The Atlantis Archive has learned that Joe Flanigan and his family suffered a terrible and unfortunate loss on Wednesday. Unfortunately Joe’s father John Flanigan passed away.
Our thoughts and prayers go out to Joe and his family during this difficult time.
I don’t know how it is to experience the death of a father but I know how it is to lose one.
So it’s not with sympathy or even empathy that I write this. In fact, it seems petty to write this. But for some reason my fingers are determined to do what they like on the keyboard leaving my common sense and left brain struggling in its shell.
To lose someone feels as if a black hole has started at your very core and threatens to pull you inside out. Your throat becomes stuffed with emotion. Someone has snuck gauze in your esophagus because suddenly you can’t swallow efficiently and you couldn’t hawk a lugee if someone paid you.
Your body becomes fuzzy, the outer edges of it fading into the background, and you can feel the molecules as they race across time and space. Your face becomes stone.
And then your mouth opens and heat comes rushing to your face.
From that point I think it’s a very different experience for everyone. Some people cry and some don’t. Some people siezure with sorrow and some stand solidly holding on to those who cry.
This feeling will grow and shrink but will always be there. It’s able to be called up by the simplest things. For me it was a brown staple remover. A familiar tone of voice.
But even this will eventually become easier to deal with. Your breath will come back to you. You’ll be able to look at pictures again. You’ll be able to express the love in your sadness.
As time goes on, even longer, you will have grown no matter your age now. An opportunity will come when you see someone holding their sinking heart as they’re trying to pick out a black dress or outfit and the connection to them will be so strong that you’ll feel the need to touch their shoulder. Don’t say anything. You don’t really know what they’re going through. Just let them know that it will be alright. Let them cry or be stoic. Distract them momentarily. Make them smile. Tell them a joke. Don’t ask them if they’re okay.
And so here is my hand to your shoulder, as inappropriate as it might be. I don’t know you. I don’t know what you’re going through, if it’s easy or hard. I hope all the best, regardless.
E.M.Green