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:
- Pray for those who are fighting an illness which
may take them away from their loved ones… Every request is heard, and
counts!!
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… Bienvenidos!!!
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