Sometimes, life takes a tragic turn.  Sometimes, after the tragic turn, death is a welcome relief from pain for the one who dies, but not for the ones who are left.

My cousin, Michael, is out of pain.  His parents, and his children and his sister have now begun the next stage of grief and searing pain.  Emotions I can’t even imagine.  I wonder how his parents will survive it.  Those of us who are parents just hug our children closer and pray that we out-live them.

In these last twelve years, this is the fourth time in our clan where parents have buried their children.  Two in the last year.

I experienced Michael after he was diagnosed with brain cancer, as a man who re-set his internal compass away from fast money and wealth and baubles and toward family.  He spent time a little time with Dad, his great-uncle.  He wanted to talk with his cousins, including me, at family gatherings and get to know us.  I am the youngest of my generation and Michael and his sister are among the eldest of the next generation.  We were at the kids’ tables in our youth but 10-years difference in age makes a big difference until we were all in our late 30s and 40s.

With our clan, we always feel we know each other, but we don’t really.  I didn’t know much about Michael (except the reports from his parents) until he got sick, and then I knew him just a very little.

But that “little” was enough to grieve his loss.  For him as a person, for his parents, his sister, his children, and for us, his extended family.  And, because one of our number has died young.  Too young.

I am writing this and I look over at my child, SOS.  And I think of Billie Holiday’s singing, “God bless the child that’s got his own” and rises above his parents and doesn’t fall before them.

God bless the child.

Rest in peace, Michael.