan.
