Posts in Grief
The Fire This Time

I don’t know where the bottle of Jack Daniels came from, but I have a guess.

My guess is that Dad went to the liquor store—probably to buy the bottle of Barefoot chardonnay I threw away when I cleaned out his refrigerator—and somehow ended up getting all the way home with a bottle of Tennessee whiskey he hadn’t paid for. Had it been bought by another customer and accidentally placed in his bag? Had he unintentionally shoplifted it? Was this an episode of The Simpsons?

Whatever had happened, it ate at him. He’d received something he hadn’t earned, and this was unacceptable. He’d deprived someone else of something they had earned, and that was even more unacceptable. He mentioned in conversations how much it bothered him. At any rate, at some point—I don’t remember when or why—my brother, my husband, and I had consumed that bottle.

So when we found the second handle of Jack at the bottom of one of Dad’s kitchen cabinets, never opened, bright orange price tag blazing like a HELLO MY NAME IS sticker, I assumed Dad had done what I, as his child, would have: He went back to the same liquor store and purchased a bottle of Jack Daniels. To try to even things up. But also to avoid having to tell the person at the counter, hey, I stole some liquor so can I just pay for it now? Because he’s eighty-four and doesn’t need those kind of problems; he just figured he’d do his best to make it as right as possible. Lower his lifetime ratio of bottles of alcohol stolen to those purchased lawfully.

So as we are wont to do, my brother John and I opened the bottle. We’d spent three days cleaning out Dad’s house once he’d decided—finally and after great consternation on the part of his five children and his ex-wife—after his most recent trip to the hospital, that living in the middle of nowhere by himself was no longer an option.

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Family, GriefK.C. CliffordNathan Gunter
A Good End

It turns out your shenanigans and missteps and oopsies may be an important part of what people love about you, when things are said and done, and you inch your way through your last breaths.

Your grandkids may take your nurse in the hall to laugh/cry their way through stories of drinking beer with you when they were way too young for such things, and sneaking you to the VFW for a little R&R.

It may be that you won your nurse over in the first place by telling her, "I don't give a shit." She gotta respect that, right?

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Grief, Death & Dying, FamilyK.C. CliffordJessica Zan
Vinyl First Date

My father is a bluegrass musician. He founded a band in the early ’70s called Mountain Smoke. They are notable for several reasons, but the most widely known is Mountain Smoke was Vince Gill’s first band. They opened for Kiss and have had wild things happen, like playing on the White House lawn for several presidents, being written about by Billboard, and most recently, they were featured and had a song licensed in Ken Burns’ 8-part documentary series, Country Music. By the late ’70s, my Dad had left the band behind for the world of business. But music was in his blood, and in so much of how he raised me. Decades later, he would reunite with the band and his love of playing. They still perform today.

My dad set music aside and went on to be a very successful businessman. He took deep pride in providing for his family, and he worked and travelled a whole lot of the time. Although we have since repaired the wound of his absence, the truth is he missed many of the little moments in my childhood. One of the most crystallized memories I have as a young girl follows here.My dad has a huge vintage vinyl record collection. He isn’t just a musician, he is a true music lover. Among his collection, he owns a 45 record for every hit single from the years 1955 t0 1965, and many, many more. He once ran into our burning house to rescue the records and his vintage guitars from certain destruction.

On the rare nights I remember him being home at my bedtime, if I played my cards right I’d get to go down to his study in my pajamas, hair still wet from my requisite bath. Dad would play records for me, I would dance and we’d sing along. It was the freest I ever saw him—no stress, no weight of the world, no anger—just his love of music.

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Family, Self-care, Grief, MusicK.C. CliffordK.C. Clifford
Grief Is an Equalizer

Grief is an equalizer on the human playing field. No one is immune to it. Grief has no respect for our timelines, our plans, or our need to appear put together. Most of us operate on the surface of life’s ocean with little regard for grief’s impact until suddenly one day we find it’s our turn to be churned around in the undertow. Grief leaves us wondering if we will ever get to come up for air.

I was on stage with a friend recently. She looked out at the large crowd and remarked that if every person in the audience were to reach out to our left and right, in front of us or behind, chances are we would all connect with another human who has experienced deep loss.

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Grief, Radical Kindness, EmpathyK.C. CliffordK.C. Clifford