Sunday night, just three nights ago, we lost my uncle.
He'd been complaining of a pain in his left arm and in his chest while he was bowling, and two minutes later he was gone.
They rushed him to the hospital, but there was no way to bring him back.
I had been having a pretty good weekend. Friday night, my dad and I went to the football game. I saw my uncle there. He gave me shit, as per usual. He always had this special call for me. Every time he saw me, he'd yell "Mooooooorrrrrggggaaaaaaaaaaaaaan" so loud, and it was always embarrassing but I loved him for it. It made me feel special. He was just that kind of guy.
Saturday, I spent the afternoon with my nieces and nephew, and hung out with a friend Saturday night. I spent Sunday to myself, doing laundry, cleaning, watching movies, what not. I'm the kind of person who needs just a day to myself to reboot. Being around people constantly is exhausting.
Sunday night, at 7:18, I got a phone call from my mom.
"Morgan, Jeremy (my brother) just called. You know he's bowling as a sub tonight. He said that Mitch just collapsed, and they're performing CPR on him right now. We don't know much else, but I wanted to let you know what's going on. Dad and I are getting ready to go over there."
I asked if she wanted me to go, she said to just stay home. She'd tell me what was going on. I sort of sat there in shock, not knowing exactly what was going on. I went in my room, sat on my bed, and prayed. I prayed that he'd be okay. He has four children, and recently became a grandfather. It wasn't even close to his time to go.
She called me back and said there were taking him to the hospital about 20 minutes away. Jeremy was coming back home to drop off two of his children that went with him that night, one that will probably be scarred for life, and he'd take me to the hospital.
We were quiet on the way down there. He just kept telling me what happened. I think that was his way of dealing with the situation, to talk it out. I listened, and prayed. I prayed harder than I ever have in my life. I asked God to spare Mitch, he was too good of a person and had too much in his life to be gone.
About 10 minutes from the hospital, my mom called. She had called a couple times along the way, but I just knew this one was different. I could just feel it. I couldn't hear what she said, but I heard my brother say "No way. Oh my God, no way." I don't remember what else he said because I immediately broke into tears. I didn't need to hear him say it, I knew Mitch was gone.
"He didn't make it" was all he said before my brother lost it too. He called his wife to tell her what happened, trying to hold it together but failing. I could hear my sister-in-law crying on the phone.
He hung up, and we just rode in silence. I don't know how he managed to get us to the hospital, but we made it. I'm beginning to hate that damn hospital. I've spent too many hours there, watching the people I love going through terrible times.
We pulled up, and there was a group of people outside, huddled together near the entrance. We walked up, and I saw it was my mom, my aunt and my cousin. My cousin, who is a few years younger than me, was in tears, she just lost her father. I immediately walked up to her and took her in my arms, and she just wept. I cried along with her, and my aunt cursed everything and everyone.
"It's just not fair!" She yelled. No, it's not. And I don't understand why.
The next few hours were kind of a blur, filled with hugs and tears. I've never seen my father break down like that, and I don't think I could handle seeing that again. His brother, his little brother, was gone.
My little cousins, his eight-year-old daughter and seven-year-old son, arrived a little later, and they didn't know what was going on at first. They were okay walking into the hospital, but I knew I couldn't be in there when they told them their dad was gone. I just couldn't take watching innocent little kids cry over the loss of their dad.
My cousin, who's still in high school, gave me a hug and just sobbed. I just didn't know what to do. He just lost his dad, and all I could do was hug and try to be there for him. I sat next to the cousin closest in age to me, and she just kept saying, "I don't know what do to. I don't know what to say. I just want to call him. I just saw him an hour ago, and he was fine. I was just planning his Christmas present." I told her there's nothing she has to say, nothing she has to do.
We managed to go back inside, and the pastor was there to comfort my aunt, who was inconsolable. My uncle was the rock of that family, he was the strong one, the one everyone leaned on. Without him, everyone crumbled. He was one of the strongest people I knew, and there are a lot of strong men in my family.
By the end of the night, we were all laughing at the funny stuff he's said and done over the years. My uncle was one of the funniest guys I know, and he could make anyone laugh. He had the funniest stories and the most smart-ass comments. There'll never be another one like him. He was a one-of-a-kind guy and it's just not fucking fair that he's not here anymore.
I rode with my brother home, and we were pretty quiet. He told me that his girls had been working on get well cards for Mitch before my sister-in-law broke the news that he didn't make. My youngest niece, who's eight, was just furious. She got up, threw her card in the trash and ran to her room. My middle niece, who's nine, just bawled. I have a four-year-old nephew that didn't really understand it.
I got home that night, laid down in my bed and cried myself to sleep. I was home around 11:30, but I have no idea what time I managed to go to sleep. Or how I slept at all.
The next morning, I didn't know what to do. I had texted my boss the night before, and told her what happened, and she told me not to worry about work. Well, I didn't want to sit home all day and cry and make myself miserable, so I decided to go to work. It feels like that was two weeks ago, not just two days ago. That morning, I was eating breakfast before my roommate came into the living room. She sat down and all she said was, "I'm so sorry about your uncle" and I just burst into tears. I cried for about two minutes before I could pull myself together. I'm not a good crier, it's not a pretty picture. It took just those words to set me off, how was I going to make it through the whole day?
We got to work, and I just sat in my office and stared at my things. Was I just supposed to keep going? Continue with my everyday life, after everything that happened last night? I was still sitting there when my boss came it, and she said she was so sorry about my uncle, and I burst into tears again. I couldn't stop it, and she was comforting me for about five minutes. I got it under control, and then her husband came it and it started again. They told me it was up to me to be there, they'd figure stuff out if I wanted to go home.
"I don't think I want to go home. I would just sit there and cry all day, and being here helps me keep my mind busy."
Work didn't help. I cried all day anyway, but just silently in my office. I closed my doors and shut out the world, and people pretty much left me alone, except when they absolutely needed to bother me about something. I made it through my school board meeting that night, and writing that story later on. I curled up on the couch when my story was done, watched TV and cried. My roommate was off covering a volleyball game, so I could cry by myself on the couch.
That was the second night I cried myself to sleep.
Yesterday was a little better. I called my mom and talked to her for about 45 minutes in the morning, and it was nice to talk to someone who understood the things I was feeling. She said my dad was taking it pretty hard, and that made me cry even more. My big, strong father was mourning the loss of his little brother, and it just really sucked. He bowls several times a week, and my aunt (Mitch's wife) told him that he should bowl Monday night, and he did. He said it was the hardest thing he's ever done, not having his loud brother there yelling over everybody. He had that voice that just boomed over a large crowd. That was missing during his bowling league, and it was hard for everyone.
I had my moments at work where I just would start to cry, these waves of sadness would hit me and I couldn't control it. I learned that the best way for me to cope was to be around people who could make me laugh. That has really helped me, especially yesterday. My coworkers were doing their best to cheer me up, and it worked. Except when we went to lunch. I work with my roommate, and we usually go out to lunch two days a week to this place that a friend of ours owns. We sat down and were there for a few minutes before she came out of the kitchen. She looked at me, said "I'm so sorry Morgan. I wanted to tell you that in person and not on Facebook." And I just lost it. I thought I had it all under control and the tears buried, only to be let out when I was alone, but apparently I was wrong. I just started crying in the restaurant, and they just hugged me and let me cry. "It's better to get it out than to keep all that inside."
My roommate decided she wanted to keep me occupied, and take me to a movie, which really helped. I just don't want to sit at home and think about things, let them fester in my mind. So we went shopping and went to see Annabelle, that scary movie about the doll. We got home late, around 11:00, and for the first night, I didn't cry myself to sleep. I cried, yes, but only for about 15 minutes and then I was okay.
That's the first night I prayed. I was mad at God for taking away someone who was so full of life and laughter, and had so much to live for. But I prayed to my uncle. "Well, Mitchell. You've been gone for two days now. I hope you're somewhere with Grandma and Dawn, and that you're happy there. I know we all miss you like hell down here. Everyone's taking it pretty hard, so I hope you can see how much you are loved and how many people miss you. We hope to all see you again one day."
Four years ago, we lost my grandma unexpectedly. 20 years ago, we lost my aunt Dawn to cancer. This family has experienced our fair share of tragedy, and it just really sucks.
Today, I'm in our office in a different town, the one where he lived. I'm all by myself, so it's been hard this morning. I've shed a few tears while writing this, but luckily no one has come in yet. It's going to be difficult hearing the "I'm so sorry to hear about Mitch" today from those that do come in, and I'm going to try my hardest not to cry. At least, not in front of those people. I have to try and keep it together.
The visitation is tomorrow. The funeral is Friday. Those will be hard, but we'll get through it as a strong family unit. We've got a good support system amongst all of us, so we'll have to lean on each other to get through them. The visitation will be sad, but more than likely it will be filled with people sharing funny stories about Mitch. Everyone who knew him had one. He was just that kind of guy.
There are so many people that have stories to share about my uncle, and it's nice to see how much he was loved by so many people. There are some who knew him a lot longer than I did, and those that will miss him much, much more - like his wife and children. I grieve for them, and I shed tears for them. Their lives will never be the same. My little cousins will grow up without their father. My cousin will not have his dad and role model to help guide him through the rest of his high school years and beyond. My cousin will raise her daughter without the guidance of her own father, and her daughter will never know her grandfather. I shed tears for my dad, who lost his bowling partner, his little brother and friend. I shed tears for my brother that witnessed his favorite uncle and "big brother" fall to the ground with a massive heart attack, and live with that for the rest of his life. I shed tears for the friends that will want to call him to go golfing, and realize that no one will pick up on the other end. All in all, I shed tears for the loss of a man who was too young and too full of life to leave us so soon. He was so big and so strong, and to be brought down by a heart attack, doesn't seem fair.
I guess life isn't fair. Death is a part of life, but it's a part that we're just not ready to face. What I find sort of poetic was that when we were in the hospital, gathered in a hall way, eyes full of tears but smiles on our faces recalling funny moments with my uncle, a lullaby played on the speakers. I asked my aunt, who worked there at the hospital, what that lullaby was for, and she said that a baby was just born. As my uncle left this world, another was brought into it. The circle of life.
After his death, I've found myself questioning a lot of things. God, heaven, things like that. After we lost my grandma four years ago, I had the same problem and sort of fell off the God bandwagon. I just didn't understand why someone, who was simply going in for a surgery, never woke up again. We never got to say goodbye to her. And now my uncle, who was such a God damn good person, was taken from us so unexpectedly. How am I supposed to cope with that fact. Why him? Why him of all people, who still have a family to raise and grandchildren to see grow. My dad asked his brother that - who has grown children of his own. "Why did you and I get to see all of our children grow up, but Mitch didn't?" That's a question we'll never know the answer to, and I guess we're not meant to. That's the whole part about having faith and believing in a higher power. We have to believe that there's something else after this life, because if there isn't, then what's the point? I have to believe that my uncle, grandma and aunt are reunited and that my grandma is hitting him with her cane. I have to believe that, because to think that my uncle is just gone forever is too sad to fathom. I want to think that his soul is somewhere else, beyond this world where he can look down upon us, guide us on our own journeys and laugh at us when we do stupid shit, because he would have when he was alive.
What my uncle's death has taught us is that life is short, and you don't know what tomorrow brings. I just saw him Friday, and laughed at something stupid he said. Two days later, I cried because he was gone. Hold your loved ones a little tighter today because life can change in a heartbeat.
http://www.kaisercorson.com/obituary/Mitch-Bergmann/Tripoli-IA/1440259
Rest in peace big guy. We'll miss you every day. Some days will be better than others, but not a day will go by where the ones that love you won't think of you. I know you'll be watching over us, guiding us and laughing at us when we do something stupid. I love you and miss you Mitch. I know I won't ever hear my own personal call again, or hear your laugh, but I have to hope I'll be able to see you again one day. Until then, take it easy.
Mitch Bergmann, January 12, 1962 - October 12, 2014. Beloved husband, father, grandfather, brother, son, uncle, nephew and friend.
In writing that, I thought of this poem that I've always loved.
The Dash
by Linda Ellis copyright 1996
I read of a man who stood to speak
at the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on the tombstone
from the beginning…to the end.
He noted that first came the date of birth
and spoke the following date with tears,
but he said what mattered most of all
was the dash between those years.
For that dash represents all the time
that they spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved them
know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not, how much we own,
the cars…the house…the cash.
What matters is how we live and love
and how we spend our dash.
So, think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left
that can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough
to consider what’s true and real
and always try to understand
the way other people feel.
And be less quick to anger
and show appreciation more
and love the people in our lives
like we’ve never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect
and more often wear a smile,
remembering that this special dash
might only last a little while.
So, when your eulogy is being read,
with your life’s actions to rehash…
would you be proud of the things they say
about how you spent YOUR dash?
