The Blessing of Tragedy

Tragedy has a funny way of setting into motion so many blessings.

Last week, my uncle died quite unexpectedly.  Every detail I learned about his death and the circumstances surrounding it were filled with jaw dropping, eyebrow-furrowing reactions.  My family here in Ohio knew there was cause for concern, but I was the first one to formally hear that he had passed away. I, in turn, had to tell my Dad that his brother was dead.  My response to that dread and anxiety was purely hysterical, which led my 9 year old daughter to behave hysterically as well.  This forced me to compose myself enough to make the call.  The challenge of piecing together childcare for my 2 kids (so that I could drive 500 miles to be with the family and attend the funeral) forced me to be organized and present-minded.

My boyfriend announced he would either be coming with me or staying behind to care for my children, and that nothing I said could sway him.  I couldn't believe he was willing to do that, having only met my extended family once, a few short weeks ago, and having recently started a new job that may or may not approve of his absence.  While I felt immense guilt about that, I was also moved beyond words to know that he was willing to sacrifice huge things just to provide solace for me.  He was also willing to put himself in the midst of an intimate situation as an "outsider" just so I wouldn't have to face it alone. 

After we arrived in Virginia, I saw for myself just how lost my aunt seemed without her lifelong companion.  And yet, her 2 grown boys - my beloved cousins - were pillars of strength at her side.  They constantly comforted her, allowed her to experience the gamut of emotions, and validated every decision she made in the hours and days to come.  I was blown away at the amazing men my childhood playmates have become, and feeling as proud as ever to belong to this family.

I stood in amazement at the PILES of food, desserts, paper products, drinks, etc. that people were bringing to the house.  I'm inclined to say you haven't seen hospitality unless you've seen Southern hospitality...  It was simply mind boggling.  Phone calls were trickling from people who had stories to share about how my uncle had influenced their lives or left an impression on them.  We just didn't know how far he'd cast his net.  :)  The volume of people who stood in line for 45 - 60 minutes just to give their condolences to the family was amazing and humbling.  Seeing so many uniformed officers (he worked for the sheriff's office) in attendance at the funeral, and leading the long processional to the burial site was so very powerful.

Sitting at the funeral, as my cousin rose to say a few words about his father, I began to feel the pew shaking.  I realized it was my stoic father, his body giving away the fact that his soul was racked with grief.  As upsetting as it is for a girl to see her Daddy falling to pieces, it was a beautiful reminder of the love he felt for his brother. 

Tragedy brings pain, sadness, anger, confusion, loneliness, and emptiness.  But even amidst tragedy, if we only open our eyes, we see so much love and beauty around us: the support of caring friends, the strength and love of family, the sacrifices people are willing to make in order to extend a measure of comfort, and the way that people can become united when they need to pull together for someone they held in the highest esteem. 

Thanks Uncle "Sport".  Even in your death, you continue to teach us about being better people.  You "preached it all along the way", as your son so eloquently shared as he stood behind your casket.  Rest peacefully.

taking care of one another

My kids' elementary school has a simple value/mission statement:

Take care of others.

Take care of yourself. 

Take care of this place.

In my observations, care and compassion breed care and compassion.  It seems that when people are treating me with kindness, I feel more positive and more inclined to emanate caring behaviors.  When people stop showing they care about me, I continue to show them kindness for a spell, but eventually my energies wear down, I try less, and at some point I focus my energies elsewhere.

Don't get me wrong, there are times in our lives when we simply have nothing to give, and our true friends will understand that.  We are going through a difficult or depressing time and we have no choice but to focus our efforts on ourselves, with not a morsel of "leftover" energy to devote elsewhere. 

But generally speaking, I think we each have a responsibility to care for others and our environments, as well as ourselves.  I'm struck by the powerful words of William Sarovan:

"A word of encouragement during a failure

is worth more than an hour of praise after success."

While I certainly crave and thrive on praise and recognition, I am awfully good at beating myself up or isolating myself when I feel I have failed at something or fallen adrift.  It is in those times that I really need to hear a kind word and to hear that someone else believes in me.  And it is my responsibility as a human being to offer the same to those I see suffering.  Sometimes people are just not going to care about me, no matter how I've conducted myself or treated them.  I can choose whether or not to emotionally invest in those people.  Chances are, I'm going to focus my energies elsewhere, towards those who appreciate the kindness I have to offer and who will mirror it back to me.  Seems so basic, so simple.  So elementary. :)

the context of crisis

Yesterday I was sitting in church when I noticed that the couple in front of me was in some sort of distress.  The husband was leaning limply forward and his wife was shaking his shoulders, trying to get him to "wake up" and look at her or respond in some way.  I did what many of us do - initially ignoring the situation, trying not to "get involved", and so forth, wondering if even he was just bored by the sermon and had dozed off!  

Quickly I sensed her panic and I leaned forward to ask if she needed help.  She vigorously nodded yes, and I summoned an usher.  I asked if her husband had low blood sugar issues (he was acting a lot like I do when my sugar is low and I'm about to faint) and she said "sometimes".  I grabbed the protein bar I'd slipped in my purse that morning (knowing my sugar was bound to crash 2 - 3 hours after I ate breakfast) and gave it to her.  A woman popped up beside me and volunteered that she was a nurse, and began to help the man.  Another woman in front of the couple turned around and said that she too was a nurse, and she began to check his pulse.  Without thinking, I reached forward and began to rub the wife's back.  Eventually some men carried the husband out of the sanctuary, still in his chair, and they called 911 and took him off for medical attention.

As I sat there replaying the situation in my mind, I thought of all the odd ways in which the context of this situation constructed itself.  I wasn't feeling great that morning and almost opted not to go to church.  But I went, and this couple had turned around to warmly greet me as I was sitting there waiting for the service to begin, probably looking a little unsure and out of place.  I believe this sort of behavior establishes some sort of subconscious bond between two humans, when one reaches out to another with no hidden agenda or motive, other than to welcome them.  This might have led me to react more quickly than usual when I noticed they were in distress.  This probably made my inhibitions melt away when my gut said to reach out and physically comfort the woman. 

I thought about how often I forget to pack a snack for my hypoglycemic moments, but that morning I hadn't forgotten, and he'd been able to use it, and maybe it helped him a little.  I thought of the proximity of those 2 nurses who were able to offer medical assistance and triage the situation.

How much of life is due to chance, to freewill, to destiny?  I can't say, as I believe there is no clearcut answer, but rather a mix of those things operating together.  But it fascinates me to think about how certain people and moments seem to align at times to work toward the good of the universe.  I know there have been moments I've narrowly missed being in a car accident, and have thought back to what caused my car to be ahead or behind the site of the crash.  It just makes me slow down for a moment to think about the intention of the universe and the role we play within it.

never enough

sometimes it feels like your life is a treadmill, that you are running nonstop without ever getting a chance to catch your breath.  it feels like you just can't try any harder at all the roles you are trying to fulfill in your life, all the people you hold yourself accountable to, and it's just never enough.  maybe you don't have what it takes to do it all - all of the time.  maybe you signed up for roles that you just can't fill. 

i snap at my kids sometimes when i feel overwhelmed and taken for granted.  sometimes it's other stuff in the background that is prompting me to hit that point.  deep down i wonder if i'm a good enough mother.  i'm trying to keep a house in order, work hard enough to pay the bills and pay them on time, to keep health insurance for everyone and get them to their doctor appointments and fill out their forms for school and help them with their homework and above all else - trying to teach them to be good human beings with good values and morals.  trying to teach them to love.

i fail those i work with at times, missing a deadline or making some sort of error.  it costs something to someone else, be it money or trust or time.  i don't need to be reprimanded because i do a great job of beating up myself when i fail someone.

my relationships have been one train wreck after another, and the fact of the matter is - i am the common denominator in all of them.  i think a lot about myself and what i'm doing wrong or why i'm making the wrong choices.  i don't waste time with people though - if i'm not totally into them, caring deeply, being fiercely loyal, i just don't bother.  i can't and won't fake it.  so i give it my all, but the lesson i've learned is that giving your all doesn't guarantee anything really.

i don't like to half ass it.  i won't commit to something if i don't believe i can give it my all and do it as close to perfect as possible.  sometimes it's just hard to keep the faith and to keep trying and believing in yourself, when you feel like you are busting your ass and never quite doing or being enough to anyone.

Virginia - The House That Built Me

Recently I had the opportunity to return to Virginia for my cousin's wedding.  My parents and brother were born in Virginia, and I'm the displaced Yankee born in Ohio.  I never experienced a Christmas morning in Ohio until after I was 18.  My summer vacations were always to Virginia.  So it feels like home to me too in a way.

Every time I go back there, I seem to follow a ritual that involves visiting the cemetery where my grandparents are buried, and driving by the modest little house where they lived, and where so many memories were created during my childhood.  I recall that place booming with laughter and bustling with people, but to drive by now, it looks so tiny and slight.  I want so much to walk inside of that house just one more time.  Miranda Lambert has a single called "The House That Built Me" that strikes a chord with me for this very reason. 

What would it really accomplish to step inside?  The biscuit dough I threw on the ceiling (until it got so tacky it stuck for good) - I'm sure it's been cleaned up and cleared away.  The smells of homemade chocolate pie - long gone.  The smoky haze in the bathroom as my grandma tried to hide the fact that she was still smoking - long cleared up.  Still, life happened there.  I learned more about who I was, who my parents were, who my grandparents were...  I can't go into that physical place anymore.  Perhaps that's why I'm so drawn to the cemetery.  Earlier this summer when I was there, I went to that cemetery and literally laid at the foot of their graves and let myself have a big cry.  I talked aloud about the pain I was feeling in my heart at that time, asked them questions they couldn't answer, and told them how much they had impacted my life.  Love is a powerful thing and it doesn't die when it is real.  I think sometimes we associate physical places with emotional feelings and so we return again and again in an effort to recapture those emotions.

I know someday my last living grandparent will be gone and I will feel all of these things about her house too.  So for now, I soak it all up, marinate in those fond memories of a simpler life with nothing to do but laugh and love and pass the time.

"I know they say you can't go home again

I just had to come back one last time

Ma'am I know you don't know me from Adam

But these handprints on the front steps are mine.

I thought if I could touch this place so freely

This brokenness inside me might start healing

Out here it's like I'm someone else

I thought that maybe I could find myself...

If I could just come in I swear I'll leave

Won't take nothin' but a memory

From the house that built me."

~Miranda Lambert