Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Be Where You Are -- For A Little While . . .

This guy – for all his thinking and blogging, is not the most emotionally “open” person in the world. Just ask my ex’s. So, imagine what must be going through my mind as I consider the loss of my father, Louis Levi Neal, Sr. (I called him “Big Vie” - short for "Levi") to illness two months ago. Sadness does not begin to describe the array of feelings that swirl about my mind and spirit. To quote a dear friend, “I’m feeling ‘some kind of way’ about all of this.” In other words, a singular event like the death of a parent prompts an emotional response for which there is no precedence and no definitive or precise description. I suppose, for that matter, the death of anyone with whom one shares a unique relationship is a singular event since “it is appointed unto men once to die.” Perhaps that is why we can never “get used” to the deaths of loved ones – a different loved one dies each time.

It is always interesting to hear the myriad of clichés that accompany the death of a loved one. “At least he isn’t suffering anymore.” Or “she’s in a better place.” And what about this one? “God wanted him more than we did.” I heard that one for the first time during my father’s funeral. And yes – I nearly laughed out loud, until I realized that the person who said it was serious!

So. . .really?! God wanted my dad more than did his wife who cared for him and stood by his side through sickness and in health for 30 years? Or his four sons with whom he shared his love, wisdom, talents – and beer money? Or his four surviving sisters who have now witnessed the deaths of four of their siblings? And so many other family members, friends and acquaintances that my father touched deeply and positively over his 68 years of life – God wanted him more than did all of these people, too? Well, I am feeling “some kind of way” about that because while my mind is satisfied that God does indeed know what is best, my heart – my soul is not really feeling all that cool about what God knows as “best” or even what He wants. I . . . just want my dad back. That is just how I feel. Understand?

So, how do I reconcile my spiritually philosophical position with my broken heart? Well . . . I do not believe I should. One of the things that makes human beings unique is the multi-faceted nature of our existence – we are part natural, part supernatural and part – something else which makes us, by definition, complex. The quest to balance and successfully navigate our feelings and our psychological comfort zones is a lifelong endeavor – of which we often fall short, but one which we also must continuously confront. I am inclined to think that “balance” is a fleeting state of existence. Some of us never acquire it; others of us attain and maintain it on a more consistent basis.

But there simply comes a time when you just have to be where you are, and not be ashamed to be there. Emotion is a powerful force. It causes wars and brings peace. It destroys nations and builds civilizations. It rejoices at the birth of a child. It weeps at the death of a parent. But wherever emotion reigns, it stops all time and firmly enslaves one in a sliver of a singular moment. There is no wrong in feeling. That is why rationalizing in the face of passion is often a futile exercise. Men, I non-chauvenistically state, are generally better at doing this rational/passionate balance. But we should not always try to master the emotional balance beam. Sometimes, we should just take a spill. For folks like myself, I have a loving and supportive cast of relatives, friends and other characters. So, the fall is broken by a soft, fluffy mat of love, compassion and affection.

So, I fall. And I lie there for a while. When it is time to get up, I do so. I suppose there will come a time when I will think about a little boy and his dad, writing words and numbers in the sand with sticks, and I will take that tumble again. And there will be times when I will think about a little boy lighting up with joy as he catches his first fish – and his dad is there, rejoicing at his son’s accomplishment. That particular thought will pick me up off of the mat, because that one is of me and my own son. And then almost instantly, I feel solemn again as I realize that the wonderful fishing experience will one day be a source of my son’s own bitter-sweet memory. And therein demonstrates the importance of balance.

The universe moves; and so must our thoughts and feelings. We think a particular thought and we feel a particular feeling – for a season. And then we move on – to live in a present that we endeavor to make joyful and beautiful. As for how I feel right now? Well, I will admit that I have shed a few tears while writing this blog. But I am much better – living in the present and rejoicing in all the blessings that are in the here-and-now. So, to all of my “soft, fluffy mats” out there . . . thank you – I love you all. A moment, please, my friends. I miss you, Big Vie . . . I love you, Dad.