On Green Grass In A Brown Summer’s Heat

under the sun
dawn and dusk
green and brown
all can be found

My cousin was as completely distraught as I’ve ever seen another person. Surrounded by the sounds of sniffling, red noses and that unmistakable, thick scent of floral arrangements that smothers all else, my great-uncle, his grandfather,  laid there in a casket a few feet away. Sitting behind me, Kyle reached over the pew and put his hand on my shoulder. I looked back at his tear-covered face—this southern kid that’s always been so tough and so sweet all at the same time—and I said, “hey man, Uncle Rob is proud of you.” He choked up some more and was able to make a brief, cracked smile before sinking back into the arms of his beautiful fiance who was expecting their first child any day now.

Is there really anything that can be said in moments like these that will save the day or wash away that kind of pain from losing someone so close, someone who had been there with you since you were born, someone that had shown you so much of the way forward?

My wife and I had driven 800 miles to my hometown that week for a wedding that I was to be a groomsman in. I had met the husband-to-be, Mark, while attending college. We were both journalism majors. In other words, we were a couple of creative, liberal-minded dreamers that didn’t dig war and fascists. We spent many late nights getting our weekly (or was it biweekly?) 6-page, black-and-white rag ready with just hours to spare before the scheduled printing time.

In many ways, Mark and I were/are polar opposites of each other. He was a ladies man, outgoing, a track-runner, sensual with the guitar. I, on the other hand, had always been more shy than most, sticking to comfortable long-term relationships, never feeling too enthusiastic about sports, and hardly able to play bar chords without bleeding. But during those couple of years in school, we became very close and found ourselves opening up about our inner-most thoughts and fears over bottles of mid-shelf beers at 3 a.m. as the clock ticked down to printing time. But back to the direction of this story…

On our first day home, my wife and I went to the hospital where Uncle Rob was in a coma. He was a sad sight with all of those plastic tubes jutting in and out of his arms, his half-opened, glazed eyes that looked right through me, and his yellowish skin. All I could think to say to him was, “Uncle Rob, you sure are a sight for sore eyes right now. We’ll see you soon. Love you.”

The past three to four years had been painful for Uncle Rob because he was barely able to keep most foods down—other than the occasional mango or tomato. He had had a kidney removed and the doctors continually contributed the loss of appetite to reactions to his universe of medications. Without any success, they continually switched the medications around in an effort to find a workable combination.

A few days before we arrived to town, he began complaining of a sharp, unbearable pain in his stomach and was quickly taken to the emergency room. There, after three years, it was finally discovered that his suffering had been a result of a partial shift of his intestines into the space where his kidney had been removed. The movement caused his intestines to pinch tightly together in spots and the inefficient flow of blood killed off much of the tissue. I’m sure he told my great-aunt that he loved her one more time before he went into surgery.

After the successful surgery, he was kept in a medical coma. His body was too tired, though, and he passed away the day after we visited him.

The night of the day that Uncle Rob died was the wedding rehearsal, which was outside at Mark’s family’s farm. At the time, the south and much of the nation had been experiencing some of the hottest, dry, long-term weather that had been recorded. Tennessee actually hit its all-time record high of 109 degrees that day. Needless to say, no one was really looking forward to the next day when we would be spending a considerable amount of time outside taking pictures in our long-sleeve and khaki pants ensembles.

As we stood around waiting for directions from various family members of the bride and groom, I bent down and noticed how brittle the grass had become. With just the slightest movement of my feet, the ground sounded like someone was wadding up a piece of notebook paper. It’s coloring had turned into shades of light brown, and without effort, I could pull up crackly handfuls of it from the root-up. The only green grass around was found under trees and in small patches of shaded areas.

After the rehearsal, we spent the night around Mark’s pool, drinking beers, shooting the shit, and getting acquainted with one another. I didn’t mention my great-uncle to anyone that night as to not bring the mood down. Anyways, I’m pretty good at coping with the death of others—it’s mine that chases me around. With a few IPAs under my belt I looked up at the clear night sky. My god, every single star must have been visible. I think the stars are just something that a person from a rural area that has moved to a city often misses and dwells upon late at night. Losing myself in the stars and past thoughts of Uncle Rob and Mark, someone asked, “Whatcha doing Joe? You alright?”

“Yeah, man, I’m good!,” I replied enthusiastically. “With light pollution and all, I just rarely find a chance to see the stars in NYC.”

The next day, the wedding took place under a giant oak tree on green grass. I must’ve looked like a junkie up there as much as I was sweating. We all looked like junkies under that tree where my friend Mark said his vows, beginning a new chapter of his… their journey that began on the green grass.

The day after the wedding, under the blistering sun, we carried Uncle Rob’s heavy casket across the crispy, brown grass and down a small hill to where the hole had been dug. I don’t remember anything that was said at the grave. I don’t know if it would make a difference if I did or not.

That tough cousin of mine, though, I swear the grass had turned green under his feet from the tears he shed that day. A few days later, his first child was born; undoubtedly with green grass nearby.

I suppose, no matter what’s happening all around us—beginnings and ends and the hot hot heat—we can always manage to find at least little bit of green grass somewhere if we just look for it—if we want to look for it. It’s under our feet all the time. And when green grass turns brown, you can bet that there’s more growing somewhere.