Koroner’s Korner: It’s All Just Stuff

When my son passed away fifteen years ago, my sister Kathy asked who did I want to give the service?  I told her I had no idea because at that time, I had been away from home for over thirty years counting my Marine Corps, Army, and police officer time.  She recommended Brent Bland, a pastor who had lost his son at a young age just a few years earlier.  When it came time to carry my son’s body out of the funeral home, my uncle, who had married into the family late in life, told me that I probably didn’t know that he had lost his son.  Wow.  I sure didn’t know that.  How could that be that I didn’t even know what I thought was an important piece of information?

As we spoke about those at the service who had also lost a child, Brent said that was about his experience.  That in a crowd of around a hundred, about a half dozen had lost a child.  I was shocked.  He said that we usually don’t know because it’s not something that people talk about, their loss of a child.  Then he said something I’ve never forgot, “Welcome to the club that no one wants to be a member of.”  It still brings tears to my eyes to think about it.

My mom’s husband Larry has told me that nothing will divide a family quicker than a death.  I didn’t understand at first until he explained.  Everyone wants something from the deceased.  As awful as it seems, many think that they need or deserve some material thing, some piece of something.  Sometimes it’s because they had it before, sometimes it’s to remember the recently passed, and sometimes it’s just plain because of greed.  But the ‘feeding frenzy’ that sometimes occurs after a death is sickening to me to say the least; as it is to others.

Robin Williams starred in a great movie about a medical student.  There were several lines in the movie that pertain to death.  “What’s wrong with death sir? What are we so mortally afraid of? Why can’t we treat death with a certain amount of humanity and dignity, and decency, and God forbid, maybe even humor. Death is not the enemy gentlemen. If we’re going to fight a disease, let’s fight one of the most terrible diseases of all, indifference.”  As well as, “Death. To die. To expire. To pass on. To perish. To peg out. To push up daisies. To push up posies. To become extinct. Curtains, deceased, Demised, departed and defunct. Dead as a doornail. Dead as a herring. Dead as a mutton. Dead as nits. The last breath. Paying a debt to nature. The big sleep. God’s way of saying, “Slow down.”  To which his dying patient replies in a tit-for-tat back and forth:  Patient: To check out.  Patch Adams: To shuffle off this mortal coil.  Patient: To head for the happy hunting ground.  Patch Adams: To blink for an exceptionally long period of time.  Patient: To find oneself without breath.  Patch Adams: To be the incredible decaying man.  Patient: Worm buffet.  Patch Adams: Kick the bucket.  Patient: Buy the farm.  Patch Adams: Take the cab.  Patient: Cash in your chips.”

The preceding may disturb some folks and make them uncomfortable.  We have so many words to ‘dance around’ the word ‘die’ and to somehow mask the reality that someone has died.  Nothing can bring your loved one back.  But the level of discomfort from those words are minor when it comes to dividing a deceased person’s property.  Sometimes it seems like people don’t care about the individual who’s now dead as much as they care about having some of their ‘stuff’.  And when it comes to belongings and material goods, with very few exceptions, it’s all just stuff.

We have my son’s car and I try to meticulously take care of it. It’s not that it’s that valuable to anyone, but it serves as a memory to me.  Reminding me of one of his proudest achievements in life, that of ordering and buying a new car exactly like he wanted it.  Every little dent also becomes a dent in my heart.  It’s like I somehow think he’s going to come back and say, “Dad!  Why didn’t you take care of my stuff?”  Or that he’s looking down on me wondering why I’m not respecting his ‘stuff’.  All completely unrealistic and unreasonable for me to think.  But I do.

So, when someone you’re close to passes on, dies, or goes on to the great unknown, remember.  It’s all just ‘stuff’.  Its value lies in it bringing back memories of a better time, not in its market value.  My dad Leo’s Standard Oil uniforms have no value to anyone but me, but they hang on my wall as a way to remember a lot of good times we had together.  I recently found someone who had a uniform I didn’t have it was just in a pile of old clothes.  I really wanted it but it quickly became evident that no amount of justification or begging would get me that shirt; it would only destroy the relationship I had with that individual.

I’ve cried more tears writing this article than any other article I’ve ever written.  Maybe the recent losses of some loved ones have made me more sensitive to past events, or maybe it’s just the summation of the losses of my dad, Leo and my son, Richard Leo.

The important thing I want folks to get out of this is that while belongings and things may bring back memories for you of the past, the relationships you have with the living here and now are far more valuable.  It may not seem like it at times, but the important thing to remember is, It’s Just Stuff.

Danny Leo Green,

Coroner, Cedar County