...that can have an enormously positive influence.
Jenny was the center of my world (and still is) and everyone around me knew it. Compared to the unimaginable loss of my wife--and I'm still very far from coming to terms with it--the loss of my dad less than two months afterwards was a relative sidenote. I'll be the first to say it.
Still, however, even up until this past week there was one unavoidable fact regarding Peter's death that I simply could not get past: I did not receive a single sympathy card connected to my dad's passing.
This isn't to say there was no sympathy or remembering, of course. A family that lives nearby has in many respects adopted us and remembered my dad several times in different ways. This included bringing Dylan congratulatory treats as recently as last weekend for a Scouting achievement. They lovingly called those delectables, "Peter muffins". The name has its origins from last summer, when this family took care of Dylan for a week and brought him to my dad's hospice with similar goodies to be shared with him. They had never even met Peter, by the way. Such is the depth of their thoughtfulness.
And, my dear brother-in-law and his family saw my dad in his final days on their own and without my asking--yet another act of selfless love among many from them. They would be his only hospice visitors in California (he moved here from a Minnesota hospice a month prior to passing) aside from me, Dylan and Tyler.
The absence of a sympathy card, I believed, could have been due to a number of factors. A few of his friends and employees did send me emails expressing sorrow. So, perhaps it was thought that was sufficient. But, almost certainly the most probable cause was the nearness in time to the passing of Jenny. There was an extraordinary level of love and support given to our family on a daily basis (and the love and support still exists today as much as ever). And, as such, I interacted with many individuals nearby, on the other side of the globe, and seemingly everywhere in between. They all correctly inferred that the crushing sadness I felt was entirely due to the loss of my wife and not my dad. So, in that context, maybe sending a sympathy card for the loss of my dad might appear as missing the point of my grief? Or, perhaps everyone thought someone else would send me a card? Or, it could be that a card for Peter would only get lost in the ocean of cards we received for Jenny?
Moreover, I can't judge. For a friend or a family member to tragically lose a spouse and then a parent weeks later is a set of circumstances so rare and so devastating that it would be otherwise hard for me to know how to react. Looking back at those I knew who lost one or the other--especially a spouse--I would have handled myself differently.
But, not a single card? After all, if a sympathy card doesn't go hand-in-hand with expressing sorrow for others, I honestly don't know what does. (Flowers maybe? We didn't receive those for Peter either.) And, sure, there were some who knew Peter but didn't exactly love him. But, a sympathy card isn't for the person who passed away. It's for the loved ones left behind. On that note, if a card were written, I'm the one who would have received it. I'm an only child and Peter survived his wife, only sibling and parents.
About ten days ago, I was on the phone with my contact at Charles Schwab. in passing, I let him know that both my wife and dad died within the last several months. Then, a few days later, a box arrived at our door containing a stack of sweets and snacks from Harry and David's from none other than the Schwab representative I spoke to. And, far more importantly, the care package included a sympathy card expressing sorrow for Peter's passing. To be sure, it mentioned Jenny as well. But, there it was--eight months after Peter's death, yet by no means too late. Because of this act of kindness, I can move forward: I finally received condolences connected to my dad's passing in a document that I can actually touch and feel. One that I, at one point, dared to expect to receive. Even though it was a corporate offering, there was nevertheless a human being behind it. His name is Nathaniel Neill.
One bit of irony is that when he said on the card, "I hope this brings you a little unexpected joy", Mr. Neill was probably referring to the treats from Harry and David's. But, no, Nate. What brought me unexpected joy was your card itself.
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