Monday, December 26, 2011

Christmas 2011… The Day After.


When this particular Christmas was fast approaching, my feelings were certainly not defined…

Too many happenings, too many bitter moments in much too short a time. And indeed, the day was bittersweet; one of those celebrations when the façade shows a smile that is just a little brighter than the feelings inside, a little more conducive to shield one from any questions which a well meaning friend or relative will always ask, releasing anew a delicately contained flood of feelings, from a widely reopened gate.

A couple of weeks ago I had a chance to speak with my friend Marc (France) who, by nature, tends to be a bit negative at times. After I told him what had happened to my son he went on a rampage, as I had expected. His feelings are true and honest, there is a good friendship between us and I knew he would be deeply affected. Especially since his only child, a beautiful young lady, is openly given to her bike and to ride the French roads on it, feeling the flow of air and freedom, much like Eric did every time he rode.

We talked about this for a while; he reneging against all odds and against all that could be considered a guiding hand, or a protecting entity. I had somewhat thought out most of these issues; not because I would be on the phone with Marc, whose reaction was as expected, but because I had needed to find some emotional answers, some way for me to understand a little bit and to be able to accept, or not, what had happened.

In my internal discussions, many issues and many memories were rehashed, boiled down to the bone and gone over in much detail.  On more than one occasion one of these sides would ask the other that if, given the choice, I would be strong enough to forfeit my own life or some part of it, in order to bring Eric back. The initial answer was a resounding “yes”… then I would begin to think back.

His life had been anything but easy; every day was a struggle, as a recovering alcoholic every waking moment claimed some emotional blood from him. Yes, he had made huge strides in the last few years, but there had been a few reverses as well… each gauging an already vulnerable self image. We spoke on the phone, not as often as either one would have wished, but these were conversations in which he pretty much bared his feelings. Although he had learned to cover it well, he was hurting inside; the kind of hurt only the person who suffers it can understand… like a slow burning fire you can at times cover and try to suffocate but can’t quite put completely out.

So, the end result of this fairly thorough compendium of exchanges within my mind, was that I would forfeit my own time but with one caveat: that he would be back as a normal individual, someone who could enjoy the simple things in life, who could bask in the certainty of the love if his family and friends, of his real worth as a person; someone who would be able to look at the future (he was shyly beginning to do this) straight on and know of his capabilities for tackling it and making of his life what he wished… that he would be back without the emotionally and physically draining load of being a recovering alcoholic.

But to bring him back as he was, so he would continue to suffer and to always be uttering an inside cry for help, no; this would be an incredibly selfish act on my part for, yes, I would give anything to have him back, but not to see him continue to constantly suffer, always being afraid of that one issue which would push him over to another reversal and thus a negation of his hard won accomplishments. He died as a clean man; in a very poignant way, we could say this was his last triumph.

By the time Marc and I spoke, all this had been thought out. He asked me: “Do you still believe in God?” I answered, without hesitation, “Yes, I do”.  “How could you if He let this happen?” I was able to tell him that, in thinking through these details, my mind was as cleanly at peace as possible; believing is a matter of faith, not of cognizant processes. I believe and continue to believe, having the faith to accept what happened; to accept  that, perhaps, there was little more we could do for my son and that his spirit, soul or essence was now freer than ever it had been, enjoying a peace we could never give him. Does this relive my hurt? Not, not fully; nothing ever will. But it allows me to accept his leaving us and to go on, in our daily living.

So, this Christmas was definitely bittersweet. For me and for the rest of his family and friends who miss him very, very much. But in the end we, as human beings have little real power over what goes on around our lives, sometimes giving us exultation and others handing us devastation. We learn to manage both and I believe that in doing so, we also learn to know ourselves better and thus become a more serviceable cog in this constantly rolling wheel of life. 

Yes, I believe in our Father and will never let go of the hand of His Son, Jesus and in celebrating His birth on this day of Christmas, we are simply continuing to believe in a message that was brought to us through  his living… a message of peace, faith, and of learning that love has many faces and guises; sometimes in bliss and others in pain… but love is, nonetheless.

Hope you had a very Merry Christmas; please think on the original message which goes beyond the material gifts we can exchange. That gift of pure love we received some 2000 years ago has no price tag, no ending.

Be Well … Be Back!!!

Final Notes:
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