Matthew M Cornett

Tag: grief

  • “Time After Time”

    Growing up, we always hear that time seems to move so much faster the older we get. If you’re like me, you never believed it until you experienced it. 

    I remember hearing “old” people say it back then but it never made sense to me. When I was a kid, summer break felt like an eternity. I remember going back to school in August feeling like I hadn’t seen my friends in forever but in reality, it had only been a couple months. I read somewhere that the passage of time seems so much longer to children only because they have experienced so little of it. That makes sense and explains why their perception of it is different, which in turn, explains why that perception shifts the older we get. I guess after 53 summers you’ve “been there and done that” and they all start to blend together.

    But time doesn’t move faster or slower. It’s a constant and it’s only our perception of it that gives us those feelings. But every once in a while something hits you right in the face with it all and you ask yourself where did it all go? Yesterday my sister in law sent me an old photo she found of me, my nephews, and my son from the summer of 2006, 19 years ago! The six of us were riding a rollercoaster at Dollywood. As I looked at it the first thought I had was “Man, I’d be so sick if I was on that right now” but then another thought hit me hard. The boys in that photo were between the ages of 8 and 15. Heck, I was 34 years old! Where did that time go? They are all grown, amazing men now between the ages of 27 and 34. My oldest nephew is the same age I was riding that rollercoaster. What in the world??? Where did that time go?

    I have said this time and time again. Most of us just don’t truly see the significance of things until it is too late and hospice reinforced that to me daily. In the 14th chapter of my book If We Never Meet Again, I wrote about this very thing. In that chapter, I met a broken man, not much older than me, who was about to lose his wife not much older than my own. It’s a story that had its twists and turns that ended with her passing away before we could even help her. The last time I talked to him I told him that if he or his daughter needed anything to just reach out. His response was “I appreciate all you tried to do. But it don’t matter now.” 

    When it came time to pick a song for that chapter, there was only one choice: Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time.” I have always loved that song. I remember the girl who lived across the street from us had the cassette tape. I would go over to her house, and we’d shoot hoops and sit on her  back porch and listen to music. I’ve always had a melancholy side to me even as a kid and I loved how that song was both beautiful and sad, inspiring yet a little depressing at the same time. I’m sure I didn’t understand the bittersweet appeal of the song then as much as I do now but I really likes it even as a kid. 

    If you get a chance, go to Youtube and watch “Time After Time-Cyndi Lauper: Music Production Breakdown.” The first thing the guy mentions is that the rhythm part of the song made up of a kick drum and Cabasa. The cabasa is reminiscent of a ticking clock and the kick drum sounds like a beating heart. Let that sink in.

    The guitar begins and she sings “Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick and think of you.” Honestly, there really was no other song that could have worked for the chapter. It ultimately reminds us that time moves on and there’s nothing we can do about it. 

    But what has always blown my mind about the song is how there is still hope and comfort even in the midst of such sadness:

    If you’re lost, 

    you can look, 

    and you will find me

    Time after time

    If you fall

    I will catch you

    I’ll be waiting

    Time after time

    Yes, time moves on and yes, there is pain, but as long as we have the people we love, we can make it. But what if those people are gone? For me, the lyrics still work, because we have those memories. I lost one of my childhood and teenage friends to cancer way too soon. But every once in a while, I think about him and yes, it makes me a little sad, but it also brings a smile to my face too. The thought that the ones we love will still be with us even if it’s only in our memories is sadly comforting to me and I hope it can be for you too. 

    If you still have those people in your life, cherish them each and every day because you don’t know how much longer you will have them.

    I guarantee that husband and everyone else who has lost someone that they love would tell you the exact same thing. 

  • Beautiful Son

    Beautiful Son

    When my son was born, he had colic. It was the summer of 1998. I was teaching full time and in Grad School getting my MA in English. If you know anything about colic, you know that he cried. All the time. Nonstop. But you couldn’t get upset at him because you knew the poor guy felt terrible. For some reason though, he bonded with me. If he was crying, I would take him, do my “don’t cry little bubbie” walking bounce, and he would stop. It worked every single time. Even when his mom tried to take him in the middle of the night, he would cry and cry. I would finally come get him and he would stop. There was no sense in both of us losing sleep.

    I don’t know how I made it that Fall semester. I must have looked like walking death with the lack of sleep I had for those first few months of his life, but looking back now, I wouldn’t trade those late nights for anything. The older I get, the more my mind goes back to those kinds of things: the beauty of watching your little girl sing and dance to her favorite Disney Sing Alongs, playing video games in the basement with your son for hours on end, or watching your young wife walk ahead of you on the beach with both kids on either side hand in hand. Those and a thousand other memories live on in my mind and come back now to make me smile, admittedly a little sadly, but not in a bad way. They come back to remind me of the life I’ve lived and that’s how I know I’ve been blessed.

    But that’s what made Mr. DeMarco’s story break my heart. People often ask me which was the hardest story to write or which one was the saddest. It’s a toss up between three of them and Mr. Demarco gets one of the votes. He was a New York transplant who had an amazing New York accent. I met him because he looked my company up on the internet. Sadly, he had recently buried his own son who had passed from cancer and he was looking to donate the hospital bed. When I met him at his son’s apartment a few days later you could tell he was hurting. But for some reason, donating that bed was something he needed to do. We loaded it into my truck and I made a promise to him that it would go to a good cause. 

    When it came time to write that story and pick a song for Mr. Demarco’s chapter, I chose the song “Beautiful Son” by Without Gravity. It’s a gorgeous acoustic guitar driven song that captures a magical sense of ethereal melancholy, perfect for listening to during a low key drive on a lazy afternoon. As I wrote in my book If We Never Meet Again, “When I added it to my favorite song playlist years ago it was because it reminded me of my own son. But now when I listen to it I also think about Mr. Demarco and his son I never knew.  

    Where have you gone? 

    What have you done,

    My beautiful son. 

    Where have you gone? 

    What have I done?

    I used to listen to it and think about my own son growing up, not that it was his fault. It’s just what happened but there was always a tint of sadness to it for me. But now when I listen to it I can only see that sorrowful father wondering what he was going to do.”

    The last time I talked to Mr. Demarco, I asked if he was gonna be alright. He said “Yeah. I’ll get there. Someday.” I concluded the chapter with “At some point, we all have to deal with loss. There’s no right way or wrong way and it’s different for everyone. For some reason, making sure that bed was used again and not just tossed away meant something to him and I’m glad I could help with that. I can only hope in some small way it helped that man begin to cope and that someday he does get there, wherever that may be.”

    Honestly, I can’t imagine the pain of burying your own child. I know people who have had to do it and it breaks my heart for them. I just pray that the good and beautiful memories of those children eventually overtake the long lasting horror of losing them. 

    Someone once said that grief is the price we pay for love. I truly wish it wasn’t. But if we live long enough, we will all face that reality. Do me a favor. If you know someone who has gone through something like Mr. Demarco did, reach out to them and let them know you are thinking about them. You never know what difference it might make for them today. 

  • Themes, part 3

    I’m a little weird academically because in a lot of ways I am very traditional but in others, I’m probably a little profane. The other night we went and saw comedian John Crist who had a bit in his show where he talked about having “these thoughts that just pop in out of nowhere.” He gave some funny examples and as we were laughing my wife leaned over and said ‘you do that all the time.” I couldn’t deny it because it’s true. I like trying to think for myself and have no problem asking questions most English teachers wouldn’t. For example, take The Great Gatsby. It’s an amazing work or art and not even his best if you ask me. But if you’ve ever had to study it, inevitably, you came to the discussion about the green light Gatsby sees off in the distance. Much has (deservedly so) been made about that light and what it represents. For me though, I remember thinking “what if the city got a really good deal on green bulbs that year? What if we are making way too much out of this?” I mean, if it had been red, what would we be saying? I’ve always wondered about greatness in the literary world. How much of it is intended and how much is what we make it out to be? I know…I’m not supposed to have those kinds of thoughts but I do. 

    Writing the book If We Never Meet Again was a very interesting experience for me. I can honestly say that there are things I planned and things that just kind of developed as it went. And in retrospect, I do love how it all came together. Honestly, it all started out of me telling stories about the people I encountered in hospice, but as the book began to take shape and grow, it became so much more for me. And the weird thing is how things just fell into place as if they were part of a greater plan all along. There are many things about the book that I love, but the first and biggest hint toward what I feel is a primary theme of the novel is the cover. I even had to fight for it and I’m glad I did because for me, it would be a very different book without that cover.

    On January 6, 2020, at exactly 7:10 am, I took that photo on my phone at Huntington Beach State Park (a little south of Murrells Inlet). That was my first official day of work in the world of hospice. I was staying with my in-laws (we wouldn’t officially move to the area until February 1), got up early before heading to the office, watched the sunrise, and took the photo. I loved it so much, my wife had it enlarged into a canvas that we have in our bedroom. When it came time to design the book cover, I was adamant that it had to be that picture. Initially, my publisher said no because it didn’t have a high enough quality (dpi) to be the cover. They assured me that they could find a similar stock photo but I said nope, did some quick research, and found a site that allowed me to increase the picture quality. I sent them the new version, they said it looked good, and I got what I wanted. 

    Why was it so important? First of all, it’s a sunrise and not a sunset. If it had been the sunset, it would be something totally different. And to be honest, it would have worked given the stories. Perhaps a sunset could have represented our patients and their passing. But that’s not what I intended. I have always said that it’s not a book about death. Yes, that happens a lot in my book but that’s not the focus. For me, the focus is the lives they lived in their final moments and the lessons that they each taught me. I state this pretty clearly at the end:

    “Each of the people on these pages have impacted me in their own unique ways and I will never forget them. While I may have had to change their names and certain identifying characteristics, they are forever imprinted on my soul and have remade me into who I am today. As Dylan once said “He not busy being born is busy dying.” I always liked that line but now I think I finally get it. That’s what this entire experience has been for me (135).” 

    After all, my book is a memoir about the experiences I had and the lessons I learned from the individuals I met in the world of hospice. For me, the book is all about my own “journey of becoming” and rebirth. Yes, the sun eventually sets. But my hope is that the inevitable sunset will always inspire a new sunrise in each of us the way my patients did for me. But that’s only my take on it. And don’t for a second think that I haven’t wondered what if I had got up late that morning and never taken that picture. We would be having a totally different discussion now wouldn’t we?