Answers in a short story
No Philosophy, Just Feelings
A better camouflage than mine
Trip down this road April 4th 2010
This is not a fun read. It is not meant to be. I’m told I write well; I suppose that means it is comprehendible without being boring. I’m not sure this will follow that equation, but I write because I can look for answers far and wide through the help of technology, and that maybe it will help me unravel my emotions and understand our cognitive selves.
My dad’s best friend, a close and loving uncle to me, passed away a week ago. He was in the hospital because his heart surgery didn’t go so well last year, or his heart didn’t have the strength to heal all the way, or because he didn’t help it too much by his occasional drinking and smoking. What ever it was, I resented that he didn’t take care of himself too well and that he was going to be gone long before the age of 60. I blocked him out, there by blocking my dad out. I didn’t ask what exactly was wrong or how dad felt having to be beside him and at hospitals for days on end, or uncle’s progress or situation every time he was admitted into the hospital.
The end did come. Dad said he was on a ventilator and only had a day or two. The next morning, my father sent me a text message saying my uncle was no more. My initial reaction was to feel pain and sympathy for my father. The dead don’t hurt and I didn’t know my uncle’s family at all. He was a single man, no partner, no children, who loved my father, and they were boys every time they got together. I was one of my uncle’s favorite kids, because I was born when my dad was young, and because he hung around me so much when I was little. He would ask me what I wanted and get it. My dad would reprimand me and say that I was abusing his love. But I knew well that I liked the show of affection as much as my uncle liked to give it and see me hop along happy.
They are similar people: socially out going, with a large number of friends and well wishers, but personally introverted. They would share the good times with everyone but maybe one or two would be permitted to see them at a bad time, much less hear them talk about it. Why else would he send me a text message about his best friend’s passing away? It is something that is beyond the spoken word, a sound to break the silence, a surrender to The All Powerful. Yet, they shared so many memories when times were simple and life was full of joy. I have no idea if they found comfort in each other as people moved into a faster life; I assume so. They were old school boys.
My dad just returned today from the small town the funeral and the following rituals took place. He looks tired and worn, and though we don’t have long conversations, I had to ask him if he wanted to talk. We hadn’t talked through the whole ordeal that went on for months, off and on. I was ashamed it was too little too late, but no matter how I felt, he deserved to talk away from all the people, at his house.
My father simply said there was nothing to talk about but the loss of his friend. And even then there was nothing to talk about. I asked if he would be home for a while because he had been travelling so much. Big mistake. He replied that since his work was done by the death of his best friend, he didn’t know what else there was to do but stay home. I want to say I understand, but I don’t. I can feel the physical pain and suffering in him; if you stand close enough, it feels like stepping into a dark vortex. I hurt as much as I can, as much as I am capable of, and try to stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks, but I know I haven’t seen the bottom of his sadness; it is a deep black hole and I can’t pretend to know how deep it is. Without having an idea of that, I can’t help; don’t know how or where to begin. I cry more for my dad than my uncle. I am helpless. I love my father. His loss is palpable.
Love comes in different forms, but I think love innately requires some basic, central fiber. It is an acceptance of some one’s faults because one thinks the positive qualities out weigh the negative; it is being able to support them and help them in their course without pushing one’s own ideas onto them; it is being able to correct them comfortably but letting the ultimate decision of right or wrong be the loved one’s; it is being able to forgive their mistakes because all humans err; it is simply giving what one can willingly and always wishing them the best. Even as simple as I think this is, I know it is hard to do with our egos and monies and power plays and prestige causing us to trip over ourselves. Even more, I feel worse for those who are unable to accept and recognize such love in what ever form it comes their way, whether it is due to low self worth or other “insecurities”. As modern people, we have more issues, it seems.
Innocence, quite different from ignorance
It should be in life that we help and serve each other, not in death. My father and uncle have shown me that by having this deep, respectful, life time bond for each other. I hope to be able to die with one friend so loving and good and understanding. But for now all I can do is pray that time heals what I hope is not a permanent hole in my father’s heart. I am not sure whether I want to pray that I can find a friendship that strong and long lasting on my side, for I am afraid I will not carry the loss of it with such restraint and dignity. I would rather be a coward and have superficial short term relationships while I eagerly build walls around myself, thicker and higher, so that I may never know the depth of my dad’s loss, the truth about friendship, the shape that love can take, the joy that we can bring each other or the end that can blind us as we stare ahead.
For my loving uncle whose only fault was that he was always young at heart: May he rest in peace. We love you and miss you. Who will get me the best mangoes this year? It is almost season. No one will care about the small joys of life as much as him.
Good bye, dear uncle.
