The first time I was aware of the devastation that death brings was while I was living in Huntington, WV and attending Elementary School. A school mate, Eugene Kieffer, was killed in an auto accident. Death had just been a word up till then, something heard of from time to time, attributed only to pets that one had. Never to human beings. When you are young, death is not part of your concern. It is not something you think about, or dwell upon. Death was for animals…not human beings. That all changed the day Eugene died.
The next time I felt the sting of death was in 1961 when my Father received a telegram from my Grandmother that said simply, “John Kirk died this morning.” John Kirk was my Grandfather, a man I had visited often as a child living in Huntington and one that I cared for, even though he was only my Grandfather in name. You see, my grandmother, Betty Kirk had been married many times before and John was the current husband. Still, he was the only grandfather I had known and his death left me feeling somewhat empty for a while. Another victory for death; another weakening of my heart. I pulled myself together eventually and went about the business of living, putting thoughts of death and sorrow behind me. Death, however, cannot be denied. It is always there, lurking just around the corner, a heart-attack, an accident away. You never can escape it…you can only accept it as part of living. When the living stops, death takes its turn. The good book says that “God will wipe out every tear….death will be no more.” I really never thought that applied to me personally however. That was for the righteous. I was not one of those. So I coped with death as so many others did…I simply accepted it, knowing that one day it would come to me as it had come to those I loved, never really giving it the satisfaction of worrying me to the point of obsession. Then it came again. This time to my Grandmother, Betty Kirk. She lived a long and colorful life and died in a nursing home, quite alone. Her former husband’s unaware of her dying, her sister Pearl passing before her and her only son, my father, not caring to visit her as often as he should have. It was time to experience the pain again and for the first time, it was more intense, more sorrowful. I imagined that I was beginning to understand the full impact of death. Death was so final, so absolute. No time to say the things you always wanted to say but never did. No show of emotion, no amount of tears would cure the finalization of death. It was forever. No return. No second chances. No do over’s.
Again I hardened myself. Death was an enemy that I could not defeat but I could ignore until it struck again. I would not give it the authority to consume me as it had those that had passed, those that I loved. And yet, I knew it would again come into my life, just as assuredly as life was being lived, death would also live. It would become an occurrence writhed in surprise and sorrow. It would strike at its own convenience, in its own good time, in its own manner.

She died peacefully in her bed.
The only sound was that
of a singing bird drifting
through her open window.
The limb of the tree
the bird called from was
cut down and laid to rest with her.
One less place where death may call.

As the years passed and as my hair became thinner and grayer, death took liberties at every turn. My dear father died in 1987. My best friend Rick Penn died of a heart attack in 1997. My mother died in 1998. Both my sister’s Joyce and Betty lost their husbands of many years. Soon after and just to make me bow down to it, death took my sister Francis on 2001, my sister Betty in 2012 and my sister Joyce in 2017.
Death was no longer in denial for me. No, death was real, it was being experienced even as I had not yet taken my last breath, it was all around me, calling to me, taunting me, saying to me, “come, let us abide together.”
Death never lets you forget. All that you think you knew about someone suddenly comes into focus when they pass. All the mistakes you made with them, all the bad, all the forgotten memories suddenly are remembered. You weep, often as much for yourself as for them. No return. No second chance. No do overs.
On December 21, 2000 my first love and first wife, Mary Jo Brady died suddenly. The mother to four of my children now gone. No second chances. Not for her, not for me. So much left unsaid.
On January 18, 2017, my 2nd wife, Joy Lynn Gutzke passed away. The mother of my daughter Keara. Death absolute. Memories my only solace.
I often wonder what death will be like for me. Will those I leave behind lament my passing? Will those who blame me for every wrong that happened to them rejoice? Will anyone even care? Will anyone even know?
There is much to be said about the positives of death. It will eliminate pain, and conflict, and denials, and guilt, and yes, even the memory locked away in troubled minds. It will also leave those left behind, certainly, with questions. How do I really feel? Was I unjust in my attitude toward him? Do I miss him?

Death will come to each and every one of us until God’s promises are fulfilled. Until then I will find solace in remembering Revelation 21:3-4.
Where will your solace be found?
John Pouch, Jan.24, 2017