GRIEVER'S DIGEST Vol. 4: Dave Bertola
"Maybe I didn’t know about Pete’s past because he and I always had spoken in terms of the present and future: what the kids are doing today, goals for the week, etc."
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It’s hard, but I promise you won’t regret it.
Griever’s Digest: Dave Bertola
Dave Bertola is a colleague of mine. Specifically, he is my counterpart for my company’s Western New York region. Dave experienced a loss recently and approached me about contributing a Griever’s Digest. Also, this is the first time I’ve ever heard of a funeral breakfast. Around Syracuse, N.Y., you get the post-funeral luncheon; an unfortunate gathering of people scarfing down free sandwiches while you would rather at home with a blanket over your head. I’d much rather have pancakes.
The funeral breakfast.
What an odd concept.
When someone close to me passes, we usually talk about him at multiple wakes and a church ceremony before we watch his casket lowered into the ground. Then we prolong the experience by using the decedent at a meal, yet another get-together.
I don’t usually like the idea of pancakes and coffee with these same people after a horrible week.
We all mourn differently. I understand. But mostly I want to just be left alone when I’m grieving.
The day Pete died
A few weeks ago, my friend Pete died. For the last half of his life, Pete mentored area distance runners. So many like my two sons – who today run at the college level – flourished under his tutelage. Pete worked with good high school runners who became great. Great runners became exceptional. He traveled the U.S., sometimes with me, to watch his proteges; many of whom today coach track and field, and cross country in high school and college.
My kids were with him the morning he passed. The three had met, as they often did, at a nearby park before embarking on a long run. Pete didn’t run, though. Middle-aged and thick across the middle, he was well-read in strategies. His workouts strengthened the brain as much as the heart and legs. As the boys took final instructions, Pete bent over at the waist as if he were to tie his shoe. But he collapsed. My younger son dialed 911. My older son called me.
By the time my wife and I arrived at the park, Pete was on the ground while EMTs worked on him. I’m no expert, but it didn’t look good. It wasn’t. We got the call about an hour later that Pete had died of a massive heart attack.
A range of emotions I didn’t expect
At the time that Pete passed I was angry, upset, sad, hurt: All the emotions that normally are experienced when someone passes, I suppose.
In the week between his death and the funeral, I heard from his family how much he loved my kids. He had just attended a Buffalo Bills game with the kids and me the week before. How hard it must’ve been for my boys to have witnessed the tragedy of Pete’s passing. I also worry how much they’ll miss his guiding hand nearly every day during cross country, and indoor and outdoor track seasons, which span the entire school year.
The funeral mass was packed to Easter Sunday levels; there was barely a place to sit. Among those who eulogized Pete was a college coach who took the same path that my kids currently are navigating: decorated high school runner, then off to college to compete.
But then he called Pete the most influential person in his life. Pete pushed others for excellence. When you thought you couldn’t give any more, there was always more left in the tank: let’s maximize this opportunity and achieve great results.
The breakfast effect
If had felt guilty about perhaps not spending enough time with Pete. But now I had this coach’s story, which was similar to those shared by many at the breakfast. I wasn’t prepared for that.
I knew Pete was a great guy. But after spending time with his friends at the ensuing breakfast, I saw him now as exceptional. One coach told how Pete, one time, created a workout for his runners, one that the coach couldn’t have possibly assembled by himself. I’m so glad for that and the time, which connected the dots about his circle of friends, his influences on them, and my place within that circle.
Pete was a difference-maker. He was so valuable to so many people, many of whom I had seen at meets and spoken with briefly in recent years.
“Why wasn’t I more aware of this?” I thought, disappointed in myself.
Maybe I didn’t know about Pete’s past because he and I always had spoken in terms of the present and future: what the kids are doing today, goals for the week, etc. Maybe that’s why I knew very little about his wide-ranging influence.
It made me re-think the breakfast: They’re for the living more than the deceased, and that there are opportunities to connect with family and friends who open the door to conversation. Maybe Pete was mourned the correct way: The confluence of people, voices and stories was perfect. Afterwards, I felt a little less guilty. A little less disappointed in myself.
That experience helped me cope with the immediate loss of my friend, but I’ll forever have a place for him in my heart.
Join the Griever’s Digest Family
Grief is hard, complex, and not easily defined. It doesn’t just apply to the death of a living thing, but it is the pain of watching someone in crisis. Expressing your grief is an important part of healing and living with your feelings. I want to offer this space as a forum for you, whether it’s the Q&A or your original work…both are fine as long as it is authentic and in your words. Drop me a line at jaredpaventi at gmail dot com if you’re interested.
Final thoughts on finality…
Great mentors, I’ve realized, don’t tell you what to do; they find ways bring out the best in you.
— Rob Lachenauer for Harvard Business Review
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