The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha is a story that most of us have heard of, usually from some Lit class from high school. What stands out in the memory of most is a crazy man fighting windmills. Those of us that have only given it that cursory of a look have missed a giant part of the story.
In the main character, we have a man that has engrossed himself in stories of heroes, chivalry, and the pursuit of truth. As he ages, his minds starts to bend to the belief that these stories are true. That loyalty, bravery, and a fierce desire to do good is not only a honest goal, but an attainable one. Throwing a saddle on his old horse, donning a old, ragged suit of armor, and convincing his friend, Sancho, to accompany him…he sets out on quests born in his old and tired mind, to win the love of his one and only…Dulcinea. He takes the impossible stories that he has read and applies them to his everyday life, believing them to be true, possible, and absolutely needed in his world. This would be no different than someone, in today’s world, donning a red cape and walking the streets as Superman, looking to change the world and win the heart of Lois Lane.
As you would expect, he is met with ridicule and scorn by those that fail to understand his vision. He “tilts at windmills” they say….attempting impossible acts to satisfy an unrequited love. He is betrayed by those close to him. Eventually, it is not his defeats that destroy him, but the realization that those things he believed in had no place in his world…a fact that sent him to his death bed.
I first remember reading this story in high school, not as an assignment, but by a suggestion from an English teacher, who thought that it would be something I needed to read. He came to this conclusion after reading some things that I had written on my own time. I used to call them “thoughts”. Just words jotted down when the mood hit me. I had a girlfriend back then, named Tracey. She was the first person I ever showed them to. She really liked them and told me that I should show someone that had a little more knowledge than either of us had to see if they were really any good and what I could do to make the better. Although, a lot of the “thoughts” were heartache sort of things, a handful were about the emotional scars and the moral plateaus I had reached after dealing with the act and the cause of my parent’s divorce. The ugly, selfish, and uncaring nature of their acts during that time left an imprint on me. It centered my way of thinking. And it made me believe that we were supposed to be better than that, as human beings. Especially to those closest to us.
This teacher really seemed to like the things I had written. He said that the romantic things were beautiful, but sort of simple and not well thought out. But, the ones that really got to him were those that seem to come straight from an angry or damaged place inside me. His suggestion to read the 17th century Cervantes book was for me to see that I was not alone in my way of thinking. And that it was a sentiment that was not a new one to my generation. The idea that we could strive for better than we are, even if our goals may seem unrealistic to some, is not rare or in any way new. My take on the subject was different than a man challenging buildings to a duel. But, the principle was the same. To challenge the weak to be stronger than they knew they could be. His other motive was to show me that the world isn’t always ready for different. It’s not always open to something outside the status quo. Looking back, I think what he was trying to show me was that our world (at that time) had become a very selfish one. The changes that had occurred over the last decade or so had changed the moral outlook of the country and expression and love were a much freer things than they had ever been. Adults at the time we about a era that saw the divorce rate climb to over fifty percent for the first time. Television had become our major form of entertainment and had schooled us on the idea that all of life’s problems could be solved in less than thirty minutes. Women watched soap operas in record numbers, seeing people living lives they could only dream about and believing that not only was it normal, but it was expected. And when real life different play that out, they jumped ship. Not that it was all the wives’ faults. Men found women more available and didn’t let a little thing like a wedding ring or vows get in the way. Thus are the things that saw the end of my parent’s marriage, along with a lot of others. This beautiful story was introduced to me to show me, as he explained, that there is nothing to be ashamed of in “tilting at windmills” and it’s those that dare to do it that teach us the most.
I carried that tale in my gut and mind for a lot of years. But, soon alcohol and other things seemed to shrink the notion and shelve the idea that I could change the world. My moral compass slipped. And my “quests”, as well as the voice in my head that helps me create these things you read, seemed to vanish.
It wasn’t until I got sober that I picked up the book again and reread it. It was simply an act of looking in a book store for something new to read, and walking out with an old friend and his tale of bravery and scorn.
You may notice, that unlike some others who may discuss this book, I have not used the word “madness”. Although Don Quixote’s enemies were self-made and his idea of love was a bit misguided, the thought that the world could use a little bit of chivalry inserted back into it was not. In his buffoonish way, he tried to be the light of possibility to those that witness his acts, thinking that if he could just get a few to see what he could see…feel what he could feel…that the world would be a better place. He thought he could win the woman he loved with his bravery. And he thought he could bring back those ideas that others seemed to believe lost.
What I gained most from this story in rereading it is that we must find a way to create our own moral centers. To determine those things that are important to us. We must do our best to provide bravery, courage, wisdom, loyalty, honesty, and care to those that mean the most to us. And we must demand the same in return. But, the mistake that Don Quixote makes, that we are just not allowed, is allowing our own falters from this lofty perch or the failure of others to reach the level we expect to crush our very souls. We must never fail to learn from out mistakes and allow others to learn from theirs. And we must allow for forgiveness from us and to ourselves. We must also hold those accountable as we would hold ourselves. And never allow ourselves to feel we don’t deserve the very best from all that we meet, but remember that there are times we are just not going to get it. We must value our own self worth and the heart, soul, and mind of others. And, if we are lucky enough to fall in love with someone who loves us in return, we must strive to honor, respect, care for, protect, and never fail those people. Disappointments will happen, but they are not failures. They are opportunities to learn. Repeated disappointments can spell failure if we are unwilling to learn from the pain we cause.
There are those who have recently questioned my honesty. I challenge them to prove me wrong. I stood up against a windmill. Although there were others pointing at the windmill and whispering it’s danger, I was one of the few who was willing to point it out and stand up for what I had to say. Because of that, I am no longer friend with some…and have had my loyalty questioned by others. It’s fine. I know where my motives were. I know what was in my mind. And I know what I said and did. And I have nothing to hang my head over.
So, I will suit up. I will take all that you have to offer. But, what some fail to realize….what they missed in the story….is that it wasn’t the windmills that killed the warrior. They had no real power over him. It was the lost love and the heartbreak of realizing that no one wanted all he had to give.
This is not the same story. This one has a different ending. No lost love. No heartbreak. Just discarding of the shallowness and rising above the childish nature of the world we find ourselves in.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
The Unending Wave of Shock and Loss
On February 18th, 2011, my Aunt Ree passed away. Her given name, Rose Marie, was only used by those outside the family. To all of us…she was simply Ree.
It had a been a couple of months or so since I had last seen Aunt Ree. She had been here for a visit and I spent a few hours with her and her husband, Uncle Jay. Far too short of time, had I known what was to come. What struck me during that visit, was that Aunt Ree still referred to me as “Chuckie”, a nickname given to me instead of “Little Chuck” due to my father and I having the same first name. She and my uncle, I thought, were the only people that still referred to me that way. No one else has called me that since I was a very young man. I remember at the time cringing a bit, thinking of the “never going to be grown up to them” feeling I had when I heard it. But, it was just a moment and it passed.
Her death was a shock to everyone. She had been having a pain in her hip that she apparently down played and had scheduled a doctors appointment for the end of the month. On the Tuesday before her death, she called the doctor to see if they could move up her appointment. They told her there were no openings and that she was to wait until the scheduled day. When she asked what she was supposed to do about the pain, the receptionist told her; “Make sure you show up for your appointment.”
Apparently the pain in her hip was caused by an infection that had probably been there for awhile. On Thursday, she was visited by a daughter in law, who is also a nurse, who saw that her color wasn’t good. After checking and finding her blood pressure to be very low, an ambulance was called and she was rushed to the hospital. Medications to correct her pressure and make her comfortable were given. At this point, some optimism was allowed to grow in her immediate family. Her color had returned and she seemed to be doing better, but the pain grew much worse. Within hours it was learned that the infection in her hip had spread throughout her body, making her septic. She had multiple organ failure…her body was shutting down to try and save itself, killing her in the process. Before the sun rose on Friday morning, she was gone.
The shock ran through our family like an earthquake that shook the very foundation of support system. A death after a prolonged illness is painful and we never seem to be ready for it, no matter how long the person may have been ill. But, a death that comes out of no where….that shocks everyone…seems to cause not only the pain, but the confusion, the anger, and the unsettled nature that sends everyone….from the epicenter of the immediate family to the friends and extended family…spinning out of control in a funnel of shock.
We…my mother, my sister; Nadine, and myself…left for Roanoke early Sunday morning…going straight to the funeral parlor…arriving just in time to participate in the private family viewing. With barely enough time to hug the grieving, we were ushered into the small, but beautiful chapel. The cries ahead of us were agonizing. It took this moment for it really to sink in to all of us. My mother almost collapsed a couple of times. Her legs just didn’t seem to want to support her. Kneeling next to the casket, I looked into a face I barely recognized. She seemed so swollen that the pain that she must have suffered was evident. My heart simply broke.
The next few hours is a blur of emotion and tears. I remember hugging my uncle and his children…my Aunt Carol and her husband and daughters, my father and other two sisters who arrived around 6pm. I don’t know that my head really cleared until we left the funeral home that night after arriving for the public viewing. My parents, all my sisters, and myself then went to dinner…the first time that the six of us have sat at the same table…just us…in more than twenty years. I honestly can’t remember the last time. It was a strange and yet comforting feeling that washed over me while sitting at that table. We talked about everything other than the reason we were all gathered there. My father seemed to be glazed…floating through the whole event…lost in his own thoughts.
My parents, divorced for many years, have known each other since they were in grade school. My father and my Aunt Ree actually dated before he dated my mother. She was a true sister to him. And the loss of one of his best friends was written all over his face…floating through his hazel eyes.
After dinner, my mother and Nadine went to the home of the estranged wife of one of my cousins to spend the night. I met my father and other two sisters at the Airport Marriot. We met in the lobby, where they each had a drink while I sucked on my Pepsi. Again, we chatted about things…anything…other than the reason for this sad reunion. We desperately tried to make each other laugh, probably with the realization that the funeral the next day may make sleeping difficult for all of us. After about a half hour, we all made it up to our rooms. Staying in a hotel room alone is probably in the top ten of loneliest things we do to ourselves. I have done it many times before, whether it be for vacations or business trips during my paralegal days. But, this stay…the loneliness just tore at me. I communicated with the love of my life, but found it hard to find words. I didn’t want to expose her to this pain…I wanted to keep her distant from seeing me this way again, but I so much wanted her with me. To have her hold me and comfort me. I know that if possible, she would have been right there. But, her voice and her gentle words were enough to send me into a short sleep. I woke up around four AM and read for a while. Fell back to sleep and woke up around 7:30.
The funeral mass was as moving and touching as any thing I have ever witnessed. The grandchildren spoke of their love and grief. Telling everyone had they would see her again when it was their time to go. Sitting in that church I felt the presence of God…but, also the presence of this amazing woman. Her and her husband had attended this church for almost thirty years. The words spoken of her by the priest and the monsignor spoke of a woman very involved in giving back to her parish. They spoke of her love of family and friends, not showing much difference in that love between those two groups. My aunt was a giver. It was mentioned how she carried shopping coupons in her purse, designated for certain people, her knowing the things they may need depending on the situation. That kind of consideration was her norm. She cared for everyone as if it was just second nature…what she was supposed to do…what she had to do.
The funeral procession from the church to the cemetery was the longest I had ever seen. There had to be over fifty cars. All of the streets and intersections during the 20 minute drive were blocked off by local police and sheriff departments….officers standing by their cars in salute. My cousin being a local officer, they force was well represented.
At the cemetery, the wind came up. The priest’s prayers were barely audible over the flapping of the awning above the gravesite. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes of the surrounding area. It took me a few moments to realize why. The next site was the a burial place of my grandmother…mother to my mom, my Aunt Carol, and …of course, Aunt Ree. I had been here 27 years ago to say goodbye to my grandmother and now I was back to say good bye to my aunt. The flowers from the chapel had been placed on my grandmother’s plot. Very poetic…very approriate. Two of the grandchildren released doves. I watched them fly quickly away. And then it was over. We all stood around trying to take in each other, to support and carry the pain and grief that we all felt.
The woman of the church and the local police department scheduled a luncheon at the church following. It was there that things seemed to start to mellow a bit. The first bits of laughter were heard as stories of my aunt and uncle were told. After 53 years of marriage, the stories were many and all very entertaining. Tears and laughter mixed together are a very odd combination. But, so made for each other. It was during this time that the first lifting of the grief started to take place.
After a brief rest, we made our way to the home that my aunt and uncle shared for almost 35 years. I had not been in this house in over twenty years. It had changed a great deal and was hard for me to get a sense from at first. But, a trip to the downstairs bathroom started the memories to flood in. The room, other than paint and wall paper, had not changed at all. As I walked out, the narrow stairs leading up to the second floor sent more memories to flood back. The basement, where we had spent so much time during our visits as kids was just a place I could not go. Sitting on the sun porch hearing my uncle telling his stories, my cousin Julieanne adding her parts, and my cousin Brian arguing the merits of all things Steeler caused the years to fall away. Suddenly I was twelve years old again. All that was missing was the smile, amazing laughter, and the hug of the missing woman of the house.
It was some where during this time that I realized that my uncle and my cousins were all referring to me as “Chuckie”. They didn’t know me as anything else. And the comfort I felt in that was amazing. I am not sure I can explain it and do it justice. But, there was something in the rareness and the nature of that address that almost brought me to tears a few times. I found myself going outside, with the excuse of a cigarette, to get my emotions back together and to wipe my eyes.
I didn’t spend as much time with my aunt as I would have liked. The fact that the younger two of her children and I seemed like strangers to each other breaks my heart now. I wish I would have done more to keep the connection…to have kept it closer. I have failed there, like so many other things in this life I have led. It will be a regret for the rest of my life, but one that I hope to keep from continuing. It’s what she would want. And I want to give that to her, if at all possible.
I want to end this by thanking those that sent their condolences and kind and comforting words. All of you, my friends….you mean so much to me and I appreciate your thoughts and prayers, as does my family. To Peggy, a new cousin in my life…thank you for opening up your home to three strangers and treating us with the love and gracious hospitality that only family seems to give. To you and your daughters, my thanks…and my prayers. You will always have family here….I hope you never forget that.
If I may beg your consideration for one more thing, please keep my Uncle Jay and his children in your prayers. After over a half of century of marriage, the loneliness he must feel has to be staggering. I hope that he feels the love around him and knows that he is not alone. We are here for him.
And, to my Aunt Ree…you amazing woman…I will miss you. I will never forget your unconditional love and prayers for me and all of my family. And I will always hear your voice when I am referred to as “Chuckie” from now on. And I will smile…and for a moment…I will be twelve again.
It had a been a couple of months or so since I had last seen Aunt Ree. She had been here for a visit and I spent a few hours with her and her husband, Uncle Jay. Far too short of time, had I known what was to come. What struck me during that visit, was that Aunt Ree still referred to me as “Chuckie”, a nickname given to me instead of “Little Chuck” due to my father and I having the same first name. She and my uncle, I thought, were the only people that still referred to me that way. No one else has called me that since I was a very young man. I remember at the time cringing a bit, thinking of the “never going to be grown up to them” feeling I had when I heard it. But, it was just a moment and it passed.
Her death was a shock to everyone. She had been having a pain in her hip that she apparently down played and had scheduled a doctors appointment for the end of the month. On the Tuesday before her death, she called the doctor to see if they could move up her appointment. They told her there were no openings and that she was to wait until the scheduled day. When she asked what she was supposed to do about the pain, the receptionist told her; “Make sure you show up for your appointment.”
Apparently the pain in her hip was caused by an infection that had probably been there for awhile. On Thursday, she was visited by a daughter in law, who is also a nurse, who saw that her color wasn’t good. After checking and finding her blood pressure to be very low, an ambulance was called and she was rushed to the hospital. Medications to correct her pressure and make her comfortable were given. At this point, some optimism was allowed to grow in her immediate family. Her color had returned and she seemed to be doing better, but the pain grew much worse. Within hours it was learned that the infection in her hip had spread throughout her body, making her septic. She had multiple organ failure…her body was shutting down to try and save itself, killing her in the process. Before the sun rose on Friday morning, she was gone.
The shock ran through our family like an earthquake that shook the very foundation of support system. A death after a prolonged illness is painful and we never seem to be ready for it, no matter how long the person may have been ill. But, a death that comes out of no where….that shocks everyone…seems to cause not only the pain, but the confusion, the anger, and the unsettled nature that sends everyone….from the epicenter of the immediate family to the friends and extended family…spinning out of control in a funnel of shock.
We…my mother, my sister; Nadine, and myself…left for Roanoke early Sunday morning…going straight to the funeral parlor…arriving just in time to participate in the private family viewing. With barely enough time to hug the grieving, we were ushered into the small, but beautiful chapel. The cries ahead of us were agonizing. It took this moment for it really to sink in to all of us. My mother almost collapsed a couple of times. Her legs just didn’t seem to want to support her. Kneeling next to the casket, I looked into a face I barely recognized. She seemed so swollen that the pain that she must have suffered was evident. My heart simply broke.
The next few hours is a blur of emotion and tears. I remember hugging my uncle and his children…my Aunt Carol and her husband and daughters, my father and other two sisters who arrived around 6pm. I don’t know that my head really cleared until we left the funeral home that night after arriving for the public viewing. My parents, all my sisters, and myself then went to dinner…the first time that the six of us have sat at the same table…just us…in more than twenty years. I honestly can’t remember the last time. It was a strange and yet comforting feeling that washed over me while sitting at that table. We talked about everything other than the reason we were all gathered there. My father seemed to be glazed…floating through the whole event…lost in his own thoughts.
My parents, divorced for many years, have known each other since they were in grade school. My father and my Aunt Ree actually dated before he dated my mother. She was a true sister to him. And the loss of one of his best friends was written all over his face…floating through his hazel eyes.
After dinner, my mother and Nadine went to the home of the estranged wife of one of my cousins to spend the night. I met my father and other two sisters at the Airport Marriot. We met in the lobby, where they each had a drink while I sucked on my Pepsi. Again, we chatted about things…anything…other than the reason for this sad reunion. We desperately tried to make each other laugh, probably with the realization that the funeral the next day may make sleeping difficult for all of us. After about a half hour, we all made it up to our rooms. Staying in a hotel room alone is probably in the top ten of loneliest things we do to ourselves. I have done it many times before, whether it be for vacations or business trips during my paralegal days. But, this stay…the loneliness just tore at me. I communicated with the love of my life, but found it hard to find words. I didn’t want to expose her to this pain…I wanted to keep her distant from seeing me this way again, but I so much wanted her with me. To have her hold me and comfort me. I know that if possible, she would have been right there. But, her voice and her gentle words were enough to send me into a short sleep. I woke up around four AM and read for a while. Fell back to sleep and woke up around 7:30.
The funeral mass was as moving and touching as any thing I have ever witnessed. The grandchildren spoke of their love and grief. Telling everyone had they would see her again when it was their time to go. Sitting in that church I felt the presence of God…but, also the presence of this amazing woman. Her and her husband had attended this church for almost thirty years. The words spoken of her by the priest and the monsignor spoke of a woman very involved in giving back to her parish. They spoke of her love of family and friends, not showing much difference in that love between those two groups. My aunt was a giver. It was mentioned how she carried shopping coupons in her purse, designated for certain people, her knowing the things they may need depending on the situation. That kind of consideration was her norm. She cared for everyone as if it was just second nature…what she was supposed to do…what she had to do.
The funeral procession from the church to the cemetery was the longest I had ever seen. There had to be over fifty cars. All of the streets and intersections during the 20 minute drive were blocked off by local police and sheriff departments….officers standing by their cars in salute. My cousin being a local officer, they force was well represented.
At the cemetery, the wind came up. The priest’s prayers were barely audible over the flapping of the awning above the gravesite. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes of the surrounding area. It took me a few moments to realize why. The next site was the a burial place of my grandmother…mother to my mom, my Aunt Carol, and …of course, Aunt Ree. I had been here 27 years ago to say goodbye to my grandmother and now I was back to say good bye to my aunt. The flowers from the chapel had been placed on my grandmother’s plot. Very poetic…very approriate. Two of the grandchildren released doves. I watched them fly quickly away. And then it was over. We all stood around trying to take in each other, to support and carry the pain and grief that we all felt.
The woman of the church and the local police department scheduled a luncheon at the church following. It was there that things seemed to start to mellow a bit. The first bits of laughter were heard as stories of my aunt and uncle were told. After 53 years of marriage, the stories were many and all very entertaining. Tears and laughter mixed together are a very odd combination. But, so made for each other. It was during this time that the first lifting of the grief started to take place.
After a brief rest, we made our way to the home that my aunt and uncle shared for almost 35 years. I had not been in this house in over twenty years. It had changed a great deal and was hard for me to get a sense from at first. But, a trip to the downstairs bathroom started the memories to flood in. The room, other than paint and wall paper, had not changed at all. As I walked out, the narrow stairs leading up to the second floor sent more memories to flood back. The basement, where we had spent so much time during our visits as kids was just a place I could not go. Sitting on the sun porch hearing my uncle telling his stories, my cousin Julieanne adding her parts, and my cousin Brian arguing the merits of all things Steeler caused the years to fall away. Suddenly I was twelve years old again. All that was missing was the smile, amazing laughter, and the hug of the missing woman of the house.
It was some where during this time that I realized that my uncle and my cousins were all referring to me as “Chuckie”. They didn’t know me as anything else. And the comfort I felt in that was amazing. I am not sure I can explain it and do it justice. But, there was something in the rareness and the nature of that address that almost brought me to tears a few times. I found myself going outside, with the excuse of a cigarette, to get my emotions back together and to wipe my eyes.
I didn’t spend as much time with my aunt as I would have liked. The fact that the younger two of her children and I seemed like strangers to each other breaks my heart now. I wish I would have done more to keep the connection…to have kept it closer. I have failed there, like so many other things in this life I have led. It will be a regret for the rest of my life, but one that I hope to keep from continuing. It’s what she would want. And I want to give that to her, if at all possible.
I want to end this by thanking those that sent their condolences and kind and comforting words. All of you, my friends….you mean so much to me and I appreciate your thoughts and prayers, as does my family. To Peggy, a new cousin in my life…thank you for opening up your home to three strangers and treating us with the love and gracious hospitality that only family seems to give. To you and your daughters, my thanks…and my prayers. You will always have family here….I hope you never forget that.
If I may beg your consideration for one more thing, please keep my Uncle Jay and his children in your prayers. After over a half of century of marriage, the loneliness he must feel has to be staggering. I hope that he feels the love around him and knows that he is not alone. We are here for him.
And, to my Aunt Ree…you amazing woman…I will miss you. I will never forget your unconditional love and prayers for me and all of my family. And I will always hear your voice when I am referred to as “Chuckie” from now on. And I will smile…and for a moment…I will be twelve again.
Monday, January 31, 2011
A Open Letter...to all of you
Sitting alone in the dark he wonders, what would he say? If he only had moments, what would he want to convey? We would all like to think that we would spit out wondrous words that could be remembered through the ages, but the truth is we are in so much denial of the fragile nature of our existence, the thought of simply moments doesn’t cross our minds. It is said that the young tend to be foolish because they believe they are invincible. I say that is rubbish. Very few of us, unless faced with a long, terminal illness really ever considers our own demise with anything other than fear.
I have tried very hard recently to think of what I would leave behind. I don’t know that there is much that would be said. I have not cured any diseases, or created any great piece of art. I haven’t invented anything. And, God knows, I don’t have riches to leave behind to better the world. So, I guess it would come down to me saying something of import to be remembered for. I would hope that I would have something more than say…oh, W.C. Fields, who’s last words were; “All and all, I would rather be in Philadelphia.”
I know that we all, when faced with a death that is not our own, feel some regret in the words that we never spoke. I am not sure that is a valid feeling, really. If you are a person of faith, such as myself, you have to believe that once they have gone to that great concert in the sky (hey, you have your version of heaven and I have mine) they know all we think, feel, and remember. The regret that we may be feeling is not so much the thought that we didn’t say it, but that we never got to see or hear the reaction to whatever it is that we think we failed to convey.
I would think that the greater regret has to be with those who have left us. Can you imagine getting to heaven and not being able to enjoy it because you honestly believed that you never conveyed all that you have in your heart for those people that passed through your life?
So, I am creating this open letter to those of you that feel the need to read this. I am not going to mention everyone by name, so if you are not specifically mentioned, understand that I am old and have met a lot of people and to mention all would take more words than you are willing to read.
I have told you all about my friend Mike. Mike left us last year. I miss him more than I can begin to say. I was fortunate to talk to him on the phone many times before he passed. But, he never heard me say the things I really wanted to say. Again, I know that I have already mentioned that he probably is up there right now looking down at me already knowing what I am going to write. But, for your benefit, I have to say that I have never in my life had a friend like him. He is as close to a brother as I will ever have and he made me believe in myself when so many tried to convince me that it was a lost cause. I would not be sober today without him. I would not be as emotional as I am without him in my life. And I don’t know that I would have the courage to share the crazy stuff in my head if I never heard his encouragement. May God bless him and keep him company until I get there. And what a party that will be.
I have three sisters. We have not always seen eye to eye. We just see life differently. Always have. But, I know in my heart that they love me. And I know that there is absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do for them. I have caused them great joy and also great heartache. I hope that they know that it was never intentional. I hope they know that they are gifts to me. I hope I get another chance to prove that to them.
I have spent a lifetime trying to become what my father had envisioned on the day of my birth. I have fallen drastically short. In coming to terms with who I am, I walked away from a life, from a career that he was most proud of. And I believe I broke his heart. I don’t know that I will ever be able to overcome the sadness I feel about that. I don’t dwell on that. When I think of my dad, I think of ballgames, boxing matches we attended and watched on TV, concerts we went to, and the Sunday’s in front of a tv arguing over who was better….Gale Sayers or Walter Payton. I was always a Sayers guy. I wish that I could spend a little time everyday with my father. He is one of the best people I know.
My mother has seen the world through her own glasses. She doesn’t perceive of anything being outside of that vantage point. She has suffered because of it. I love my mother. I just wish that one day she could find happiness within herself. Maybe then, she could share it with others.
To both of my ex-wives, I will say that I appreciate what you have taught me. It took me a very long time to figure it out. A lot of frustrating nights and angry days, but I have figured it out. The greatest lesson you taught me is that I deserve better. That my absolute belief in faithfulness is not a foolish dream, but a pure desire to become someone that can look themselves in the mirror in the morning and know they could trust in themselves. I am sorry to say that neither of you can do that. It’s a shame really. I believe that deep down, you are both very special people. Somehow, you lost your way. Maybe I caused it. I don’t know. If I did, I apologize.
My four step children, David, Amber, Christian, and Noah…I love you with all my heart and I will until the day I die. I never wanted to leave you. I never wanted to spend one day apart from you. But, sometimes life gets in the way. I hope that someday you can forgive me for having to leave. I hope that someday we can sit and talk it all out. I will always consider you like my own children and there is nothing I would not do for you. I will miss you for ever.
My past has brought me into contact with some pretty amazing individuals. I have lived so many places and have met so many people. At this age, names and memories become jumbled. I remember making out with Donna Burner at a party somewhere in Nicholasville, Ky. I remember the incredible crush I had on Rita Burt that I never told a soul about. Both of these situations of from my junior high school years. I believe my life would be very different if I never left that slow little town that isn’t so little anymore. I sometimes wish I could have stayed to see it grow up.
In high school there was Tracey and then Debbie Koryntha. Debbie was probably the sweetest girl I knew back then. Way too sweet for the likes of me at the time. I think of her every time I hear “Sweet Emotion”, a song we both loved and crooned together over pony millers and bottles of blackberry brandy.
I knew a lot of men in the service. To each of them, my respect and love. I don’t remember all the names, but I see your faces when I close my eyes and think of those days. We saw the world together. We became men together. And I wouldn’t trade any of those moments for anything on Earth. What a time it was.
I worked with a lot of people in my time on this Earth. A few stand out. First, Patricia Hamel. A partner of the law firm I worked for in Philly. She was the best third baseman I ever played with…male or female…on any softball field. She taught me more about being a professional and about how to get more out of yourself than you ever dreamed possible. For that, and for every laugh we shared…and for her support during one of the roughest times in my life…I will forever be in her debt. I miss her smile greatly.
Bruce Lee was a young man I knew in Ohio. A more caring and loving person I don’t think you could ever meet. We shared a love of music and a fascination with computers. And he taught me how to sell. He taught me what “customer first” means. And he taught me how to laugh at myself when I was never able to before. I will always consider him a friend. No, a brother.
There is also a group of people in Flint that I worked with at Best Buy that probably have no idea what they mean to me. They became a safe haven for me when things there turned bad. In a city so torn apart by the demise of GM and the collapse of their economic system, we found a way to carry a store that should, by all rights, never have succeeded. Adam, Sam, Eric, Jon, Donnell, Jerry, Eric, Nina, Melissa, Bruce, Randy, Rob, my hero Broom, Kabels, Nick, and Ashely…you all made a very difficult time in my life a much better place. Your friendship and the time we spent working together was a sanctuary for me. And I miss you all very, very much.
My current life has, again, brought me into contact with some really great people. I have been fortunate to have found friends here that I value a great deal. I will only single out a few, but know that you all mean the world to me.
George, you sir, are the most considerate, caring, and intelligent man I know. I hope that someday you will see that in yourself again. You never fail to make me laugh, but most importantly, make me think. I hope someday to give back one tenth of what I have gotten from you. Thank you, sir. Very much.
Shawn and Rhonda…I love you both. I don’t know if I can ever do anything that would be enough for to repay the support, concern, and love you have both shown for me. I know I have told you this before, but I will say it here publicly…with the understanding that no one’s life is a bed of roses, the first time I saw you two walking into work together…hand in hand….the way you looked at each other…I knew that I had just seen what I had been searching for all my life. Seeing you made me believe in love again. It allowed me to see it was possible. And for that, I owe you….so, so much.
Carmen, you may not realize it…and I may not show it all the time…but, I consider you the best male friend I have in my life right now. You have listened to me when I know that the repeated nature of what I was saying had to drive you crazy, but you never said a word. You never judged. You just listened. You see through me as well as anyone I know. And you know when to push me to talk and you know when to just let it be. I think you are an amazing man. And I hope that I express that to you in someway, everyday. Without you, a dream would not have come true…because I would have continued to ignore it. For that, eternal gratitude.
Justin G…..APC Justin….my fellow Steeler fan. You never fail to make me laugh. And you take as good as you give. I don’t believe I have ever met anyone as comfortable with themselves as you are. I envy that. You are one of the few people on this planet I would trust with my life. And you make going to work a better thing to do.
Justin D…..CoJo…for allowing me to be me…to vent when I need to and not take it personally. To understand that I really only want to be the best I can be…to everyone…for everyone….and for helping to kick my ass when my I get too full of myself…I thank you.
Heather ….I don’t know if I have ever worked with a manager….anywhere….that is as willing as you are to get your hands dirty, other than Stef Eyers. Like the Marines, you get more done by 9 am then most groups of people. I think I first realized your heart when I saw that look on your face when I came back from the doctors not knowing what was wrong. You have to spend so much of your time being the hard ass, because we have had so few that have wanted to do it….but, as one of those that has seen the other side….I want you to know that it meant a lot to me.
Stef Eyers…only one of the very best human beings I have ever met. A great manager…willing to stand up for what you believe in and fight the windmills when everyone else turned their back. You showed me what a great manager can be. I have missed you since the day you left our store. My prayer for you is that you come to realize just how special you are…life has a way of kicking our ass and lowering our eyes to ourselves. We have both been there. It’s time we both looked up. Because, we are better than they gave us credit for…and the only real losers are those that chose to hurt us in the end. I pray for your happiness.
Joel, my buddy. One of the very few people on this planet who seems to understand me completely…not an easy task for anyone. Your friendship is important to me, more than you may know. Your love of music, sports, and…well, other stuff…makes talking with you one of the best parts of any day I get a chance to do it. Although your choice of football teams is misguided….I will never hold that against you. Anyone that appreciates the opening notes to “Roundabout” the way you do…is top shelf material to me.
My friend, Joan. You are a very special person to me. I don’t know if I met anyone that carried their heart on their sleeve the way you do. Your friendship means a great deal to me. I never want that to change. We have been there for each other so many times. I know that all that you are going through right now will pass…things will get better…and this friend will be there with you every step of the way, whatever you need….all you have to do is ask. Remember, never quit…you are stronger than us all. Don’t let it convince you otherwise. And when you are feeling weak, reach out your hand….we…your friends, will be there….as you have been there for us.
For Meghan, I say your heart overwhelms me. You have a caring nature that shines when you allow it to. I am afraid that that the behavior of others may tear away at that…I pray it doesn’t happen. You work as hard to be better than any person I know. Never let anyone take that away from you. Your spirit will always get you through.
Last, but certainly not least, Kristiana. I wish there was some way to put into words all that my heart feels. I told you once, that I am afraid to wake up every morning to find out this has all been a dream. Although we have had a few growing pains, against all odds….we have each other. I thank God every night for that. After all the mistrust and doubt that the previous relationships have given me, I look in your eyes and I know you would never hurt me. I also know that we share the same feelings Like the story I told you, about the gardener of Roses who said that tending to that flower is a year round, daily job…I try very hard to see our relationship that way. I never want a day to go by without you knowing that you are the most important person in that my life that day, the next day, and the day after that. I hope, with all my heart, that it will never change. Because this is the dream of all dreams. And I never want to wake up from it.
I know there are some that may read this and feel left out. Understand this, every person who currently has the ability to read this has touched my life in one way or another. Without all of you…I would not be who I am right now. I am a very lucky man to have known you all. I may not show it all the time…I may not convey it correctly….but, you all mean a great deal to me and to what I am. And for that I thank you.
I have tried very hard recently to think of what I would leave behind. I don’t know that there is much that would be said. I have not cured any diseases, or created any great piece of art. I haven’t invented anything. And, God knows, I don’t have riches to leave behind to better the world. So, I guess it would come down to me saying something of import to be remembered for. I would hope that I would have something more than say…oh, W.C. Fields, who’s last words were; “All and all, I would rather be in Philadelphia.”
I know that we all, when faced with a death that is not our own, feel some regret in the words that we never spoke. I am not sure that is a valid feeling, really. If you are a person of faith, such as myself, you have to believe that once they have gone to that great concert in the sky (hey, you have your version of heaven and I have mine) they know all we think, feel, and remember. The regret that we may be feeling is not so much the thought that we didn’t say it, but that we never got to see or hear the reaction to whatever it is that we think we failed to convey.
I would think that the greater regret has to be with those who have left us. Can you imagine getting to heaven and not being able to enjoy it because you honestly believed that you never conveyed all that you have in your heart for those people that passed through your life?
So, I am creating this open letter to those of you that feel the need to read this. I am not going to mention everyone by name, so if you are not specifically mentioned, understand that I am old and have met a lot of people and to mention all would take more words than you are willing to read.
I have told you all about my friend Mike. Mike left us last year. I miss him more than I can begin to say. I was fortunate to talk to him on the phone many times before he passed. But, he never heard me say the things I really wanted to say. Again, I know that I have already mentioned that he probably is up there right now looking down at me already knowing what I am going to write. But, for your benefit, I have to say that I have never in my life had a friend like him. He is as close to a brother as I will ever have and he made me believe in myself when so many tried to convince me that it was a lost cause. I would not be sober today without him. I would not be as emotional as I am without him in my life. And I don’t know that I would have the courage to share the crazy stuff in my head if I never heard his encouragement. May God bless him and keep him company until I get there. And what a party that will be.
I have three sisters. We have not always seen eye to eye. We just see life differently. Always have. But, I know in my heart that they love me. And I know that there is absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do for them. I have caused them great joy and also great heartache. I hope that they know that it was never intentional. I hope they know that they are gifts to me. I hope I get another chance to prove that to them.
I have spent a lifetime trying to become what my father had envisioned on the day of my birth. I have fallen drastically short. In coming to terms with who I am, I walked away from a life, from a career that he was most proud of. And I believe I broke his heart. I don’t know that I will ever be able to overcome the sadness I feel about that. I don’t dwell on that. When I think of my dad, I think of ballgames, boxing matches we attended and watched on TV, concerts we went to, and the Sunday’s in front of a tv arguing over who was better….Gale Sayers or Walter Payton. I was always a Sayers guy. I wish that I could spend a little time everyday with my father. He is one of the best people I know.
My mother has seen the world through her own glasses. She doesn’t perceive of anything being outside of that vantage point. She has suffered because of it. I love my mother. I just wish that one day she could find happiness within herself. Maybe then, she could share it with others.
To both of my ex-wives, I will say that I appreciate what you have taught me. It took me a very long time to figure it out. A lot of frustrating nights and angry days, but I have figured it out. The greatest lesson you taught me is that I deserve better. That my absolute belief in faithfulness is not a foolish dream, but a pure desire to become someone that can look themselves in the mirror in the morning and know they could trust in themselves. I am sorry to say that neither of you can do that. It’s a shame really. I believe that deep down, you are both very special people. Somehow, you lost your way. Maybe I caused it. I don’t know. If I did, I apologize.
My four step children, David, Amber, Christian, and Noah…I love you with all my heart and I will until the day I die. I never wanted to leave you. I never wanted to spend one day apart from you. But, sometimes life gets in the way. I hope that someday you can forgive me for having to leave. I hope that someday we can sit and talk it all out. I will always consider you like my own children and there is nothing I would not do for you. I will miss you for ever.
My past has brought me into contact with some pretty amazing individuals. I have lived so many places and have met so many people. At this age, names and memories become jumbled. I remember making out with Donna Burner at a party somewhere in Nicholasville, Ky. I remember the incredible crush I had on Rita Burt that I never told a soul about. Both of these situations of from my junior high school years. I believe my life would be very different if I never left that slow little town that isn’t so little anymore. I sometimes wish I could have stayed to see it grow up.
In high school there was Tracey and then Debbie Koryntha. Debbie was probably the sweetest girl I knew back then. Way too sweet for the likes of me at the time. I think of her every time I hear “Sweet Emotion”, a song we both loved and crooned together over pony millers and bottles of blackberry brandy.
I knew a lot of men in the service. To each of them, my respect and love. I don’t remember all the names, but I see your faces when I close my eyes and think of those days. We saw the world together. We became men together. And I wouldn’t trade any of those moments for anything on Earth. What a time it was.
I worked with a lot of people in my time on this Earth. A few stand out. First, Patricia Hamel. A partner of the law firm I worked for in Philly. She was the best third baseman I ever played with…male or female…on any softball field. She taught me more about being a professional and about how to get more out of yourself than you ever dreamed possible. For that, and for every laugh we shared…and for her support during one of the roughest times in my life…I will forever be in her debt. I miss her smile greatly.
Bruce Lee was a young man I knew in Ohio. A more caring and loving person I don’t think you could ever meet. We shared a love of music and a fascination with computers. And he taught me how to sell. He taught me what “customer first” means. And he taught me how to laugh at myself when I was never able to before. I will always consider him a friend. No, a brother.
There is also a group of people in Flint that I worked with at Best Buy that probably have no idea what they mean to me. They became a safe haven for me when things there turned bad. In a city so torn apart by the demise of GM and the collapse of their economic system, we found a way to carry a store that should, by all rights, never have succeeded. Adam, Sam, Eric, Jon, Donnell, Jerry, Eric, Nina, Melissa, Bruce, Randy, Rob, my hero Broom, Kabels, Nick, and Ashely…you all made a very difficult time in my life a much better place. Your friendship and the time we spent working together was a sanctuary for me. And I miss you all very, very much.
My current life has, again, brought me into contact with some really great people. I have been fortunate to have found friends here that I value a great deal. I will only single out a few, but know that you all mean the world to me.
George, you sir, are the most considerate, caring, and intelligent man I know. I hope that someday you will see that in yourself again. You never fail to make me laugh, but most importantly, make me think. I hope someday to give back one tenth of what I have gotten from you. Thank you, sir. Very much.
Shawn and Rhonda…I love you both. I don’t know if I can ever do anything that would be enough for to repay the support, concern, and love you have both shown for me. I know I have told you this before, but I will say it here publicly…with the understanding that no one’s life is a bed of roses, the first time I saw you two walking into work together…hand in hand….the way you looked at each other…I knew that I had just seen what I had been searching for all my life. Seeing you made me believe in love again. It allowed me to see it was possible. And for that, I owe you….so, so much.
Carmen, you may not realize it…and I may not show it all the time…but, I consider you the best male friend I have in my life right now. You have listened to me when I know that the repeated nature of what I was saying had to drive you crazy, but you never said a word. You never judged. You just listened. You see through me as well as anyone I know. And you know when to push me to talk and you know when to just let it be. I think you are an amazing man. And I hope that I express that to you in someway, everyday. Without you, a dream would not have come true…because I would have continued to ignore it. For that, eternal gratitude.
Justin G…..APC Justin….my fellow Steeler fan. You never fail to make me laugh. And you take as good as you give. I don’t believe I have ever met anyone as comfortable with themselves as you are. I envy that. You are one of the few people on this planet I would trust with my life. And you make going to work a better thing to do.
Justin D…..CoJo…for allowing me to be me…to vent when I need to and not take it personally. To understand that I really only want to be the best I can be…to everyone…for everyone….and for helping to kick my ass when my I get too full of myself…I thank you.
Heather ….I don’t know if I have ever worked with a manager….anywhere….that is as willing as you are to get your hands dirty, other than Stef Eyers. Like the Marines, you get more done by 9 am then most groups of people. I think I first realized your heart when I saw that look on your face when I came back from the doctors not knowing what was wrong. You have to spend so much of your time being the hard ass, because we have had so few that have wanted to do it….but, as one of those that has seen the other side….I want you to know that it meant a lot to me.
Stef Eyers…only one of the very best human beings I have ever met. A great manager…willing to stand up for what you believe in and fight the windmills when everyone else turned their back. You showed me what a great manager can be. I have missed you since the day you left our store. My prayer for you is that you come to realize just how special you are…life has a way of kicking our ass and lowering our eyes to ourselves. We have both been there. It’s time we both looked up. Because, we are better than they gave us credit for…and the only real losers are those that chose to hurt us in the end. I pray for your happiness.
Joel, my buddy. One of the very few people on this planet who seems to understand me completely…not an easy task for anyone. Your friendship is important to me, more than you may know. Your love of music, sports, and…well, other stuff…makes talking with you one of the best parts of any day I get a chance to do it. Although your choice of football teams is misguided….I will never hold that against you. Anyone that appreciates the opening notes to “Roundabout” the way you do…is top shelf material to me.
My friend, Joan. You are a very special person to me. I don’t know if I met anyone that carried their heart on their sleeve the way you do. Your friendship means a great deal to me. I never want that to change. We have been there for each other so many times. I know that all that you are going through right now will pass…things will get better…and this friend will be there with you every step of the way, whatever you need….all you have to do is ask. Remember, never quit…you are stronger than us all. Don’t let it convince you otherwise. And when you are feeling weak, reach out your hand….we…your friends, will be there….as you have been there for us.
For Meghan, I say your heart overwhelms me. You have a caring nature that shines when you allow it to. I am afraid that that the behavior of others may tear away at that…I pray it doesn’t happen. You work as hard to be better than any person I know. Never let anyone take that away from you. Your spirit will always get you through.
Last, but certainly not least, Kristiana. I wish there was some way to put into words all that my heart feels. I told you once, that I am afraid to wake up every morning to find out this has all been a dream. Although we have had a few growing pains, against all odds….we have each other. I thank God every night for that. After all the mistrust and doubt that the previous relationships have given me, I look in your eyes and I know you would never hurt me. I also know that we share the same feelings Like the story I told you, about the gardener of Roses who said that tending to that flower is a year round, daily job…I try very hard to see our relationship that way. I never want a day to go by without you knowing that you are the most important person in that my life that day, the next day, and the day after that. I hope, with all my heart, that it will never change. Because this is the dream of all dreams. And I never want to wake up from it.
I know there are some that may read this and feel left out. Understand this, every person who currently has the ability to read this has touched my life in one way or another. Without all of you…I would not be who I am right now. I am a very lucky man to have known you all. I may not show it all the time…I may not convey it correctly….but, you all mean a great deal to me and to what I am. And for that I thank you.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
On a cold night in December
Looking back on it all, he was surprised by just how far he had stumbled. On a cold night in December, walking a lonely road in the darkness, the realization of just how far down his life had fallen became a clear picture in his mind. And he stopped , and he shed a tear.
His life had taken a turn that had led him down a very lonely path. He had quietly, with little notice, dug himself into a hole that took him almost a year to crawl out of. It is only on this lonely walk that it occurs to him just how small he had become during those times. It was as if the person that lived inside of him had crawled as far as it could inside of his heart and buried itself under all it could find to cover itself with, to hide from a world that seemed destined to only hurt him. To belittle him. To make him feel insignificant.
He remembers when it started. The pain of being told that there was no place for him. That he was no longer needed and that he needed to disappear. It is said that what does not kill us makes us stronger. He knew this had to be true. If having everything you hold dear, including your dignity, stripped from you doesn’t send you to an early grave, then nothing else could be strong enough to send him there. He had wanted to die. He just didn’t allow it. He suffered through it, mostly because he believed he deserved all the pain and tears that all this had brought to him. He knew for sure that if those that supposedly loved him more than anything else on Earth had decided that being a part of his life was not a requirement anymore, than he must have done something to deserve every moment of suffering that it provided.
As he paced along the road, kicking stones out of his way and hearing the cars passing on the highway above this place, he remembers the day that he allowed his heart to release the real person inside of him again. It was as painful as the burial. It took all his strength to allow it. And even after it was done, he knew it would take time to get used to it. He was scared. Frightened that the world would really see him and reject him completely. He had closed himself up and in the process had found a way to shoulder on and work hard. What the world saw was only what he would allow. The outer shell of who he really was, or is. His decision to release was one made of necessity. He felt he was suffocating. That the person inside, if left in that dark place, would cease to exist and he would be locked in the unfeeling persona that he had adopted. He just couldn’t stay that way any longer. So, he opened up. And he showed his real face.
In the months that have passed, he has discovered himself again. He has found that person inside that he buried so long ago. And he is finding comfort in this place. It hasn’t always been easy. He has had moments of terrible pain, both physical and emotional. But, he has also had great joy. He has lost his heart. And he has seen his future and it makes him smile. He looks forward to what is to come. Because, what has happened has been like stepping into a dream, of sorts. He has found that showing his true self, his real heart, has brought him a love that he never expected again. That he believed was far from possible for him any longer.
But, even in all of this joy, comes moments of sadness. Moments that bring the ghost of what drove him to hide himself. And in those moments, for just a little while, he crawls back inside and becomes silent. He doesn’t know any other way to deal with pain…with frustration. There are many kinds of frustrations. There are those that are important, but not emotionally based. With those, he tends to bury the frustration until, like a volcano, it just blows and spews vocal lava all over any one that is around. He wishes that he was better at handling that frustration. He wishes that he could find a way to hand some things better. The emotionally based frustrations tend to just silence him, leaving him lost in his own thoughts. He turns the basis for the frustration or pain over and over in his mind, trying hard to put some common sense to it. To find a way to just come to terms with what ever it is that has brought him to this point. He has a hard time communicating these frustrations. Mostly because, after what had caused the pain that buried his true self away the previous time, he has this small voice in his head that tells him no matter what he sees, no matter what he feels, that he is as insignificant as those that let him go had wanted him to feel. For the most part, he can ignore that voice, just mute it. But, in moments that may test that line, it can begin to shout at him. And it’s a battle that he has a hard time winning. And trying to fight the voice silences him.
The cold creeps under his jacket and he rubs his hands together to generate warmth. He turns and paces back the other way, returning to the place that he had come from. He tries so hard to leave that voice behind. But, it creeps up from behind and starts screaming in his head. “Here,” ; it says, “…here is proof that I speak the truth. You are nothing. You mean nothing. You are not worthy.” And a tear creeps into his eye. And he blames it on the cold wind. And the voice continues to scream.
It is only later, when the silences leaves him and he speaks up, from his heart, that the voice starts to quiet. It’s the warmth of her embrace that pushes the invisible mute button. It’s the passion in her kiss that begins to drive out the sadness in his heart. He realizes that his silence, not only unnecessary, is also destructive. He pauses, trying to tell himself to remember this lesson. To remember that he is better off just letting things out and expressing himself instead of just shutting down. The problem that he has is that in those moments, he can’t just talk about anything else. He has to get what is bothering him off his chest. And not everyone wants to hear that. Not everyone wants to know.
He tells himself that the lesson is not in talking through these moments, but not allowing them at all. To try, in those moments when the world seems so small, so cold, so lonely, to see the bigger picture. To see that even in those moments that are so painful that we don’t see them coming until, in the dark they sneak up and bite us in the ass, that he must remember the truth in this life. The truth that he sees when he looks in her eyes. The truth that he feels when she touches his skin. The truth that he hears when she tells him she loves him.
These are the things, on those cold walks in the dark that he must remember. Because, if he doesn’t, the voice will claim who he really is again…and in that action, all will be lost. And then he will truly be insignificant.
His life had taken a turn that had led him down a very lonely path. He had quietly, with little notice, dug himself into a hole that took him almost a year to crawl out of. It is only on this lonely walk that it occurs to him just how small he had become during those times. It was as if the person that lived inside of him had crawled as far as it could inside of his heart and buried itself under all it could find to cover itself with, to hide from a world that seemed destined to only hurt him. To belittle him. To make him feel insignificant.
He remembers when it started. The pain of being told that there was no place for him. That he was no longer needed and that he needed to disappear. It is said that what does not kill us makes us stronger. He knew this had to be true. If having everything you hold dear, including your dignity, stripped from you doesn’t send you to an early grave, then nothing else could be strong enough to send him there. He had wanted to die. He just didn’t allow it. He suffered through it, mostly because he believed he deserved all the pain and tears that all this had brought to him. He knew for sure that if those that supposedly loved him more than anything else on Earth had decided that being a part of his life was not a requirement anymore, than he must have done something to deserve every moment of suffering that it provided.
As he paced along the road, kicking stones out of his way and hearing the cars passing on the highway above this place, he remembers the day that he allowed his heart to release the real person inside of him again. It was as painful as the burial. It took all his strength to allow it. And even after it was done, he knew it would take time to get used to it. He was scared. Frightened that the world would really see him and reject him completely. He had closed himself up and in the process had found a way to shoulder on and work hard. What the world saw was only what he would allow. The outer shell of who he really was, or is. His decision to release was one made of necessity. He felt he was suffocating. That the person inside, if left in that dark place, would cease to exist and he would be locked in the unfeeling persona that he had adopted. He just couldn’t stay that way any longer. So, he opened up. And he showed his real face.
In the months that have passed, he has discovered himself again. He has found that person inside that he buried so long ago. And he is finding comfort in this place. It hasn’t always been easy. He has had moments of terrible pain, both physical and emotional. But, he has also had great joy. He has lost his heart. And he has seen his future and it makes him smile. He looks forward to what is to come. Because, what has happened has been like stepping into a dream, of sorts. He has found that showing his true self, his real heart, has brought him a love that he never expected again. That he believed was far from possible for him any longer.
But, even in all of this joy, comes moments of sadness. Moments that bring the ghost of what drove him to hide himself. And in those moments, for just a little while, he crawls back inside and becomes silent. He doesn’t know any other way to deal with pain…with frustration. There are many kinds of frustrations. There are those that are important, but not emotionally based. With those, he tends to bury the frustration until, like a volcano, it just blows and spews vocal lava all over any one that is around. He wishes that he was better at handling that frustration. He wishes that he could find a way to hand some things better. The emotionally based frustrations tend to just silence him, leaving him lost in his own thoughts. He turns the basis for the frustration or pain over and over in his mind, trying hard to put some common sense to it. To find a way to just come to terms with what ever it is that has brought him to this point. He has a hard time communicating these frustrations. Mostly because, after what had caused the pain that buried his true self away the previous time, he has this small voice in his head that tells him no matter what he sees, no matter what he feels, that he is as insignificant as those that let him go had wanted him to feel. For the most part, he can ignore that voice, just mute it. But, in moments that may test that line, it can begin to shout at him. And it’s a battle that he has a hard time winning. And trying to fight the voice silences him.
The cold creeps under his jacket and he rubs his hands together to generate warmth. He turns and paces back the other way, returning to the place that he had come from. He tries so hard to leave that voice behind. But, it creeps up from behind and starts screaming in his head. “Here,” ; it says, “…here is proof that I speak the truth. You are nothing. You mean nothing. You are not worthy.” And a tear creeps into his eye. And he blames it on the cold wind. And the voice continues to scream.
It is only later, when the silences leaves him and he speaks up, from his heart, that the voice starts to quiet. It’s the warmth of her embrace that pushes the invisible mute button. It’s the passion in her kiss that begins to drive out the sadness in his heart. He realizes that his silence, not only unnecessary, is also destructive. He pauses, trying to tell himself to remember this lesson. To remember that he is better off just letting things out and expressing himself instead of just shutting down. The problem that he has is that in those moments, he can’t just talk about anything else. He has to get what is bothering him off his chest. And not everyone wants to hear that. Not everyone wants to know.
He tells himself that the lesson is not in talking through these moments, but not allowing them at all. To try, in those moments when the world seems so small, so cold, so lonely, to see the bigger picture. To see that even in those moments that are so painful that we don’t see them coming until, in the dark they sneak up and bite us in the ass, that he must remember the truth in this life. The truth that he sees when he looks in her eyes. The truth that he feels when she touches his skin. The truth that he hears when she tells him she loves him.
These are the things, on those cold walks in the dark that he must remember. Because, if he doesn’t, the voice will claim who he really is again…and in that action, all will be lost. And then he will truly be insignificant.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Pink Clouds
There is a term in the AA rooms known as “The Pink Cloud.” We can all experience them, but newly reformed drinkers always ride one for a little while. The problem with it is that it’s not really there. It’s a false sense of happiness due to the consideration of what is really a very small accomplishment, a few days, weeks, or months of sobriety.
I have occasionally ridden one in the last five weeks or so. Not all the time. But, some of the time. The cloud didn’t dissipate during those bad moments, it just got out of the way for a little while. Most of those moments have had to due with the pain in my leg and the stress over waiting for medical reports and test results. It’s hard to explain constant pain. I know that some of you know it. I know who you are. But, most people don’t understand it until they have an unfortunate situation happen to them. It’s beyond unpleasant. It’s distracting. It’s depressing. It’s followed with a sense that it’s never going to end or it’s only going to get much worse. It’s hard to be pleasant all the time when this is happening to you.
I am not making excuses for my behavior or mood. I am only trying to explain it. I don’t know that I understand it all the time. I will say that I have tried very hard to put it in the back of my mind and just be myself, but it’s not that easy when the pain gets bad. And I have never been very good at hiding my feelings. I may not share them vocally all the time or very well for that matter, but it is normally written right on my face.
Added to this distraction has been the judgment of some of a new chapter in my life. There are those that say to me, “To hell with them, if they don’t want you to be happy they are not your friends.” And I have looked you all in the face and agreed, saying I don’t care what they think. And I have lied. I do care. At least about some of them. To feel as if you are doing something wrong that you know is so right is frustrating. It makes day to day life difficult. Chris Rock once noted that people will usually say just how difficult death is to face. And then he says that’s not true, death is easy, its’ living that is hard. I don’t know if anything more true has been said by a comic at least. Getting up and facing the world everyday is not always easy. Adding pain and frustration to the mix just makes it unbearable sometimes.
The ironic thing is that the last couple of days have been relatively pain free. The end of the work day has my leg feeling less than perfect, but all in all, much better than it has been feeling for months now. As I started into my day, I was informed of some disturbing things that did their best to anger and confuse me. I had found the pink cloud again and I sure as hell didn’t want to get off. But, the information that I was told about shoved me right off. I tried like hell to get back on, having moments today that were fun and enjoyable, even for being at work. But, I just couldn’t let it go. I thought for a little while that I was making too much out of something so stupid and childish, but with the pain quieting down, my mind seems clearer. And I realize that maybe I am seeing this exactly the way I should. And that I have every right to be angry and frustrated. But, I did my dead level best not to let it infect my entire day. There were other frustrations, but I didn’t let them pile on and drag me down like they would have a few weeks ago when the fear of the pain had me emotionally wrecked.
And then I got home, to the quiet. And I thought about the day. About the information I was given this morning. And I realized that there is nothing I can do about it. I could continue to make a huge fuss out of it and allow it to implode everything good in my life or I could put it where it belongs, in the trash can of my mind. So, I got out my computer and trimmed some fat on Facebook…removing some cancers that had no business being there in the first place. Then, I sat and wrote some things not meant for public consumption. I explained to a very good friend the other day that it was something that I needed to do, to unblock my mind. I needed to use my writing as therapy again to relieve some of the anger that a completely separate, yet equally frustrating situation has created in my life recently, and not for the first time and surely not the last. In doing that, I could feel my shoulders lower and my back loosen. The crimp in my neck started to fade. And the pink cloud slid back underneath me.
Being someone familiar with these clouds, I am truly aware that it’s just a cushion. It’s not real support, it’s just a feeling of being better than I was just a little while ago. It will fade again. And at some point, will disappear all together. Because, in life, we are not meant to ride through this on clouds, but walk through all of it as straight and as tall as we can. We have to shoulder our own way or be lost in the mix. Because, we can only control ourselves. And in this life that can be hard enough. But, we must never forget that we are more important than others may see us. More important than others may treat us. And as long as we focus on that, we will never allow those who would do us harm to ever get close enough to have their shot. Also, we must always remember that we always should strive to give as we would want or need to receive. And expect nothing less than that. It’s about knowing your role, your place in this life. And remembering the importance of it. I focus should never turn away from that. And in that, we win.
I have occasionally ridden one in the last five weeks or so. Not all the time. But, some of the time. The cloud didn’t dissipate during those bad moments, it just got out of the way for a little while. Most of those moments have had to due with the pain in my leg and the stress over waiting for medical reports and test results. It’s hard to explain constant pain. I know that some of you know it. I know who you are. But, most people don’t understand it until they have an unfortunate situation happen to them. It’s beyond unpleasant. It’s distracting. It’s depressing. It’s followed with a sense that it’s never going to end or it’s only going to get much worse. It’s hard to be pleasant all the time when this is happening to you.
I am not making excuses for my behavior or mood. I am only trying to explain it. I don’t know that I understand it all the time. I will say that I have tried very hard to put it in the back of my mind and just be myself, but it’s not that easy when the pain gets bad. And I have never been very good at hiding my feelings. I may not share them vocally all the time or very well for that matter, but it is normally written right on my face.
Added to this distraction has been the judgment of some of a new chapter in my life. There are those that say to me, “To hell with them, if they don’t want you to be happy they are not your friends.” And I have looked you all in the face and agreed, saying I don’t care what they think. And I have lied. I do care. At least about some of them. To feel as if you are doing something wrong that you know is so right is frustrating. It makes day to day life difficult. Chris Rock once noted that people will usually say just how difficult death is to face. And then he says that’s not true, death is easy, its’ living that is hard. I don’t know if anything more true has been said by a comic at least. Getting up and facing the world everyday is not always easy. Adding pain and frustration to the mix just makes it unbearable sometimes.
The ironic thing is that the last couple of days have been relatively pain free. The end of the work day has my leg feeling less than perfect, but all in all, much better than it has been feeling for months now. As I started into my day, I was informed of some disturbing things that did their best to anger and confuse me. I had found the pink cloud again and I sure as hell didn’t want to get off. But, the information that I was told about shoved me right off. I tried like hell to get back on, having moments today that were fun and enjoyable, even for being at work. But, I just couldn’t let it go. I thought for a little while that I was making too much out of something so stupid and childish, but with the pain quieting down, my mind seems clearer. And I realize that maybe I am seeing this exactly the way I should. And that I have every right to be angry and frustrated. But, I did my dead level best not to let it infect my entire day. There were other frustrations, but I didn’t let them pile on and drag me down like they would have a few weeks ago when the fear of the pain had me emotionally wrecked.
And then I got home, to the quiet. And I thought about the day. About the information I was given this morning. And I realized that there is nothing I can do about it. I could continue to make a huge fuss out of it and allow it to implode everything good in my life or I could put it where it belongs, in the trash can of my mind. So, I got out my computer and trimmed some fat on Facebook…removing some cancers that had no business being there in the first place. Then, I sat and wrote some things not meant for public consumption. I explained to a very good friend the other day that it was something that I needed to do, to unblock my mind. I needed to use my writing as therapy again to relieve some of the anger that a completely separate, yet equally frustrating situation has created in my life recently, and not for the first time and surely not the last. In doing that, I could feel my shoulders lower and my back loosen. The crimp in my neck started to fade. And the pink cloud slid back underneath me.
Being someone familiar with these clouds, I am truly aware that it’s just a cushion. It’s not real support, it’s just a feeling of being better than I was just a little while ago. It will fade again. And at some point, will disappear all together. Because, in life, we are not meant to ride through this on clouds, but walk through all of it as straight and as tall as we can. We have to shoulder our own way or be lost in the mix. Because, we can only control ourselves. And in this life that can be hard enough. But, we must never forget that we are more important than others may see us. More important than others may treat us. And as long as we focus on that, we will never allow those who would do us harm to ever get close enough to have their shot. Also, we must always remember that we always should strive to give as we would want or need to receive. And expect nothing less than that. It’s about knowing your role, your place in this life. And remembering the importance of it. I focus should never turn away from that. And in that, we win.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Understanding the loss of balance
I fell down the steps yesterday. It was a strangely familiar feeling. Losing control of oneself is always disconcerting. As I laid at the bottom of the steps, staring up at the place where I had left my ability to control my balance, I got the sense of realization. Although I had not taken a fall like that in a very long time, the sensation was familiar. I was in pain, but I did laugh at my clumsiness. But, something about the feeling of sameness didn’t seem so funny to me. It took me until tonight to start to see where that nagging feeling of déjà vu was coming from.
While leading with my heart, I have put myself on a collision course with a apparent crash. It seems, that unlike my flight down a handful of steps, this falling was based on clumsiness or anything else I had done to upset my own apple cart. I spent a good part of the day in the silence that a day off tends to bring me trying to find the tripwire. I had to break it down in my head to start to see the whole picture. And some of the realization was painful. Other parts were enlightening. And still, other parts, were just frustrating.
The way my mind works finds me making analogies out of things to understand life. The first thing I found myself seeing was myself sitting at a poker table. The game was being played normally, but for one critical exception. It seems my hand was laid out, face up, exposed for everyone to see. I would place my ante in the pot, cover wagers around the table, and place bets on the power of my own cards. I would discard those cards I saw as unhelpful and receive my draw cards, laying them out the same way as the others…face up and exposed. The problem here is obvious. Everyone can see your hand. They know where you are coming from, what you think you see, and they can play their hands with that knowledge having an advantage that goes beyond luck. Because, even with a winning hand, with all your cards exposed, you winnings will be nothing more than the ante because no one is going to bet against and shown winner. They will wait to see you with just enough to keep you in, holding hands that will beat you. And they will raise the stakes. Not because they want to hurt you. But, because they want to win as badly as you do. But, their advantage has removed all sense of fair.
Leading my life with an exposed hand has found me at a disadvantage. It has had me sensing that I may not be getting back all that I have been willing to give. Although there are moments that tell me that things are on the same page, there are the unexplained quiet moments that leave me feeling that I have been given a cold shoulder. If there was something that I had done to explain it, it would be easier to take. But, for the life of me, I have no idea what that could be. Not only have I shown my heart, but I have done it as honestly as I possibly could. And I have hidden nothing. So, to think that there may be something that I am not really aware of…I find hard to believe.
Realizing this, I see the start of the fall.
After some time of distraction, I return to the subject reluctantly. I have tried very hard to accept what I have been given lately with very little concern. I have tried to be understanding and patient. For these things, I have received amazing acts of love. But, as quickly as they come, they seem to disappear into thin air. It’s like being drenched with a hose, feeling the cooling sense and the pleasure in it, and suddenly the pressure reduces to drops that you are scrambling to have land on you just to get the feeling back. At some point, you start to realize that it’s just not enough. It’s not what you need. And it’s not what you deserve.
I am not sure where all this leaves me. That seems to be another problem for me. There is no sense of certainty. At some point, with effort and commitment, some surety should become the steadying piece that keeps you from falling. Without it, when the step turns treacherous, the loss of balance is inevitable. And when you lose control, you flail and twist trying desperately to regain your footing. Try as you might, you just can’t find it alone.
Repeated trips can have two effects. One would be an immediate turning away from the situation just to make sure that it never happens to you again. The other would be some kind of getting used to the falls coming. After a while, you stop realizing that it isn’t something that is supposed to happen to you. You take it for granted that this is the way things are supposed to be. Nothing can be further from the truth.
All any one of us want in these situations is the feeling that you are getting as good as you give. That you feel the return of all that you have turned over. When that isn’t occurring, there has to be a point that you realize it. There has to be a point that you see the truth.
As the day wound down today, I started to realize the most painful part of this lesson of falling. There is a point where the bumps, bruises, and scrapes start to take their toll on your ability to fight for what you so desperately want. What these falls can start to tell you is that you may being fighting harder than anyone else. And the battle of what the heart possesses can not be a battle fought alone. That kind of fight becomes tiring. It becomes depressing. And it becomes endless.
I have not given up. But, the repeated losses of balance have caused a moment of pause within me. I realize that it’s time to plant my fight in the ground, stand firm, and not settle for less than I think I deserve. If that can’t be worked out, than there really can not be anything to fight for.
So, I have dusted myself off…once again. I have treated the wounds. And I will stand and fight one more time. But, this time with the knowledge that this path has to be clear. It has to be level. And it has to be done hand in hand. If not, there really is no point in taking any more steps.
And that would be the saddest thing of all.
While leading with my heart, I have put myself on a collision course with a apparent crash. It seems, that unlike my flight down a handful of steps, this falling was based on clumsiness or anything else I had done to upset my own apple cart. I spent a good part of the day in the silence that a day off tends to bring me trying to find the tripwire. I had to break it down in my head to start to see the whole picture. And some of the realization was painful. Other parts were enlightening. And still, other parts, were just frustrating.
The way my mind works finds me making analogies out of things to understand life. The first thing I found myself seeing was myself sitting at a poker table. The game was being played normally, but for one critical exception. It seems my hand was laid out, face up, exposed for everyone to see. I would place my ante in the pot, cover wagers around the table, and place bets on the power of my own cards. I would discard those cards I saw as unhelpful and receive my draw cards, laying them out the same way as the others…face up and exposed. The problem here is obvious. Everyone can see your hand. They know where you are coming from, what you think you see, and they can play their hands with that knowledge having an advantage that goes beyond luck. Because, even with a winning hand, with all your cards exposed, you winnings will be nothing more than the ante because no one is going to bet against and shown winner. They will wait to see you with just enough to keep you in, holding hands that will beat you. And they will raise the stakes. Not because they want to hurt you. But, because they want to win as badly as you do. But, their advantage has removed all sense of fair.
Leading my life with an exposed hand has found me at a disadvantage. It has had me sensing that I may not be getting back all that I have been willing to give. Although there are moments that tell me that things are on the same page, there are the unexplained quiet moments that leave me feeling that I have been given a cold shoulder. If there was something that I had done to explain it, it would be easier to take. But, for the life of me, I have no idea what that could be. Not only have I shown my heart, but I have done it as honestly as I possibly could. And I have hidden nothing. So, to think that there may be something that I am not really aware of…I find hard to believe.
Realizing this, I see the start of the fall.
After some time of distraction, I return to the subject reluctantly. I have tried very hard to accept what I have been given lately with very little concern. I have tried to be understanding and patient. For these things, I have received amazing acts of love. But, as quickly as they come, they seem to disappear into thin air. It’s like being drenched with a hose, feeling the cooling sense and the pleasure in it, and suddenly the pressure reduces to drops that you are scrambling to have land on you just to get the feeling back. At some point, you start to realize that it’s just not enough. It’s not what you need. And it’s not what you deserve.
I am not sure where all this leaves me. That seems to be another problem for me. There is no sense of certainty. At some point, with effort and commitment, some surety should become the steadying piece that keeps you from falling. Without it, when the step turns treacherous, the loss of balance is inevitable. And when you lose control, you flail and twist trying desperately to regain your footing. Try as you might, you just can’t find it alone.
Repeated trips can have two effects. One would be an immediate turning away from the situation just to make sure that it never happens to you again. The other would be some kind of getting used to the falls coming. After a while, you stop realizing that it isn’t something that is supposed to happen to you. You take it for granted that this is the way things are supposed to be. Nothing can be further from the truth.
All any one of us want in these situations is the feeling that you are getting as good as you give. That you feel the return of all that you have turned over. When that isn’t occurring, there has to be a point that you realize it. There has to be a point that you see the truth.
As the day wound down today, I started to realize the most painful part of this lesson of falling. There is a point where the bumps, bruises, and scrapes start to take their toll on your ability to fight for what you so desperately want. What these falls can start to tell you is that you may being fighting harder than anyone else. And the battle of what the heart possesses can not be a battle fought alone. That kind of fight becomes tiring. It becomes depressing. And it becomes endless.
I have not given up. But, the repeated losses of balance have caused a moment of pause within me. I realize that it’s time to plant my fight in the ground, stand firm, and not settle for less than I think I deserve. If that can’t be worked out, than there really can not be anything to fight for.
So, I have dusted myself off…once again. I have treated the wounds. And I will stand and fight one more time. But, this time with the knowledge that this path has to be clear. It has to be level. And it has to be done hand in hand. If not, there really is no point in taking any more steps.
And that would be the saddest thing of all.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Rebuilding
Sitting at the chair again, he knows that there is nothing in his eyes. He could never force it. It had to be there waiting for him or he simply couldn’t use it. The only avenue left to him is the one that takes him back to the places that scare him most. Knowing what he must do, he begins the process once again. It’s not that there is nothing new, but that something old is screaming to get I\out. Until he allows that escape, creating isn’t an option.
Sitting still, he takes a breath and closes his eyes. Without moving in his seat, he turns inside his mind to see what is within. Trepidation is his guide, knowing what he may find there. He wonders what it is that so desperately is crying for release.
The adjustment complete, he approaches the hallway in his mind that leads to the chamber of his memories. The path is dark, well hidden from those who may search his eyes for a vision he just can’t let them see. He covers it with laughter, smiles, and tries with all he has to keep these things just where they are. Safe. Until moments like this one, where the choice is made.
He finds the open area. Sitting in the lighted room is a strongbox. He approaches and pulls up the lid, looking inside for a clue to his peace. Inside are the keepsakes, the keys to the memories that only visit him in his dreams and at times like these. These moments when the sound is too much to ignore. The cry of exposure is always so deafening. Mementos of things gone by are what he finds. Like dog-eared pages of a book, reminders of places left behind. The box seems so small to carry so much. But, then again, how much space does one man’s mysteries need?
The smell of fear, anger, and disappointment rises from the box. He knows that this will not be a pleasant excursion. Sometimes, the calling to this place is for the release of some pleasant memory that has been forgotten, but needed at the time to remind him of what he is capable of. Those moments bring him joy. They tell him that not all of the bricks in his life are as misshaped and ill-fitting as others. Those trips to this place tell him, when he needs it most, that the foundation that he has built his life on is strong, that it’s true, and that it comes from the better part of what he carries inside. It is what he tries so very hard to rely on in moments of indecision and doubt. Those pieces that tell him that he knows what happiness is and he can enjoy it, if only he will allow himself the opportunity.
But, within that foundation are the bricks that aren’t so perfect. The chipped and damaged. He is wary of them. Some buried so deep within the construction of his life that he hasn’t been able to recognize them, not quite forgotten them, but turned away from them. They rest inside the mortar, causing imperfections that allow the cracks that try so hard to cause his collapse. He knows that in creating this place in his mind, that he has placed those building blocks as perfectly as he could. He has put them together, with strenuous effort, like a jigsaw puzzle, each nook fitting into the cutout of the next. Doing his best to make it all seem seamless. Knowing that without care, the edges will show. And the bricks will begin to show wear.
As always, the calling piece sits right on top. What is below is waiting for their day, not ready to come to light. Not ready for even he to see them completely. They will have their day. Their moment of need. This is not that time. The image that is calling is one of hands, holding on at the wrists, just hands. Many hands. And in the center is the word “trust”.
A basic foundation to any relationship is trust. Without it, there is no counting on anyone for anything. Without it, everything crumbles. He would like to believe that the issue of trust is an individual one. It is not. As he looks at the image, one of the hands slowly raises a finger, then two. Something is happening to the circle. This sign of trust broken is causing a ripple effect within the order of things. The word in the center, the printing, fades just a bit. He notices that other hands, along the perimeter of the first, are now doing similar things. They are pulling away from the center, ever so slightly. And the word, it fades more.
He realizes that the movements are not only times where the trust in him by someone has failed, but also the reverse. He is seeing the effect that one moment of mistrust can have on every relationship within the circle he has created. And it saddens him. He knows that these movements are not deliberate. They are subtle, noticeable only by those closest to the situation. And even then, they can be so soft to only cause a stir. The damage will come later, as the movement increases that the grips begin to let go.
Trust is a lot like love. The hardest to survive are those times of trust that have been built over time. Parents to child is a good example. As a child, he trusted blindly to those he believed would never do anything to harm him. That trust made him blind, having him believe that moments of pain were of his own doing, he was the cause. Looking back, he knows this not to be the case. But, the inability to question the trust makes it hard, even now, to accept the truth. And in this, he sees the beginning of the imperfections. The first unsteady pieces to the foundation. They surround his core. They are the first pieces that he sees when, in his mind’s eye, he stares out through the cracks. Like filters on a camera lens, it is what colors all that he sees.
He realizes that these initial imperfections in his structure are what orchestrated the creation of all the others. He knows that if not for these moments of heartbreak realization, those others may never have held such a prominent place in who he has become. The bricks that have been laid since, right up to this very day, have all been born of the original promise broken. The promise of unconditional love from parent to child. The bond that, God said, should and could never be broken. Although he never can believe that God would lie to him, he knows in his heart that He may have been mistaken.
As he studies the picture again, there is something happening that he isn’t sure what to make of. Although the inner connections of hands seem to have created a clean and broken beyond repair situation, those hands that follow outward seem to be reaching back. As if to try and regain, or even prove themselves. Is it possible that the influence of the early separation has caused him to see mistrust when it was never really there? And more importantly, is this image trying to tell him that it is repairable?
Something vibrates within the box. He lowers the image and looks back into the gathering of his life and sees, resting just on top, where it wasn’t before, a perfectly formed brick, a hammer, and a trowel. The tool used to smooth out the mortar is sitting in a mortar pan. The message is clear. It’s time to rebuild the foundation. What seemed to be an impossible task, suddenly seems like the only answer.
This will be careful work. Not to be done with reckless abandon. There are good brick there. Relationships that have held the test of time, no matter how long or short the time may be. Those are the keepers. Those are the new starting points for the rebuilding of his core. He pulls away the cracked and broken bricks and throws them into the vortex of time. No use risking them mixing in and hiding within the good group to try and re-infect the structure. They not only need to be thrown away, they need to disappear. He reaches the core and sees himself exposed for the first time in a very long time. He senses the fear within himself. The uncertainty. He tries so very hard to give himself the sense that all will be okay, if they can only trust each other…one in the same…enough to put it all back together again.
But, a change is needed. There was something missing from the creation that was here before. He needs to figure out what that is before he continues. He sits with himself for a very long time. Trying very hard to dig deep within the frightened id that looks back at him from inside the framing. It’s the eyes that tell him.
As he starts again, to rebuild, the plans have changed. He follows the plans as they should be laid out, but as he reaches a certain point, a gap is made. He spaces it out just big enough to allow others inside. He places it in just the right place that the part of him that resides in the core can see out. If you can see what is coming, there is no reason to be unprepared. And if you are prepared, it doesn’t seem so scary. As he gets to the last of the bricks, he realizes the strength that this is creating. He glances back at the image of the hands, to see those that were on the outer edges have now reached over and taken the place of the ones that have let go. The word is not only fully visible, but it seems to vibrate with life. He turns back to see a few more bricks have dropped since he last look. The process is showing that not only is it good, but it is growing. It is feeding itself.
With the last brick laid, the mortar still drying, he places the image back into the strongbox. He closes the lid and pushes the box back into the corner. Safe and sound, hidden for another day…another enlightening. For now, this trip has finished it’s journey and the lesson has been learned.
Just has he steps to find his way back, he looks one last time at what he has created. A few bricks have fallen. New trusts are being made or recognized. And, what occurs fills his heart with hope.
The locked away part of himself reaches out the door with an unsteady hand and grasps the first brick. The tools await. He is building on his own. And this time, he can see the places these bricks are coming from and he can see their true nature. His selections will be better. And, with this his foundation will continue to get stronger.
Returning back to the place of now, he sits for a moment and wipes the tears from his face. The tingling in the back of his neck tells him what he needs to do now. It’s time to express. The veil has been lifted from his eyes and he can see the message.
Faith and trust is the building blocks to every part of are life. Without them, we are building with faulty materials that will eventually collapse on us, leaving us bruised, broken and exposed. Although the inability to trust may not be something we created within ourselves, to let that poison continue to hurt us is our own fault. We have to take the trowel in one hand and the hammer in the other and rebuild the foundation upon which we rest the very heart of who we are. Most importantly, understand that there should never be a roof. We should always be able to see towards heaven. Because that is the only place for blind trust. The doorway we have created will keep us aware and remove the fear of the unknown. And, by doing that, we will do our best to make sure that the imperfect materials are never used again. Because, we are too important for imperfect. We are too precious for the damaged and the chipped.
And now, my daily mission of discovery is done. I will be back when the box calls again.
Sitting still, he takes a breath and closes his eyes. Without moving in his seat, he turns inside his mind to see what is within. Trepidation is his guide, knowing what he may find there. He wonders what it is that so desperately is crying for release.
The adjustment complete, he approaches the hallway in his mind that leads to the chamber of his memories. The path is dark, well hidden from those who may search his eyes for a vision he just can’t let them see. He covers it with laughter, smiles, and tries with all he has to keep these things just where they are. Safe. Until moments like this one, where the choice is made.
He finds the open area. Sitting in the lighted room is a strongbox. He approaches and pulls up the lid, looking inside for a clue to his peace. Inside are the keepsakes, the keys to the memories that only visit him in his dreams and at times like these. These moments when the sound is too much to ignore. The cry of exposure is always so deafening. Mementos of things gone by are what he finds. Like dog-eared pages of a book, reminders of places left behind. The box seems so small to carry so much. But, then again, how much space does one man’s mysteries need?
The smell of fear, anger, and disappointment rises from the box. He knows that this will not be a pleasant excursion. Sometimes, the calling to this place is for the release of some pleasant memory that has been forgotten, but needed at the time to remind him of what he is capable of. Those moments bring him joy. They tell him that not all of the bricks in his life are as misshaped and ill-fitting as others. Those trips to this place tell him, when he needs it most, that the foundation that he has built his life on is strong, that it’s true, and that it comes from the better part of what he carries inside. It is what he tries so very hard to rely on in moments of indecision and doubt. Those pieces that tell him that he knows what happiness is and he can enjoy it, if only he will allow himself the opportunity.
But, within that foundation are the bricks that aren’t so perfect. The chipped and damaged. He is wary of them. Some buried so deep within the construction of his life that he hasn’t been able to recognize them, not quite forgotten them, but turned away from them. They rest inside the mortar, causing imperfections that allow the cracks that try so hard to cause his collapse. He knows that in creating this place in his mind, that he has placed those building blocks as perfectly as he could. He has put them together, with strenuous effort, like a jigsaw puzzle, each nook fitting into the cutout of the next. Doing his best to make it all seem seamless. Knowing that without care, the edges will show. And the bricks will begin to show wear.
As always, the calling piece sits right on top. What is below is waiting for their day, not ready to come to light. Not ready for even he to see them completely. They will have their day. Their moment of need. This is not that time. The image that is calling is one of hands, holding on at the wrists, just hands. Many hands. And in the center is the word “trust”.
A basic foundation to any relationship is trust. Without it, there is no counting on anyone for anything. Without it, everything crumbles. He would like to believe that the issue of trust is an individual one. It is not. As he looks at the image, one of the hands slowly raises a finger, then two. Something is happening to the circle. This sign of trust broken is causing a ripple effect within the order of things. The word in the center, the printing, fades just a bit. He notices that other hands, along the perimeter of the first, are now doing similar things. They are pulling away from the center, ever so slightly. And the word, it fades more.
He realizes that the movements are not only times where the trust in him by someone has failed, but also the reverse. He is seeing the effect that one moment of mistrust can have on every relationship within the circle he has created. And it saddens him. He knows that these movements are not deliberate. They are subtle, noticeable only by those closest to the situation. And even then, they can be so soft to only cause a stir. The damage will come later, as the movement increases that the grips begin to let go.
Trust is a lot like love. The hardest to survive are those times of trust that have been built over time. Parents to child is a good example. As a child, he trusted blindly to those he believed would never do anything to harm him. That trust made him blind, having him believe that moments of pain were of his own doing, he was the cause. Looking back, he knows this not to be the case. But, the inability to question the trust makes it hard, even now, to accept the truth. And in this, he sees the beginning of the imperfections. The first unsteady pieces to the foundation. They surround his core. They are the first pieces that he sees when, in his mind’s eye, he stares out through the cracks. Like filters on a camera lens, it is what colors all that he sees.
He realizes that these initial imperfections in his structure are what orchestrated the creation of all the others. He knows that if not for these moments of heartbreak realization, those others may never have held such a prominent place in who he has become. The bricks that have been laid since, right up to this very day, have all been born of the original promise broken. The promise of unconditional love from parent to child. The bond that, God said, should and could never be broken. Although he never can believe that God would lie to him, he knows in his heart that He may have been mistaken.
As he studies the picture again, there is something happening that he isn’t sure what to make of. Although the inner connections of hands seem to have created a clean and broken beyond repair situation, those hands that follow outward seem to be reaching back. As if to try and regain, or even prove themselves. Is it possible that the influence of the early separation has caused him to see mistrust when it was never really there? And more importantly, is this image trying to tell him that it is repairable?
Something vibrates within the box. He lowers the image and looks back into the gathering of his life and sees, resting just on top, where it wasn’t before, a perfectly formed brick, a hammer, and a trowel. The tool used to smooth out the mortar is sitting in a mortar pan. The message is clear. It’s time to rebuild the foundation. What seemed to be an impossible task, suddenly seems like the only answer.
This will be careful work. Not to be done with reckless abandon. There are good brick there. Relationships that have held the test of time, no matter how long or short the time may be. Those are the keepers. Those are the new starting points for the rebuilding of his core. He pulls away the cracked and broken bricks and throws them into the vortex of time. No use risking them mixing in and hiding within the good group to try and re-infect the structure. They not only need to be thrown away, they need to disappear. He reaches the core and sees himself exposed for the first time in a very long time. He senses the fear within himself. The uncertainty. He tries so very hard to give himself the sense that all will be okay, if they can only trust each other…one in the same…enough to put it all back together again.
But, a change is needed. There was something missing from the creation that was here before. He needs to figure out what that is before he continues. He sits with himself for a very long time. Trying very hard to dig deep within the frightened id that looks back at him from inside the framing. It’s the eyes that tell him.
As he starts again, to rebuild, the plans have changed. He follows the plans as they should be laid out, but as he reaches a certain point, a gap is made. He spaces it out just big enough to allow others inside. He places it in just the right place that the part of him that resides in the core can see out. If you can see what is coming, there is no reason to be unprepared. And if you are prepared, it doesn’t seem so scary. As he gets to the last of the bricks, he realizes the strength that this is creating. He glances back at the image of the hands, to see those that were on the outer edges have now reached over and taken the place of the ones that have let go. The word is not only fully visible, but it seems to vibrate with life. He turns back to see a few more bricks have dropped since he last look. The process is showing that not only is it good, but it is growing. It is feeding itself.
With the last brick laid, the mortar still drying, he places the image back into the strongbox. He closes the lid and pushes the box back into the corner. Safe and sound, hidden for another day…another enlightening. For now, this trip has finished it’s journey and the lesson has been learned.
Just has he steps to find his way back, he looks one last time at what he has created. A few bricks have fallen. New trusts are being made or recognized. And, what occurs fills his heart with hope.
The locked away part of himself reaches out the door with an unsteady hand and grasps the first brick. The tools await. He is building on his own. And this time, he can see the places these bricks are coming from and he can see their true nature. His selections will be better. And, with this his foundation will continue to get stronger.
Returning back to the place of now, he sits for a moment and wipes the tears from his face. The tingling in the back of his neck tells him what he needs to do now. It’s time to express. The veil has been lifted from his eyes and he can see the message.
Faith and trust is the building blocks to every part of are life. Without them, we are building with faulty materials that will eventually collapse on us, leaving us bruised, broken and exposed. Although the inability to trust may not be something we created within ourselves, to let that poison continue to hurt us is our own fault. We have to take the trowel in one hand and the hammer in the other and rebuild the foundation upon which we rest the very heart of who we are. Most importantly, understand that there should never be a roof. We should always be able to see towards heaven. Because that is the only place for blind trust. The doorway we have created will keep us aware and remove the fear of the unknown. And, by doing that, we will do our best to make sure that the imperfect materials are never used again. Because, we are too important for imperfect. We are too precious for the damaged and the chipped.
And now, my daily mission of discovery is done. I will be back when the box calls again.
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