Pam and I are in the grips of a refresher course in grief and mourning. Our son, Isaac, died of an overdose on September 19th but we weren't informed of his death until October 15th. It wasn't a shocking development. He had a long struggle with addiction that he was unable to control. But, it was a shock to our spirits, a punch to our thinking process. 

We went through the motions required when one makes arrangements for their dead 47 year old son. It sapped our strength. Just a week before we heard of his death we had hiked for six straight day in the Telluride area. Our hikes were difficult and we persisted to reach our goals. So, we had strength, even at our ages. But hearing he had died was a physical and emotional train wreck. 

We pushed on and gained a small amount of perspective. Managed to talk about good memories of him growing up. We spent years of compartmentalizing our dread. We couldn't allow his addiction's destruction of his mind and body to overwhelm us. 

Being a combat vet during a tour with the USMC in 1968, I had an ingrained defense mechanism of depersonalization when death came into my life. But it's impossible to think "it don't mean nothing" when it's my kid.

On November 9th, Pam wanted to go visit her older brother south of the Pueblo area. He was about to have an 80th birthday but he had prostate cancer and it had spread throughout his body. He had just recently entered into home hospice visits.

Don was frail, cachexic and needed assistance to move to the bathroom or bedroom. He had an oxygen cannula in his nostrils.