Far From the Tree |
| How do you find meaning in difficulty? This video trailer for the book, “Far From the Tree: Parents, Children, and the Search for Identity,” by Andrew Solomon, shows some poignant vignettes of interviews with parents and children who were born “different.” Solomon learns that although individual differences can be isolating, the fact of difference is universal. His other great discovery is joy – most of the families ended up being grateful for experiences they would have done anything to avoid.
FRUIT BEFORE ROOT FRUIT STANDS |
UnSmothered Love
The line has stuck with me for well over
T W E N T Y Y E A R S. . .
and I suspect for the rest of my life as a father;
Did you hear it?
Is it one of your favorite lines, too,
in the SHADOW OF FATHER’S DAY. . .
“YOUR FLAWS AS A SON ARE MY FAILURES AS A FATHER.”
S E R I O U S L Y:
Have you ever thought,
“IF I WAS A BETTER PARENT,
maybe my children would be better,
not suffered as much”
Yes, I have suffered many little deaths
along the way as any dad would/does. . .
Children always have a way of ripping your heart out
without a scalpel and tramping
on your aorta;
watching it as flutters,
sputters blood
and seamlessly stops beating
by either what they say/do
or don’t say or do. . .
But my father’s heart has never stopped loving,
never stop caring,
never stop giving,
never stopped worrying,
and I believe it’s what makes me who I am
and who I want to continue to be. . .
It’s hard work;
it’s an endless job
from which I will never retire
and of which I will never seek to do so. . .
Now for that
MISSING PIECE. . .
completing
t h a t
puzzle of
UnSMOTHERED
L O V E
and in the meantime,
still very much in the shadow of Father’s Day
I’m beyond grateful for
Oliva, Gina, Angie, Zoe and Connor
MAKING this Father
a much better
DAD
SNOW MAN LOVE
Sometimes a song is much more than notes
and lyrics are much more than words. . .
Don’t cry snowman, not in front of me Who will catch your tears if you can’t catch me, darlin’? If you can’t catch me, darlin’? Don’t cry, snowman, don’t leave me this way A puddle of water can’t hold me close, baby Can’t hold me close, baby
I want you to know that I’m never leaving Cause I’m Mrs. Snow, ’till death we’ll be freezing Yeah, you are my home, my home for all seasons So come on let’s go Let’s go below zero and hide from the sun I’ll love you forever where we’ll have some fun Yes, let’s hit the North Pole and live happily Please don’t cry no tears now, it’s Christmas baby
My snowman and me My snowman and me Baby
Don’t cry, snowman, don’t you fear the sun Who’ll carry me without legs to run, honey? Without legs to run, honey? Don’t cry, snowman, don’t you shed a tear Who’ll hear my secrets if you don’t have ears, baby? If you don’t have ears, baby?
I want you to know that I’m never leaving ‘Cause I’m Mrs. Snow, ’till death we’ll be freezing Yeah, you are my home, my home for all seasons So come on let’s go Let’s go below zero and hide from the sun I’ll love you forever where we’ll have some fun Yes, let’s hit the North Pole and live happily Please don’t cry no tears now, it’s Christmas baby
My snowman and me My snowman and me Baby
Notes: I don’t own anything. All credits goes to Sia and the company Cineplex which created this animation. Please support Sia. 🙂 Don’t forget to check them: http://www.cineplex.com/ http://www.youtube.com/siavevo/
Sometimes a song is much more than notes
and lyrics are much more than words. . .
ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU EXPERIENCE THEM
A Dad’s DAD
Dick Hoyt died on March 17 and yet he’s never been more alive. . .
WHO???
Who exactly. . .
I never met Mr Hoyt
but I read/heard about him years ago
when I was still running marathons
at a pretty good clip
and an even better speed
but nothing like
Dick Hoyt
did. . .
STRONGEST DAD IN THE WORLD
RICK REILLY is a great writer and a very frequent contributor to SPORTS ILLUSTRATED and I not only bow to his craft but instead of even trying to rephrase or even poorly plagiarize him, I thought I’d share what he had to say but I deeply felt:
I try to be a good father. Give my kids mulligans. Work nights to pay for their text messaging. Take them to swimsuit shoots.
But compared with Dick Hoyt, I suck.
Eighty-five times he’s pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 miles in marathons. Eight times he’s not only pushed him 26.2 miles in a wheelchair but also towed him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming and pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars–all in the same day.
Dick’s also pulled him cross-country skiing, taken him on his back mountain climbing and once hauled him across the U.S. on a bike. Makes taking your son bowling look a little lame, right?
And what has Rick done for his father? Not much–except save his life.
This love story began in Winchester, Mass., 43 years ago, when Rick was strangled by the umbilical cord during birth, leaving him brain-damaged and unable to control his limbs.
“He’ll be a vegetable the rest of his life,” Dick says doctors told him and his wife, Judy, when Rick was nine months old. “Put him in an institution.”
But the Hoyts weren’t buying it. They noticed the way Rick’s eyes followed them around the room. When Rick was 11 they took him to the engineering department at Tufts University and asked if there was anything to help the boy communicate. “No way,” Dick says he was told. “There’s nothing going on in his brain.“
“Tell him a joke,” Dick countered. They did. Rick laughed. Turns out a lot was going on in his brain.
Rigged up with a computer that allowed him to control the cursor by touching a switch with the side of his head, Rick was finally able to communicate. First words? “Go Bruins!” And after a high school classmate was paralyzed in an accident and the school organized a charity run for him, Rick pecked out, “Dad, I want to do that.”
Yeah, right. How was Dick, a self-described “porker” who never ran more than a mile at a time, going to push his son five miles? Still, he tried. “Then it was me who was handicapped,” Dick says. “I was sore for two weeks.”
That day changed Rick’s life. “Dad,” he typed, “when we were running, it felt like I wasn’t disabled anymore!”
And that sentence changed Dick’s life. He became obsessed with giving Rick that feeling as often as he could. He got into such hard-belly shape that he and Rick were ready to try the 1979 Boston Marathon.
“No way,” Dick was told by a race official. The Hoyts weren’t quite a single runner, and they weren’t quite a wheelchair competitor. For a few years Dick and Rick just joined the massive field and ran anyway, then they found a way to get into the race officially: In 1983 they ran another marathon so fast they made the qualifying time for Boston the following year.
Then somebody said, “Hey, Dick, why not a triathlon?”
How’s a guy who never learned to swim and hadn’t ridden a bike since he was six going to haul his 110-pound kid through a triathlon? Still, Dick tried.
Now they’ve done 212 triathlons, including four grueling 15-hour Ironmans in Hawaii. It must be a buzzkill to be a 25-year-old stud getting passed by an old guy towing a grown man in a dinghy, don’t you think?
Hey, Dick, why not see how you’d do on your own? “No way,” he says. Dick does it purely for “the awesome feeling” he gets seeing Rick with a cantaloupe smile as they run, swim and ride together.
This year, at ages 65 and 43, Dick and Rick finished their 24th Boston Marathon, in 5,083rd place out of more than 20,000 starters. Their best time? Two hours, 40 minutes in 1992–only 35 minutes off the world record, which, in case you don’t keep track of these things, happens to be held by a guy who was not pushing another man in a wheelchair at the time.
“No question about it,” Rick types. “My dad is the Father of the Century.”
And Dick got something else out of all this too. Two years ago he had a mild heart attack during a race. Doctors found that one of his arteries was 95% clogged. “If you hadn’t been in such great shape,” one doctor told him, “you probably would’ve died 15 years ago.”
So, in a way, Dick and Rick saved each other’s life.
Rick, who has his own apartment (he gets home care) and works in Boston, and Dick, retired from the military and living in Holland, Mass., always find ways to be together. They give speeches around the country and compete in some backbreaking race every weekend, including this Father’s Day
That night, Rick will buy his dad dinner, but the thing he really wants to give him is a gift he can never buy.
“The thing I’d most like,” Rick types, “is that my dad sit in the chair and I push him once.”
To see a photo gallery of Dick and Rick Hoyt, go to SI.com/teamhoyt. If you have a comment for Rick Reilly, send it to reilly@siletters.com.
“Dad, when we were running, it felt like I wasn’t disabled anymore!”
Dick Hoyt gives his son that feeling as often as he can.
Kind of gives
FATHER’S DAY
a whole new meaning, huh. . .
M A Y B E
m a y b e
all those years
all those races
all those marathons
all those Ironmen Triathlons
he wasn’t pushing his son, Rick so much
as he was pushing me
and anyone else who took notice
TO BE A NO LIMIT
d a d
TO BE A NO LIMIT
p e r s o n
TO BE
what it took
when it took
how it took
TO BE
what was truly needed
instead of merely
wanted. . .
(NEVER) Just A Dog
MY DOG SKIP
is a great movie about a boy and his dog. . .
It’s mostly a story about award winning writer, Willie Morris and his dog
GROWING UP. . .
Our dog, Mollie died this past Thursday without much warning or notice and it’s like watching and re-watching a gut wrenching movie or at least their worst tear-jerking scenes on an endless loop. . .
She’s been ever present for nearly the last 14 years of our lives bringing all of the things we say our dogs, our pets bring so abundantly and even more, so unconditionally.
I’ve heard it said that grief is love that doesn’t have a place to go. None of us likes grieving; none of us likes what it makes us feel or do because it usually means that we’ve lost the greatest loss of all: Somebody or Something that we’ve loved deeply, intimately and if we’re lucky, unconditionally, too.
I often wax poetically at a funeral when I say there is no grief, there is no hurt, no sense of loss, no pain; never any tears unless there’s a love much deeper than all those things put together that even made the grief possible. . . That’s a gift, and to be sure, it can’t be ordered from Amazon; you don’t wanna wrap that up and put it under Christmas tree or make sure you save it for a special anniversary or birthday or give merely as a JUST BECAUSE… and yet it is a gift, the best kind of all, isn’t it?
Molly of nearly 14 years is the pet among the so many cats, gecko’s, rat, and another dog we ever had the longest. We talked about the day when she would no longer be with us because of some here and there health issues but you can never fully prepare for IT; being a hospice chaplain since 1994 has taught me that along with some of the close family members and friends who have died. Still, it’s ripped our hearts out without a scalpel or at least a very dull one.
No, she just wasn’t a dog so much more than that; fully accepting, unconditionally loving and always couldn’t wait to greet you and anybody else that came in to her presence. She was a rescue dog; our son found her at a party one night. She was in a milk crate and and maybe not so much abused as neglected. He complained to the owner, “You can’t keep a dog like that and if you won’t let her out, I’ll take her.” The owner said he didn’t really want her, to go ahead and take her. When he brought her home he never told us at first; she was down in the basement and of course we heard her and went down to check out the situation. He convicted me. Used my words. “Dad, you always told me when you were in a bad situation you can’t leave until you make it better not worse. I couldn’t leave her that way.” She was emaciated, cowering, afraid and always wanted to be in your presence; never wanted to be left alone. And for that reason she never needed a leash, no matter where we’d be in the yard or walking down the street she would always be right there with us, never running away, never leaving.
She would be the first to greet you when your car pulled into the driveway or when you walked into the back door and we would often think after a long day or a tiring week the Peace was her laying in between us as I would sit on a chair and Erin on the couch. Part of that peace was that Love; it was as if she couldn’t rest each night at the side of her our bed unless she was sure you knew it, experienced it.
FALLING IN LOVE IS LIKE OWNING A DOG
First of all, it’s a big responsibility,
especially in a city like New York.
So think long and hard before deciding on love.
On the other hand, love gives you a sense of security:
when you’re walking down the street late at night
and you have a leash on love
ain’t no one going to mess with you.
Because crooks and muggers think love is unpredictable.
Who knows what love could do in its own defense?
On cold winter nights, love is warm.
It lies between you and lives and breathes
and makes funny noises.
Love wakes you up all hours of the night with its needs.
It needs to be fed so it will grow and stay healthy.
Love doesn’t like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.
Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.
Love makes messes.
Love leaves you little surprises here and there.
Love needs lots of cleaning up after.
Sometimes you just want to get love fixed.
Sometimes you want to roll up a piece of newspaper
and swat love on the nose,
not so much to cause pain,
just to let love know Don’t you ever do that again!
Sometimes love just wants to go out for a nice long walk.
Because love loves exercise. It will run you around the block
and leave you panting, breathless. Pull you in different directions
at once, or wind itself around and around you
until you’re all wound up and you cannot move.
But love makes you meet people wherever you go.
People who have nothing in common but love
stop and talk to each other on the street.
Throw things away and love will bring them back,
again, and again, and again.
But most of all, love needs love, lots of it.
And in return, love loves you and never stops.
Taylor Mali
Mali. Taylor. “How Falling in Love is like Owning a Dog.” What Learning Leaves. Write Bloody Books.
I don’t know what your idea of Heaven is; I’ve come to believe from so many people’s experiences or expectations that whatever they think it is, IT IS. Maybe we all be instantly in the presence of loved ones or those that have gone before us. Me? I believe instantaneously I’ll be in the presence of the One who created me, those I’ve loved and have been loved by and. . .I kind of think I’ll know I’m in heaven when I see her running down the street (THAT STREET) like she did so many times when she’d meet us coming backing from an errand or a walk; so excited to see me, tail wagging, yelping in joy, barking as I hug others because she wants hugged and attention, too; welcoming me home, HOME, and not so much expecting, well, what might’ve brought her so much as what she can’t wait to give me. . but what they can’t wait to give me. . .Hmmmmmmmmmm, yeah, HEAVEN!
In the meantime, we are comforted by the kindnesses of our family, friends and the neighbood kids who adopted her as their own and companion us in carrying our grief and love. . .
No, there won’t be any be a memorial service; no celebration of life ceremony–they’ll be ongoing countless ones; each being more special than the last one but all of them being ongoing for our ever’s. . .
Last Summer, Erin found this rock down at the Lake and immediately brought it home and with little effort made it look like Molly. We didn’t know then what we feel now; but we assuredly know the only thing that’s stronger more enduring than Rock, is LOVE. . .May rich Peace she brought to us and so many now be that profound Peace she’ll enjoy for an ever more as she crosses the Rainbow Bridge but never out of our hearts. . .Our greatest takeaway: if Molly, never Just A Dog, can show Compassion, Empathy, Kindness, Care, Acceptance, Unconditional Love, what about Mutts like us?
SPEAK I would tell her and she would with tail wagging like an airplane propellor making you soar higher than you expected. I never told her to HEAL I never had to; it’s what she just did (repeatedly)
Committing UNCONDITIONAL LOVE
Ever Feel, Literally:
H A Y W I R E. . .
Ever feel, even when
I L L U M I N A T I N G
Just like a tumbled, bumbled, ball of M E S S. . .
- Following the deaths of Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain, people are talking about suicide
- The words we choose, what we say and don’t say, make a difference, experts say
(CNN)With two high-profile deaths by suicide this week and a new government report released detailing a rise in suicide rates in the United States, a topic that’s often avoided, judged or only whispered about is now on the tips of people’s tongues.
What we say or don’t say, and how we say it, makes a difference, according to experts. Our words matter to those struggling with thoughts of ending their own lives and to those reeling from loss owing to suicide. And in a world where silence or insensitivity often makes matters worse, it’s time to talk about our language.
P L E A S E :
Stop using the phrase ‘committed suicide’
Top of mind to many who care about this topic is getting rid of the phrase “committed suicide,” says Dese’Rae Stage, a suicide awareness activist who holds a bachelor’s degree in psychology and is trained in crisis intervention.
“It implies sin or crime” — we “commit” sins and crimes — “and pathologizes those affected. We suggest more objective phrasing, like ‘died by/from suicide,’ ‘ended their life’ or ‘took their life,'” she said. “If we’re using the right language, if we’re pulling negative connotations from the language, talking about suicide may be easier.”
A similar guideline actually has become the rule of thumb for major news organizations, including CNN, which often set the tone of public conversation around suicide.
Don’t treat suicide like a taboo topic
Stage, who is also a photographer based in Philadelphia, is on a mission to humanize the topic and normalize discussions about suicide so we, collectively, can grapple with what the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention ranks as the United States’ 10th leading cause of death. She’s the force behind a project called “Live Through This,” which collects the stories and portraits of suicide attempt survivors — of which she is one.
She thinks of how cancer was for so long referred to as “the C word,” how people were terrified to even mention it. Now that people speak openly about cancer, funding, research and avenues of support have grown exponentially.
She imagines a world where suicide isn’t an off-limits or taboo subject, where we can learn to be there for each other.
How to help someone who might be suicidal
Because suicide is a topic Stage is intimately aware of, she offers advice to those who are concerned about someone they love and are struggling with what to say.
Be direct and ask, “Are you thinking about suicide?” she said. “When you’re able to say the ‘S word,’ you acknowledge it. It takes the power away. Then say, ‘What can I do?’ or ‘How can I help?’ They may not have an answer, but it’s worth asking.”
For someone in a suicide crisis, Stage says it’s OK to get even more specific with questions: “Do you have a plan? Do you have a method? Do you have a time frame?”
The goal, she explains, is to make a connection, engage in conversation, validate feelings and give the person a moment to breathe.
Dr. Jodi Gold, a psychiatrist and director of Gold Center for Mind Health and Wellness, echoed Stage’s advice when she said this on CNN’s New Day: “Talking about suicide does not cause people to kill themselves. Not talking about suicide might.”
If the person you’re worried about answers “yes” when asked if they’re thinking about hurting or killing themselves, Gold suggested that’s when you reach out to a therapist, a doctor, a family member — not necessarily an emergency room — because preventing isolation and fostering human connections are key.
Don’t rattle off the list of people for whom a person must live, Stage said.
“That often makes them feel worse if you’re doing it for them,” she said. “They’re thinking, ‘I’m a terrible person, and all these people would be better off without me.'”
After Stage tried to take her own life 12 years ago in small town Tennessee, her best friend took her in to her Texas home, offering a needed escape. She didn’t watch over Stage 24/7 but offered her a safe space — “and she gave me space in it.”
So often people “fragilize” those who’ve attempted suicide and treat them as children, Stage said. “You do need to be nurtured after a suicide attempt, but you don’t need to be treated like an egg.”
Don’t cast blame or search for details
Those who have lost a loved one to suicide may be reluctant to share their stories “because doing so is usually met with gross insensitivity — as in ‘Why didn’t you do something?’ or ‘Didn’t you know he was mentally ill?'” said Tony Salvatore, director of suicide prevention at Montgomery County Emergency Service, a nonprofit mental health crisis service in Norristown, Pennsylvania.
That sort of reaction, casting blame — however unintentionally — on survivors who are already struggling with guilt is just one way the stigma of suicide gets perpetuated.
It’s human nature to want to identify the reason why people take their lives. But there is no one reason, and it’s unfair to expect answers, said Janet Schnell, an Indiana social worker who leads support groups and provides suicide prevention training. She lost her younger brother to suicide 20 years ago.
Likewise, asking for details about how a person died by suicide, especially in the immediate aftermath, is not recommended, she said.
How to bring comfort to suicide loss survivors
Phrases that may be meant to comfort such as, “They’re in a better place now,” or “They’re no longer hurting,” can also hurt suicide loss survivors, who might wonder, Schnell said, “Wasn’t the place where we are good enough?”
The best response she got from a friend was this: “I’m here for you at 3:30 in the morning.” Having a person to call and cry to in the middle of the night, even if the words exchanged were few, made a difference.
When Schnell’s brother ended his life, people often avoided talking to her and her family members in person because they didn’t know what to say. Instead, she remembers going out to eat and hearing people whispering about their loss.
Avoiding the truth of suicide does a disservice, and if finding the right words to say are difficult, Schnell has an easy answer.
“I always say the best thing to do is say, ‘I’m sorry,'” she said, “and nothing more.”
BEING A CARING CATALYST
simply means JUST SHOWING UP
no words, no lectures, no behind-the-back-sneak-attack-vists with an entourage that rivals the worst taken photo bombs. . .
S H O W U P
if you’re going to commit anything during this time
Commit a massive-amount-over-the-top-severely-over-flowing-abundant-
UNCONDITIONAL ACCEPTANCE. . .
C O M M I T L O V E
(non-stop)
It’s a rough world out there. . .
and there are no easy answers;
no simple solutions
no short-cuts
which SHOUTS for us to even more frantically:
<strong>How to get help:</strong> In the US, call the <a href=”https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/” target=”_blank”>National Suicide Prevention Lifeline</a> at 1-800-273-8255. The <a href=”https://www.iasp.info/resources/Crisis_Centres/” target=”_blank”>International Association for Suicide Prevention</a> and <a href=”https://www.befrienders.org/help-and-support” target=”_blank”>Befrienders Worldwide</a> also provide contact information for crisis centers around the world.
More than Stuffing
Well. . .did you?
I did.
Zippy.
I don’t remember when I got him, but I remember when he went away mysteriously one day.
I was crushed. . .
I r e m e m b e r.
Psychologists call that a security or transitional object.
Of course there have been studies about this.
There are no real numbers on how many people actually carry around a childhood pillow,
blankie or stuffed animal,
but a recent survey of 6000 British adults by the hotel chain Travelodge
found that 35% admitted to sleeping with such an object.
Surprised?
Up until very recently,
it was thought to be bad,
but in the Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology in 2000,
it was found that those with a transitional object
experienced less distress, as measured by blood pressure and heart rate.
Apparently
S E C U R I T Y B L A N K E T S
really do live up to their name.
I visited a lady in a dementia unit recently who was holding a stuffed animal.
We talked briefly about some of the photographs in her room
of family and pets and she blurted out,
“You, YOU can go now. But he’s staying,”
she said as she clung and hugged her stuffed animal even closer.
I thanked her for letting me stop by;
she wanted me to pray for her and her stuff animal before I left.
It was as short prayer.
I left wondering. . .
A couple of presentations
. . . a few conversations later,
I’m still wondering.
W H Y ?
Why the clinging to a stuffed animal,
blankie,
pillow
or any other lifeless object?
I’ve asked it of a couple of groups and a more than a few individuals now.
I’m not sure that that there’s a definitive answer,
but some that have been offered are:
Non-Judgmental
Accepting
Unconditional love
Peaceful
Security
Who knows really?
The thing I wonder about the most though,
is if this
t r a n s i t i o n a l o b j e c t
can provide all or each of those things–
what about me?
How much more so can I?
P R E S E N C E
is one of the most powerful,
non-evasive,
Nonpharmacological,
least expensive,
cheapest,
EFFECTIVE
ways ever discovered to provide
h e a l i n g !
Maybe what I wonder most. . .
Who could have ever imagined
j u s t b y s h o w i n g u p
the most amazing things can take place
over and over and over
again and again and again and. . . . ?
Now T H A T ‘ S the stuffing we’re all made.
(Don’t let it go to waste)
MAGIC SHIRTS
I’ve been a
f a t h e r
for some thirty-seven years
a n d
my kids have made me a lot of things
over those years
but aside from making me their
d a d
they really made me a great
s t o r y – t e l l e r
They would be
stories of encouragement
stories of hope
stories of motivation
stories of life
stories of living
but most of all
stories of the
u n c o n d i t i o n a l l o v e
I’ve always had for them
and hopefully never made them
d o u b t
THIS IS US
is a new NBC tv Series
that began this year
and it not only talks about
conventional life
but conventional
family life. . .
I hate
to this day
when any of my kids
or grandchildren
h u r t
and would do anything
to make it evaporate
or
TELL IT AWAY
Like this scene
or more
just by
s h o w i n g u p. . .
s h a r i n g
t h e h u r t. . .
until the tears dried
or were replaced by even a
h a l f – s m i l e. . .
I could do that
with trips to the Mall
A movie with
the extra-big bucket of buttered popcorn
and their own Big Pop
A bag full of penny-candy
A play-ground run
A day at an amusement park
one-on-one dates to Bob Evans
or Caribou Coffee
or a well-timed s t o r y:
M A G I C A L
So
what’s
your
go to
s t o r y ?
Getting is a Harder Type of Giving
I had never met him.
I had never even met his Nephew except a half an hour before his memorial service.
I expressed my condolences and asked if he or anyone else might want to speak during the service.
The Nephew said he would be sharing some thoughts.
I had a small opening welcome and short prayer and then invited The Nephew to come forward to share and he did so much more.
He told that his uncle was a World War II vet who never much talked about the war. Recently as his uncle declined and had to be placed in a nursing facility and later, on hospice care, he began sharing his story.
The Nephew shared a story his uncle told him within a week of his death. He had become very restless and no matter what medications were administered, he wasn’t calmed.
The Nephew shared he went to see his uncle one early morning before he left for work, after what the nursing home staff called and stated, it was a fairly difficult and anxious night.
His uncle, who had been fairly confused, told The Nephew of an early morning during the war.
He said that he was lost from his platoon and was wondering through the forest in the fog when he came upon a German soldier propped up against a tree, sleeping, with his gun nearby.
When the German soldier awoke and went for his gun, it was too late. The Uncle already was standing over him with his gun just inches from the soldier’s head.
The German Soldier begged him not to pull the trigger and asked him, “Do you have a family? Do you have kids?”
The Uncle said he did and the German Soldier asked if he could see pictures of his children and wanted to know if he in return could show him pictures of his kids.
They shared a moment.
They talked about families of loneliness, of missing what was most important to the both of them.
Two, tired, weary, fathers/husbands/sons/soldiers, they shared a moment, a moment of compassion, of humanity, of Commonness.
The Uncle, handed back the pictures and received the ones he had just shared with the German soldier and asked him, “Do you believe in Heaven?”
The German soldier nodded and agreed that he did believe in heaven.
The Uncle then said, “Maybe we’ll meet again there.”
And he pulled the trigger and fatally shot the German soldier in the head.
Psssssssssst: Come back to me.
We are in the middle of a memorial service of a man I had never met, hearing a story from The Nephew, another man I had never met, and I, like the forty or so others, for the first time, heard THAT Story.
You want to talk about ‘hear-a-pin-drop-silence?’
The air was sucked out of the room. . .and before the next breath could be taken, before any of us could dare believe what we were about to hear next, The Nephew asked, almost in unbelievable horror, “Uncle…How, HOW HAVE YOU BEEN ABLE TO LIVE WITH YOURSELF?”
He related that the Uncle, just above a raspy whisper stated, “Who says I have?”
The Nephew shared that there was an awkward silence between them that early morning in the nursing home. He said The Uncle with a tear running down the side of his cheek also shared, “Every day I ask God to forgive me. . .and every day He does.”
The first thought I had when The Nephew sat down after sharing was, “How do I respond to that? What am I going to say?”
Funny, my first thought was about ME, huh?
“EVERY DAY I ASK GOD TO FORGIVE ME AND EVERYDAY I HE DOES,” I echoed and then, I echoed again.
Our lives are a mixture of all different colored threads…some much darker than others…and yet they all make up this thing called, “The Tapestry of our Lives.” All of those loose-ends, those dangling strings, those jumbled, tumbled up knots that make up the BACK of our Tapestries also, most definitely, CREATE the FRONT of our Tapestries as well.
This happened a few years ago and it hasn’t left me yet.
My biggest Wondering is often,
WHICH OF US ISN’T THE UNCLE?
Which of us, asking forgiveness, believes we actually receive it–
F O R E V E R ?
Sometimes…GETTING is the Hardest type of Giving!