I do not believe in coincidences. As a result of that conviction, I cannot
discount the intersection of a few things that have occurred recently. They have culminated in a creative explosion
for me, and as a writer, I must embrace the deluge, however painful.
My uncle passed away this past weekend. He was a good man, and in a world that
struggles with the definition, it is significant that I am able to apply such a
label to him. I know that he no longer
suffers, and I have prayed for the ending of his pain. He leaves a large hole in the fabric of his
family, even as he joins his maker and his beloved daughter. Still, with the knowledge that he no longer
suffers, I am saddened, and pain is ever more poignant with the one year
anniversary of my school chum, Torrey’s, passing. I am pushed to a place of reflection,
nostalgia, and searing sadness.
Oh, I know…There are so many blessings, and I will get to
counting them, but it is valid to embrace sadness and loss too, for they are
just as significant to the human journey as joy and hope, for how can we know one
without the other? So I am lamenting…and
there is solace in that.
My baby brother called the other night. He is a gem.
He has also lost an uncle and, recently, a friend he was in the Marines
with. We discussed loss and how it
impacts us; the ashy trail it tends to leave behind. But as with burn off in the wilderness, ashy
remains are fodder for new growth, and painful or no, against our will and
deepest desires, we grow through loss.
Time is another agent in our life process. So often time is the culprit of our losing
memories and faces of who and what has been monumental in our lives. I know that I have lost so much due to mental
illness in terms of being able to recall moments in my past, and that is aside
from aging and forgetting. I have felt
guilty for having so many significant relationships that have evaporated as
time and geography have created spaces between them and me.
I have been thinking of my brother’s expressed concerns
about not remembering what is important, and I have decided that it is what is
of value that should be remembered. It is
not the names, faces, places, and experiences that are of most value. It is the knowing that there was someone who
had a providential impact. It is knowing
that no matter how things are now there has been an imprint made, and I can
only hope that my presence in someone else’s life does the same whether or not
they remember my face or name.
Maybe it is a sign of age to be settled more with what I
cannot recall as much as with what I can.
I suppose this may not seem a big deal…until you lose someone. Then you hope you have done them justice by
remembering them well, by giving credit where it is due, and by truly
acknowledging to self if to no one else we are an imperfect organism, falling
short in so many areas that we really should not.
When I lived with my parents in Montana, I used to do a lot of
gardening. One day I happened to look
up. It was a perfectly calm day, but as
I looked up I saw a piece of paper floating along. It was the size of a piece of notebook paper,
and it was floating, whirling, and flipping against a cloudless azure blue
sky. I stood there watching it for some
time as it climbed higher and higher with seemingly no breeze at all to propel
it, until it was so high I could no longer see it. I’ve no idea how long I stood there watching
it. Where did it come from? How could it be thrown about like being
tossed on waves at sea, while everything else was so calm? (Yes, I do know the
science behind such an experience, but to see such a thing was just odd).
I was struck by the correlation between that piece of paper
and the human condition. So often we are
in the “slough of despair”, being tossed about by the tragedies in life, while
the rest of the world seems to be calm and resolute. I have been that piece of paper so many
times, wondering what direction I was headed and why I seemed to be the only
one caught in the wind tunnel of diversity.
I have no answers that aren’t glib, but I do know that grace, hope, and
faith have been both antecedent and succedent to my ride on the wind. Usually I don’t appreciate the trio and their
impact on me, but I know that I have weathered every height and depth as a
result of their presence. Mostly I have
learned not to rail but to accept. My
cynical perspective is softened.
I cannot change what is, but I will endeavor to uphold the
heritage that my uncle helped to create, and I will strive to be, in my own
life, what Torrey was in hers. I know my
brother will uphold his heritage as he raises his baby daughter, stepping over
his pride and personal desires to ensure what is best for his family, because
that is the kind of man he is, and I know he will honor the faith his friend
placed in him by putting forth his brave heart in everyday life, as he did when
he was at war.
We will honor those we have lost by living better lives as
is the benefit of the contribution they have made to us, because anything else
would further cement the ideology that we truly do not remember them at
all.
Blessings,
L
