Sadness

There are few things worse than seeing one of your parents cry. They are the ones who comforted you when you skimmed your knee, dealt with your first heartbreak, supported you when you struggled through exams, and who continue to make you broth when you’re sick. Seeing them cry is a sure sign all is not well, and beyond that, a cue that you must now be the strong one, the comforter.

Yesterday, I got the most heart-stopping of voice messages: my mother in tears and near hysteria telling me my stepfather had died. I knew immediately that I needed to be at her side and that the next days, weeks and -not unlikely- months, would be filled with tears and pain, instead of with the many travel plans they had made just a few months ago when they went into early retirement.

The ensuing hours and day were spent in what felt like a muted bubble. When loved ones are lost, all of us lower our voices. The house gets very quiet and the average manner of speech is a whisper. This stands in sharp contrast with the phone that keeps ringing off the hook and the ceaseless onslaught of visitors.

While most callers are well-meaning friends and family, we were suddenly faced with the vicious side of the press. Calling and showing up unannounced and unwanted, these regional press were nothing like the professional trade journalists I knew and had worked with closely for the past two years in my job as press officer.

Everyone stood around perplexed as the camera guy shot disrespectful photos of my mom crying, and broke down in tears themselves out of shock at this impertinent treatment. It took me a moment to realize that I knew how to take control. When I remembered what to do, I acted fast and fierce to end this circus and bring back respect and dignity to my family – already under a great deal of stress.

When the scene calmed down, my aunt told me she was proud of me and felt reassured my mom is in good hands. I myself have been feeling quite the opposite. Between the mortician, the lawyers and the insurance, I feel both very lost and very small. Just like all of us, I am still trying to grasp the reality of what has happened and the sad implications of it.

My stepdad had been part of the crew of the Libya Desert Challenge. At age 53, he dove 15 meters off a dune to land underneath his quad, which killed him instantly by breaking his neck. The biggest challenge now is to make sure his body can be repatriated as soon as possible. I realized at last that a funeral is important for no other reason than that it helps bring closure.

At least we can be comforted that he went the way he always said he preferred to go: doing something he loved, rather than his heart failing. My concern is mainly for my mom, and how she will cope with a future that took yet another nasty turn and will contrast starkly and cruelly with what she had imagined and with what she deserves.

Enjoy life, people. It is -in all its cliches- way too short, and can change so unexpectedly and abruptly, you won’t know how to breathe.