My Empty {Pool} Chair

Today I'm thinking about gratitude, gumption and grief work.

We have this technique in counseling we call The Empty Chair.

We invite the client to imagine that someone is facing them, 

in the empty chair, and encourage them to say what they need to say.

It's their chance to share what's on their heart,

in the safety of the counseling space.

Sometimes the person is still alive.

Other times, they are not.

The other day, while grieving poolside, I decided to

try The Empty Chair for myself. I put my brother Mark's

beach towel over one of our chairs and started to talk.

My time with him went something like this:

Oh, little brother, how is it even possible that six months have come and gone since that devastating day that we found out that you left us? I've shed so many tears in this sorrowful season. I can't help but wonder if you had any idea how profoundly your absence would be felt by so many. Every day since your death someone near and dear to your heart has reached out to tell me how fiercely they miss you. Toni, Elizabeth, Mike, Marie, Eric, Mitzi, Patty, Andy, Lori, Lisa, Mary Clare, Sarah, just to name a few. I've heard so many fun stories about who you were to these beautiful souls. Your friends miss you SO much.

It was Beckett's birthday last week, so I posted birthday wishes on his Facebook page, saying that I knew you'd have made a big deal about him that day. Here's his response: Thank you Barbara. Mark is heavy on my mind today. He would have called by now just to wish me a good one and razz me that I do look a year older.

We miss your sense of humor. 

We miss your generosity. 

We miss your energy. 

We miss your smile.

We miss YOU.

You were such a strong communicator. One of my favorite memories is last year at this time, when you called me to ask for my help with a presentation that you were asked to give at work. I still have the voice message that you left; I may or may not have it memorized. Hearing your voice as I sit poolside and reflect comforts me. Deb says to do whatever helps. So I play it fairly frequently. Anyway, I loved how creative your mind was; you had this idea that you wanted your topic to be GUMPTION and you wanted eight slides that spelled out this word but scrambled, so that your co-workers had to write them down and figure the word out. We'd start with T is for Trust. I was delighted to be invited to sit in on that Zoom meeting and meet your co-workers; who knew that just six months later I'd meet them again only this time, under very different circumstances. Because they loved you so, they've made a Mark W. Natzke lounge on site.

 

A place where they can regroup. 

A place where they can relax. 

A place where they can reflect. 

A place where they can remember.

Paul says he went to visit your grave yesterday.

It's not like him to go to the cemetery.

But he misses you like crazy.

It was always Paul and Mark.

Palsy and Mipps.

The Natzke boys.

And now it's just Paul.

And he seems a bit lost without you.

You'd be SO proud of the work he's done on your estate.

Soon he'll drive your sweet ride to TX for Jacob to buy.

I can't help but wonder if you knew.

Did you know how far your outreach went?

Did you know how well-loved you were?

Did you know how inspiring your faith would be?

 

I'm not going to lie; there hasn't been a day

that I haven't wished that we had more time.

Just a little more time.

A year.

A month.

A week.

A day.

An hour.

I had this weird urge last week,

to call you and talk to you about

how hard the grief work has been.

Mostly, if I had just a little more time,

I wouldn't waste it whining or complaining.

I wouldn't waste it gossiping or grumbling.

I wouldn't waste it crying or carrying on.

Know what I'd do?

I'd thank you.

That's it.

Just say thanks.

Gracias. Merci. Danke.

For being my friend.

For being my cheerleader.

For being my confidant.

In your words: I took this photo along the lakefront a few years ago during a morning bike ride. I treasure moments like this especially as I get older and realize that at some point I may not be able to bike that far, ski those mountains, hike that volcano, navigate that obstacle. So what do I do with that? Bemoan my age and long for a return to my youth? Well maybe, but would that work? No. I stop and thank God for the blessings I have now. Gratitude is a mindset that's best adopted first thing in the morning so you can practice and exude it all day long and not simply when you clock out at five and live your other life. Some of the happiest, most grateful people I know live in a slum in Nicaragua and if they can carry gratitude with them, why don't you? What would it mean to your life if you chose gratitude as your one word for the year, the decade, the century?

Thank you, Mipps, for your shining example of

gratitude,

empathy,

compassion,

kindness,

faith,

hope,

love.

Oh, and gumption, another quality

I greatly admired in you.

One final thing: That day, in your presentation on Zoom, you recommended we read Fully Alive by Timothy Shriver. I cannot be the only one who sees the irony in that. The book's subtitle, Discovering What Matters Most, is something that you're still helping me do as I navigate the loneliness I feel next to my empty pool chair.