I raced out of my office and raced to the hospital. I ran in to where I knew her room was and she was lying there in bed. She was once a loud big breasted verbose woman. She looked like a child; she was so small.

Today's In The Studio post is a little misleading because me and the band did not work in the studio today. Instead, we were at a memorial service for Lori's (my bass player's) mother who passed. The band were all there, though. We feel like we're a family so it's much more than music for us. My keyboard player, kent, was the only music of the memorial.. it was beautiful.

So, In The Studio today I want to write about death, (You can't say that without it sounding dark!) nothing grim, hopefully uplifting. Stick around.

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Today I was putting together some shots from studio to send out a little email to fans. My thoughts have been on the transient nature of life this last week. I was forced to think of it. On Thursday my son told me his grandfather (my x-father-n-law) was not going to make it through the week. On Friday I got word that the husband of another friend had passed and woke up today, was getting ready for Lori's mom's memorial service and got word that one of my dear friend's father had passed in the night. I heard about this era of life when I was young. But I didn't listen. I think I was told that 'someday kid, you are going to have to buy a suit for all the funerals you're going to.' It's true.

Ezra Vancil & The Congregation

My band, My Family. I bet Lori will kick my ass for putting her all smiley in this picture. someone has to.

The memorial though was beautiful and unexpectedly transcendent and uplifting. My bass player is a very close friend. I love her like my hot sister (oh.. that's going to be taken wrong;). She has been there for me in some of my darkest places with the one medicine that heals me, music. She's a musical therapist sometimes. Her mom passed a little ways back. Kent, my keyboardist and I were bracing ourselves to pick her up off the floor during rehearsal, but she really didn't seem like she wanted to talk about it. We went on, went to Austin to work and really didn't talk about it much. At least I didn't with her. I can talk, good God Almighty I can talk!! But when it comes to something so real, when someone needs someone to just be normal. I'm not good at that. I felt sad for her and was perplexed that I couldn't seem to talk about it or bring it up.

I asked my son how his mom (my X) was doing with the possibility of her Dad passing. He said something like, 'Maybe you'd know better than me.' I told him, 'no, I wouldn't know at all.' Even if she told me how she felt. Because I haven't had a parent die. I can't know. I can't even claim to know anything about it.

It took me a long time to learn this one important thing: That I can't claim to understand something I have not been through myself. Even if I've been through something similar. That it really does no good for me to walk up to someone who has lost another and try to bring up something similar I'd been through.. why would I do that? What good would it do? Answer: It'll make me feel a little less awkward standing there with nothing to say of any help.

I guess that's why I and many others feel so awkward at funerals. I have all kinds of advice for all kinds of people, some of it has actually worked, some not. But when I walked up to Lori at the front of the church, all I have to say seems so trite, so little: 'I'm so sorry. I love you.' Your words were beautiful.'

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A Stop by the side of the road

Words don't cut it at funerals. Memorials and Funerals are for you to be there. to represent the person gone and the ones left behind. I remember one funeral when I was much younger of a lady I adored all my growing up years. She died young, died after what looked like, from the outside view, a torturous 2 years battle through chemo and surgeries. To date, I've had some emotional losses, but she was probably the most emotionally wrenching death I've been through. Mostly because I didn't get to say goodbye. I tear up now thinking about the day I got a call that she wasn't going to make, 'it if you want to say goodbye get to the hospital, she won't make it long.' I raced out of my office and raced to the hospital. I ran in to where I knew her room was and she was lying there in bed. She was once a large loud woman with big breasts. She looked like a child; she was so small. There was no one in the room which was strange. 'Phillis,' I whispered. Are you awake? I went over to her bed and as I reached out to put my hand on her leg, a nurse walked out of the bathroom. 'Sir, she has passed. I'm sorry...'. She was cleaning up the room.

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At that time in my life, I had only been to funerals as a child, and really didn't want to be there, so I remember little. At this women's funeral, I saw for the first time a tradition that I think is so beautiful. It makes me sad that it's not seen that much anymore. I was driving in the line of cars to the burial and cops were racing up and down the train of cars stopping traffic as this train of cars went straight on. We went down a busy street and suddenly I saw all the cars on the streets stop and pull over to the side of the road. I broke down in tears. That was beautiful. That show of respect had no words and was so much more beautiful than what one person can say. It's a city, our neighbors, our grocers, our punks and saints and everyone else, stopping and saying... we honor her life. At least it felt like that to me.

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How many drinks does it take to visit someone in the hospital

I was a drunk for many years. The kind that damn near drank himself to death. Towards the end of that tornado, I convinced myself not to go to several very important funerals. And when I did go, I just crept out the back door and said nothing. I declined most hospital visits, offered to go, but really hoped people would say, 'oh don't bother yourself... ' I was glad everyone says that even when they don't mean it. When I did go, I couldn't wait to leave. Much of this had to do with my drinking schedule I needed to keep. Towards the end of this decade-long binge, I was almost friendless, even family avoided me. I lived like a hermit and was a very lonely person.

I had a minor heart attack right after I turned 40. I had been sober for a year but still had a big mess of people I had hurt. When I had this attack, I at least, and my wife, thought it could be it for me. I had lived such a violently unhealthy life, it wouldn't surprise anyone. I remember that long while that I waited in the ER for some test to come back. My wife had spread the news, but no one came. My mom finally came. But I won't lie, I was shocked that not one friend or family came. I thought I was not going to make it, as naive as that might of been, it was real to us. I was waiting for news that might be devastating and no one I knew came by. I went home and no one called. Not anyone but my mom ever asked about my ongoing testing.

It hurt. But like I said at the beginning of this article, I don't seem to understand things truly until they happen to me. As the year went on, My family and even friends were shocked –when someone went to the hospital and I caught wind of it– to see me show up at hospitals with a suitcase ready to stay the night if needed. And I did. I have stayed the night quiet a few times with people, even friendships that aren't a year or two old. I feel like it's my duty to be there first and to be there ready to stay if at all possible. I feel like that with funerals too, if at all possible. Not to make up for my bad karma, or to make things right or to be a saint in others eyes (believe me they know I'm no saint) anything like that. But because I know now what it feels like and I know what helps... not words, not flowers, just someone there.

Hey I'm @ezravan Follow me. I write about the creative life and some fiction and poetry. Here is In The Studio: Day 4 : https://steemit.com/art/@ezravan/in-the-studio-day-4-the-slump