Something to learn

 

           

I called a friend today. My somewhat weekly “Tuesday” phone call. He was in the hospital parting ways with his mother. She was going to die soon. A number of strokes had brought to end her joyful smile, the pressing questions she would ask me as she welcomed me into her life like another son, or the stories she would tell of her and her husband starting on the adventure of building a small family business together. And even though her life had been this wonderful search for adventure, meaning and love. It would still be hard to say goodbye.

            My friend is, I think the proper way to say it, mentally handicapped. Even though when we met he bluntly said: “James, I’m retarded” and then he laughed. Some might say he suffers with this handicap but as is with most handicaps the other parts tend to compensate. So, he has a large heart. Therefore, I know this will be hard for him. And there are those who will say he will struggle with finding the language to process these events and might not be able to comprehend. But to this I have the thoughtful, measured, carefully crafted, meek and gentle spirited response: Hogwash!

            Not because I own hogs or I think they need washing but because I know my own difficulties with processing human emotions, tragic events, or trying to understand life.

Part of the reason I got into writing was for this very purpose. Growing up I was the little kid who was very good at school, math, and science but my analytical mind created problems when it came to human relationships. I remember being told as a young boy about the death of a person. My response “well, yes of course all humans die and this person was old. So?” My PR agent might have been a little bit disappointed with the lack of empathy present in these words and the hospital corridors still echo in my mind.

While these words might not have been able to share my heart, what was even harder than finding carefully crafted press statements was my ability to develop relationships. I struggled with friendships for my mind would create a whirlwind of calculations, ethical considerations, philosophic complications, obsessive compulsive disorientations, rhetorical reverberating rationalizations and altruistic incapacitating implications.

I could act like a normal kid. It wasn’t impossible. I had done the research. But it just didn’t make sense to me.

And I know I am not alone in these consternations even though we each might have our own nuance as finding the language whether through art, science, philosophy or even in religion can be problematic. Death, life, why people eat vegetables are all difficult topics. And the inclination, it seems, is to institutionalize my thought process with jargon, slogans, or screaming headlines. When the much needed reminder, I hear in my friend’s voice as he tries to say goodbye, is to listen to my heart and act in love. For the language that is missing of the human experience is not that of death but that of life.

A friend texted me the other day with a list of problems with her vehicle and because I like to pretend I am a mechanic I texted her back a list of possible solutions or things to check throwing in fancy terminology like MAP sensor and choke pull-off (an ever-important Cartalk reference). But my most helpful advice was that she was making the engine noises wrong. Instead of a simple vroom it should have been vrooom, vrooooom, vroooooom! The vehicle had a V8 after all. And I mention this because I thought it was funny and..let me think I am sure I had another reason… Ok, maybe not.

The story is told of Roger Welsch, one of my favorite writers, when he left his teaching job to write, farm, and tinker on old tractors full-time that he came to his wife after a bit and told her it wasn’t working and they weren’t going to make it but then he went onto say in that traditional Nebraskan common sense but I’m not going back.

My friend texted me. Her mechanic told her it is actually vvvvrrroooommm!!! And that’ll be an extra $150. Haha. She also thanked me. Her car is running. Like butter she said. Her kitchen must be a strange place. I was happy. And now I remember. For while spark plugs and MAP sensors are needed it’s the vroom vrooms that really matter and finding that moment I can embrace with my heart with no plans of retreat.

I have been lucky in life lately as I have met some wonderful people who have helped in my journey to search after that Welschian Nebraskan common sense approach to life. I hope you have too. Sometimes a call from a friend is needed to put things into perspective though. Who in his hurt teaches me to love.