Clarity

Have you ever had that one perfect moment. That multivariate dimensional fracture in time when a person says something so completely honestly true that encompasses all that is was and can be. That takes away all breath and leaves a most devastatingly imperfect perfect. A sense of all that was and is and should be.

I was visiting a childhood friend this past weekend. Although that alone does not convey this odd inexplicable connection that we share. Our parents. Friends since high school. Marriages within months and friends for life. Spending weeks each summer visiting each other’s families. Every year one unit would trek to the other’s house. Hundreds of miles of separation joined.

What we recall is hugs and laughter. A lack of all pretension and formality. Ripped jeans and unkempt hair and food assembled together. Sharing stories of heartaches successes failures. Of parenting and parents. 

Relaxed happy content souls bridging the gap of previous months. Walks in the woods. Tubing in the creek. 

(Adult beverages for all but Ms Janet)

Pure unadulterated. Joy.

(Only one parent remains from this beautiful ensemble. We have lost the others to cancer and dementia. The one remaining struggles with both)

Each couple had one boy one girl. 

Three of us have gathered along with the only parent remaining. Numbers have been halved.

(Our moms died so close in time. Not too long ago. The traversing of grief hangs in the air)

On this occasion. To remember stories of our youth. To honor the one who has stayed behind to ensure the others are remembered. He is the keeper of memories and parental love.

But with memories he struggles to share. His eyes light up when he sees me. He pulls me close and clasps my hands. Smiles deeply and uses the words mom and dad to relate our deep connection. I am exceedingly shockingly grateful. He knows who I am. 

One can see his mind working. Traveling to other decades places of which we cannot conceive. His thoughts play cheerfully across his face. As his son and daughter mention past experiences he is transported. His eyes dance. In love. In friendship.

(I am overcome overwhelmed at how much I do not recall. The stories from our adolescence have been lost to me. It is only later. On the drive home. A path so similar to what my parents drove. A long uninspiring commute between Maryland and Tennessee. That it occurs to me. All that I have lost. The stress anxiety sadness mourning my family lived every day. From my thirteenth to seventeenth year. Always knowing waiting for my father’s life to end. Being with a terminal disease. Every chance I had to sear him into my cells brain memory senses.

I would try so hard to focus all of me on how he looked felt smelled. The aqua velvet cologne. The pores on his skin. The scruffy beard. The way he made me feel safe and loved hugging me even as his body lessened. I wanted to never forget every single piece of him.

Recognizing realizing that. During this time. I have wholly lost sections segments of the life that continued around me. John spoke of ninja movies. Suzanne of my budding socio political awareness. And while none of these stories are unimaginable. I do not keep them stored. 

As if all things about my dad. Took up all the space. 

Except all the pain trauma. Somewhere. Those remain. Survival necessitates the reorganization refiling retelling of narratives. Misplacement often occurs. My eldest child shares with me that she has similar lapses of her own)

And this beautiful woman who has journeyed a parallel path to mine. Who has shared sorrow and losses and inspiration and failures. From a distance. But the kind where you can open up more easily because they are distanced. Physically.

Who I know so intimately 

(how could I) 

And how well written planned executed that I should share this moment of revelation revolution with her. That immediately as it happened our eyes locked. With more depth of loss and every emotion ever felt on our individual and shared planets. 

(Wanting to run escape drop to my knees and burst into tears look towards the sky mountains oceans. Inhale a long deep breath and allow it to wash over through soak in. Seek refuge from the torrential blast of all that this was meant means. We departed for a few hours if only so I could sob until I regained composure. Steadied my breathing. Inside the car. While J.P. drove us in search of the Smoky mountains)

Over brunch we shared stories but mostly of our parents’ time together. Her father sat next to me. So kind and calm and such a reassuring presence. Unable to truly communicate due to aphasia. He struggles to form words phrases that we attempt to piece together. This puzzle of a life well lived.

(he has moved into first place combining the ailments of the other three of his foursome taking on both Alzheimer’s and cancer)

He nods to stories of time spent with my parents and his wife. He utters a few words every so often to alert us that he is with us and to occasionally inform the next chapter of our conversation. Walks in the woods. Laughing. Inappropriately at times. As that is the best kind. 

(I learn that my mother shared stories of her traumatic relationship with her mother. This daughter of my mom’s friend shares in the knowledge of the most painful sinister maternal exchanges. The proof found in letters after my mom’s passing. All read and consumed. By me only. And promptly swiftly heaped into the trash. Where they have always belonged. In retrospect. I wish I had burned them. Watched their shapes disappear disintegrate. Witnessed the physical demise of family trauma)

His countenance charm manner all remain steadfastly sweet unassuming. His quiet intelligence kindness.

(The evening prior to our trip. J.P. asked how much I was going to cry when I hugged this man. Immediately I burst into tears. Used some choice vocabulary to demonstrate my lack of both preparedness and desire to be confronted with reality. I knew of his prognosis and while we had spoken of our desire for a visit during the previous eighteen months. It jumped to being a necessity. For me. Somehow I knew I wanted needed a final farewell. Unsure as to all it would expose unveil. To wish him a most gentle and peaceful transition. To share my hope that he would soon be with his beloved wife and friends once again)

After some time we emerged from the restaurant. I hugged him goodbye. His daughter stood next to him keeping his frail frame steady. Holding onto him as long as she could.   

(Later that evening we spoke in hushed whispers alone. About the profound impact. About the absurd chance of this one moment of clarity. Aligning. Witnessing together. Surreal in every way. Humbling. Beauty in a way that can only bring tears)

This man. This gentle man. Who had struggled to put two words together. Smiled. Content in his own space. Recalling past joys and shared experiences. 

Your mom dad. My wife. His smile grew enormous as he uttered these fragmented words. Easily followed. Pattern emerging of their time together.

I nodded. I knew he could see remember feel blessed by so many lovely cherished moments in his life. His daughter at his side. His son collecting the car to get him.

And it was as if. Must have been. Our parents gathered around him to be with us. To remind us of all the love they had shared and bestowed upon us. To help him find his voice.

(Somehow assembled four words. In full clarity. Simplicity. Conveying the culmination of love that each of us longs for at the end of our days)

“We had it all”   

– Lowell Reid, February 4,2023