Sooner or later, grief arrives
Deep grief later in life
I was 64 before I lost someone whose death I felt at my very core.
By that time, I’d lost both my parents and two high school basketball teammates, but none of these caused deep grief, at least not when they occurred. My parents’ deaths, 15 years apart, were part of a complicated family dynamic, and I was frankly too young and bewildered to grasp the finality of the passing of each of my teammates.
It wasn’t until much later in life that I truly grieved the loss of the first teammate, and I didn’t hear of the passing of the other until some years later. I know he was stabbed while trying to break up a fight, but I know nothing of his final resting place, unfortunately, so I’ve never been able to grieve him properly.
As a mature adult, I’d cried hard, albeit empathically, at funerals for children who’d been taken. I’d also wept bitterly for our pets when they crossed the rainbow bridge, but I’d never grieved a close peer.
Until recently.
Finally, a reason for deep grief…
In June 2023, my high school basketball coach and dear friend (only 11 years older than I) passed away suddenly while working in his yard back in Manitoba, where I grew up. No one expected this, as he looked after himself as best he could, even going to the gym several times per week.
I drove motorcoach buses briefly before retiring fully, and was on assignment in Nova Scotia, sitting alone on the bus, waiting for my passengers to finish their indoor activity. My phone rang, the number unfamiliar, but I picked up anyway.
My coach’s (he will always be my coach) daughter told me straightaway that her father had died very suddenly the day before.
I was gobsmacked and confused – all I could do was repeat, “I’m so very sorry!” about a hundred times because I just didn’t know what else to say and couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. My initial instinct was to argue, “No, you can’t be right!” as it just didn’t make any sense. Unlike any death in my past, this one really cut to the quick, and I knew the grief would be profound.
I began planning for a trip to Manitoba for the funeral, but was dismayed to discover a day later that, in accordance with my coach’s wishes, his family would not be holding a public funeral service. This reflected the kind of humble and sincere person he was, adamant that there be no fuss once he was gone.
…but no way to express that grief collectively
Humility is rarely anything but laudable, but what my coach didn’t consider was how the many hundreds of people whose lives he had impacted needed to express their grief.
We all wanted to come together to mourn and celebrate the person who had given so much to so many in teaching and coaching over the years (as the condolences in his obituary attest), but we had no opportunity to do so.
I needed to express my own grief somehow and would have loved to do it alongside my coach’s family and my former teammates, but he felt otherwise. And his wife was rightfully unwilling to deny that wish. I was grateful that the family at least allowed me to write something for his daughter to read at the private family service, where they planted a tree in his memory.
I would have to navigate the grief process differently.
My own way to process that grief
My grief manifested in some interesting ways after my coach and friend died. For instance, since we moved to the East Coast in 2019, I had been looking forward to having him and his wife visit us here. They never made it, but I dreamed they did, and I must admit I found it comforting. Seems my subconscious knew exactly what kind of healing I needed.
I also penned a poem about what I missed with him gone and wrote about him in other contexts, particularly his fundamental lifelong identity as an educator. I also expressed my grief many times with my patient and empathetic wife.
This deep and extended grief was a new experience.
TO RIC
This time, the call never came
Every storm since we moved East
Dorian, Fiona, and all the unnamed winter ones
But Lee came and went in silence
without that familiar voice checking in
The voice that once both terrified and gave purpose
The voice that was often the first kind voice
I would hear in the morning
during those cold winter rides to practice
The voice that exuded love in different ways
over too few years
This time, the storm raged just a little more
Why did this death hit as hard as it did?
Grief for the loss of a connection to the past
My coach was one of the final connections to my life in Winnipeg and to a time that I will always cherish (I’ve since reconnected with other friends there). High school isn’t a joyful memory for everyone, but it was for me because my coach and my teammates made it so. He was the best male role model I ever had, and that’s saying something, as he was only 27 when he started coaching us.
I often wonder what I would have become without the purpose and identity that being part of that basketball team gave me. Now, not only did I grieve the loss of that connection, but also the swift passage of the years since we forged it. “Yesterday” becomes “a long time ago” in the blink of an eye, and we are ever more acutely aware of the passage of time as we age.
Grief for the loss of a presence in the now
While we were not in constant touch over the decades, he was never far from my thoughts, and we did manage to get together from time to time. In early 2018, when I was fortunate enough to receive an Alumni Citation Award from my alma mater, my coach came to Alberta to attend the celebration and even joined me for an early morning open basketball practice at the middle school where I was coaching at the time.
Hard to describe the pride I felt in having him there while carrying on his legacy.
Then, when we moved to the East Coast in 2019, he often checked in on us, making sure we were getting through some of the hellacious storms we get here from time to time.
My grief wasn’t for a distant memory of someone, but for a person who was a tangible part of my life right now, no matter how far apart we lived from each other.
Grief in recognizing my own mortality
I think that my coach’s passing was a stark reminder of my own mortality, a realization that engenders its own kind of grief. In some sense, you are not really a grown-up until you have buried both your parents. I had done that some time ago, but I didn’t fully understand the extent to which my coach played a parental role in my life until he was gone.
Didn’t matter that he was only 11 years older than I – the day he died is the day I felt truly orphaned. And reminded me (as if I needed such a reminder) that more of my life is now behind me than ahead.
No timeline for grief
The grief I felt when my coach died had a process and timeline all its own. With my tears welling up now and then for many months after his passing, I have now experienced a kind of loss I was unfamiliar with to that point. I was in my 60sbefore someone’s absence plumbed the depths of my grief in a way I have seen happen for others.
I suppose I’ve been lucky that way.
The grief in losing my coach has transformed over time, but it remains. I still sometimes think he might call or that he and his wife are still coming to visit. But this is a blessing in its own way, for the only grief that abides is the grief for losing someone who mattered.
And he mattered. A lot.
Note that this is an abridged and updated part of a series originally published on this site in spring 2023
On dying & grief series
The Call of Home series
More memoir
The second generation: Life as a child of Ukrainian immigrants
Growing up working class, I wanted to be something else
Our house is not a “Very, very fine house”
Competition: Its unexpected value at every stage of life
Sacred space: This is where you connect with something bigger
Major Work: We were “Sputnik’s Children” – until “streaming” became a bad word
Fishing for the ‘Big One’? Forget it – any size catch will do
What you lose when you ignore ceremony and ritual
The value of reconnecting in our “last quarter”
Divorce 25 years on: Our daughter is still reaping the benefits
Letters: The wondrous time capsule I found on my bookcase
Navigating Friendship in My “Last Quarter”
Boating in retirement: The pitfalls of becoming “one” with the sea
The “Mongoose System” recipe for life: Take chances, make mistakes, and have fun
The truth about regret: You are what the results say you are
Cultural cross-currents: What I now know in moving to Canada’s only bilingual province
Happy ending? My family dysfunction would make For better TV
One uncomfortable truth my 18-year-old self needed to hear
Settling for less: How many of us end up doing what we truly love?
Generosity of spirit: The key ingredient to a successful marriage
November 1980: The day I struck a blow for Canada
Turning sixty-five has been a kick in the teeth in a way I never would have expected
Pachelbel, the CBC, and the liberal arts: A surprising connection
Great read Jerry…..we’ll done! A topic that not many will discuss or even write about.
Hoping all is well.
Your Alberta “Friend”
N&T
Thanks so much for your kind words.
My condolences on all the loss throughout your life and my congratulations on all you learned and became. Grief is a hard lesson. Yesterday was the 45th November 3rd without my best friend, the cousin I grew up to 17 with in the same extended family home. He left us 10 months after his father’s sudden decision to pass and our family was devastated, all three generations. Grief is a tough companion, one I met too early. Not sure about you, but in my youth, crying was frowned upon; I only began letting myself cry whenever and wherever it hits me in the past ten years. It takes a lot of time for all of those teachings those losses provided to sink in… especially to me. 😉 Continue your journey, healing yourself and others along the way.
I really appreciate this, Sherry, and I love the way you yourself write.
He sounds like a great man. What a beautiful tribute to him! ❤️
Thanks, Lana – he meant so much to me.
Great read Jerry. This is definitely something that most don’t give much thought. It really resonates with me in many ways. I’ve also buried both my parents and they were too young as well. When I first heard from you around the passing of our high school coach, I too was in shock. I however felt grateful having spoken with him just recently, after not having done so in many years. His passing along with a few other personal reasons led me to make a decision to retire at the end of this year. Thanks again for writing this.
I appreciate that, Fino. I get it – you turn 60 and you start seeing life from a different and more urgent angle. I hope you have lots to keep you busy in retirement and wish you and your family well.
This series is a wonderful tribute and exploration of grief. It helped me see my own grief with through a new lense of understanding and compassion.
Wow, that is the highest possible compliment. I am so humbled, Jolee – thank you. Everyone has their own grief story.