This sh!t is real
This sh!t is real
Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? Mary Oliver
My relationship with reality has always been somewhat tenuous. For whatever reason - genetic composition, family of origin, or fundamentalist upbringing - my world has not always happily coexisted with the real one.
Of course, should you ask a philosophy professor or even a quantum physicist "what is real", the answer might not meet your expectations. Being raised by a bi-polar mother gives one a unique perspective on life. Happy, sad - good or bad - were words with a very loose context with my mom. The words could change meaning from day to day - and sometimes from moment to moment.
Now, firmly rooted in middle age and heading towards retirement, my life experience has been an adventure into meaning and truth. And, surely, both those words are elusive in their definition. A young married, man/boy - with a child at 25 - is not actually the best choice for a calm and happy life. Then, four more children in short order - combined with continuous changes in church and work led (unsurprisingly) to a difficult life and a nasty divorce.
But, in the words of Mary Oliver, given my starting point "Tell me, what else should I have done?"
God knows, there are so many roads to be taken. This world offers unlimited diversion - and many socially-acceptable addictions. Sports fan, company man or simply zoned-out coach potato - are several of the more popular packages to choose from.
And, in this so-called "post truth" era - where what is real and true is elusive. At least I feel comforted in knowing I am not the only person wondering what in the world is going on here.
But, through all this, my 84 year-old father died this week. His death was actually a relief to both him and his family. His health, this body, his mind all slowly declined during a long illness. Sadly, even before his illness and death, Dad became fixated on his mistakes in life. Awareness is a good thing in life - if it causes us to see what is real and true.
But for Dad, his awareness came too late. And by the time he realized his mistakes, he was too tired and too jaded to course correct. At the end, all he had was regret and sadness. It is at this point, that this shit gets real…
As death approaches, it brings a certain clarity to the situation. Whereas dementia and stroke offered my father only a muddled and shrunken room, death is that final door out of here for all of us.
And, arranging for his care and watching his decline, death was a merciful gift for him. It is difficult to watch another's suffering. We want so much to take it away. At the end, the morphine provided by the hospice nurse was the Balm of Gilead needed to guide Dad through that final door.
As my sister and I looked at Dad's body that final time, you realize that the wasted shell of a human is not his legacy. Even though we dressed him in his beloved Orange - UT hat, sweatshirt, pants and socks - his emaciated body was not him and did not remind us of the man we knew.
As I read a scripture and led us in the Lord's Prayer - the casket was lowered into the cold clay of Etheridge Cemetery. The sun was clear and the air was brisk. Relatives I seldom see - usually only at funerals - were huddled nearby.
In this moment, I was reminded of similar emotions almost 40 years ago. It was at the birth of my first child, Hannah. As I held her in my hands, I felt as if reality cracked - torn asunder like the veil in the Temple when Jesus died.
Because, whatever I thought life was before that moment, I realized that everything was changed. And from then on, life was different and urgently real. Because, up to that point, there were birthing classes and books to read about labor and delivery. There were endless opinions offered by Dr. Spock, Mr. Spock, and nearly every relative and grandparent on how we should fulfill our parental obligations.
But, holding that baby swept all of it away. Because, hypothetical is irrelevant when you have a tiny human in your hands who is completely and utterly dependent on you.
In a way, I experienced my father's death that way. Because, whatever disagreements we had and whatever slights remained untended - death swept it all away.
He was my father, and I am his son. There is no disputing that. He lived his life as he chose. And, just as he often bemoaned my life choices, I certainly returned the favor in spades.
But now, all of that doesn't matter. Now, it is left to me to decide. Decide how. And where.
And Mary Oliver said it so well:
When it's over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
Amen.
1570 Holcomb Bridge Rd, Roswell, GA, United States
Comments
Post a Comment