Blogs

Waves crashing
Uncle passing.
Laguna Beach, where he lived and loved.
We watched a slideshow
of photos old and new, healthy and sick,
and I leaned forward
to whisper into my cousins' ears,
"Your dad sure was a handsome man."
Handsome, generous, and funny.
Stablein funny.
We loved our Uncle Jeff.
The next day, with no way of knowing,
Grandma Betty asked if someone had died
And no one was telling her.
Then she asked specifically after Uncle Jeff,
The very next day!
A mother just knows, I guess.
The waves clashing in the background
of the service were loud and violent,
but stunning and calming.
It was so beautiful
watching them embrace.

I amuse people. Most people consider this to be a good thing, for who doesn't want to be a source of amusement to their friends and loved ones? It is a good thing, most of the time, and I am happy to produce a laugh, or a smile, and often I will dance like a ridiculous, bouncing jester to achieve such a reaction. But what I mean is that I amuse people because of my convictions. I am so serious about it sometimes, which makes them less serious, which makes it harder for me not to get defensive. Two things I do not want to be: defensive, or judgmental. I think I do a pretty good job with avoiding those dark areas. But I also don't apologize for what I believe in, even when I am alone in the room, and this amuses my peers.
There is absolutely nothing I can or could do to prevent an earthquake. A tsunami. No daily decision I make, no words I speak, no stand I take can prevent deaths from a natural disaster. An unnatural disaster like human trafficking or exploitation of children is so overwhelmingly disastrous, and yet I usually feel there is little that I can do. I mean, I can donate money to the right groups and causes, and I could even go so far as to join the right groups and causes, but there is not a lot of concrete daily actions I can take while living my life in San Francisco that will prevent these things from occurring.
So I pray, and I donate money, and I think about how awful the world can be, and then I think about how the word awful does not even begin to describe it. And then the moment hits where I realize I can either continue in the depressive, helpless decline, or I can get up and remove the weights. I don't pretend that these things are not happening. Instead I take advantage of life and focus on the goodness. And then I pray some more.

An ICU hospital waiting room is an interesting place. I venture to say that it is like no other place I have ever been to, let alone spent days at a time. This weekend, I spent hours in a nondescript, faded box of a room, with a door on each of the four walls. The elevator on one side, the restroom directly across, the sliding glass patio door, and the entrance to the hospital rooms. Every time one of the three doors opened, for the patio door remained locked, people's heads would turn in the direction of that subtle sound. It was uncanny.

I want to write about this experience while it is still gripping me. What I want is forgiveness. What I want is assurance that we will one day deserve forgiveness. This planet that we take for granted, the living creatures that breathe and love and give birth like us, the resources that are a gift, but that are treated like plunder: all of it is overwhelming. Will the human race ever stop exploiting?

I remember going to the memorial service of a family friend at the beginning of the decade. She was a longtime friend of my mom's, and I was not quite to the adult age where you stop noticing adults' ages. I was slightly uncomfortable going, because I had not been to many memorial services, and because she had died of cancer, and because she had children my age and younger. I dressed in dark, somber and appropriate clothing and I sat next to my younger sister, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. It felt very surreal, and of course it was sad, so I withdrew.
But I didn't stay withdrawn. I couldn't, not when Susan's sister took the mic and shared anecdotal stories about her and Susan's life. Short stories, sweet, funny, homey, silly; she rambled on and on. What cut me, what stays with me today, was the part about how she and Susan shared a bedroom at one part of their lives. They used to lie awake, talking and laughing, rallying back and forth. Maybe they shared bunk beds, like I used to with my younger sister. Their mom would always wonder in consternation what in the world they still had left to talk about after being together all day. The sister started bawling even harder at this point. And now she no longer had that lifetime buddy, that girl to replay the day's moments.
I broke down, and my little sister broke down, and we joined my mom in tears and heartbreak.