In the fold of time’s door, there is a key unlocking the pathway to unrest. When the Lord opens this door, we have no choice, but to walk through it. We are more or less abound to it, and delve into the deepest pain brought on by loss. For me, it was the deaths of my loved ones bringing on a pain so sharp, it cut through the very core of my soul. First, there was the death of my paternal great-great uncle, then my paternal grandmother, then my brother, then my maternal great-grandfather, a close friend then a close high school friend.
In September of 1985, I was cleaning the house, while my mother was taking care of the laundry, and my brother’s were outside mowing the lawn, when the phone rang. It was my father’s maternal uncle who called to tell us about the passing of my great-great uncle who passed on in life. He was one of the last of the World War I veterans.
When my mother told me the news, a sinking feeling came over me. I dropped the dusting cloth on the floor, and ran into my bedroom to be alone. Waves of emotion blanketed my soul, as the tears flowed helplessly down my face. I was beside myself, because I had just seen him at my paternal great uncle’s restaurant two days prior.
Walking over to my bed, I flopped onto it, burying my face into my pillow, as I let my inner storm take over and wash through me. My tears quenched the thirst of my soul; yet, the salt within them eventually ended up burning my throat, as I coughed uncontrollably.
As I sobbed, I asked the Lord, “Why did this have to happen. He was such a nice man. Hadn’t he suffered enough in life during World War I, when he was gassed by mustard gas, and the cannons went off in his ears while he fought on the front lines. Why do you take him away from us?” I shrieked, while I pounded my fists into my pillow.
My parents went to the funeral, and told my brothers and me we were to stay home. My father believed my brothers and I had no business at the funeral, because it was sufficient for my mother and he to go by themselves.
I was disheartened, because I so badly wanted to attend my great-great uncle’s funeral to pay my respects. However, around our household, my father’s words were law, according to him and my mother.
Two months later, my paternal grandmother passed away. It was on the day of my brother Stanley’s 12th birthday. She and my paternal grandfather lived in Greece. We were unable to attend her funeral, because in Greece, the deceased in buried within 24 hours of their death. We would have never made it there in time. My parents, my brothers and I didn’t have updated passports, either.
Three years later, in November of 1988, my brother John died in a car accident resulting from a drunk driver.
Fours years after my brothers passing, my maternal great-grandfather died at the age of 100 ½ years old.
Two years after my maternal great-grandfather’s passing, a close high school friend passed away. Here death resulted from murder, back in July of 1994.
All of the mentioned deaths took their toll on me. The pain they brought on both tortured and consumed me for so many years.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015