Tears, Anger, Advice . . . But Mostly Compassion

If you want to know who your friends are, write the story of a tragedy, your own. Email or text the story to everyone you know describing your pain and your suffering and your desire to grieve alone.

Then, wait.

“First voicemail received at 1:24 a.m.: ‘Jim, I just read about Lorena and I am so sorry. I also read your email about wanting to be alone. Sorry, pal. That ain’t happening. You can either return my call or pick me up at the airport tomorrow at 11:20 am on American 311. You know the number.’”

“Second voicemail received at 6:21 a.m.: ‘I can’t believe it. She was only 58. What the fuck, Jim! God damned it!! You haven’t been happy in years until the last one or two and now this!? I don’t know what to say. But you need to call me. Now.’”

Email received at 8:48 a.m.: “Jim, we haven’t spoken in years but I read your poem about Lorena and it brought memories and tears. I lost Christie, my wife of 45 years, to cancer three years ago. When I say I know the pain you are feeling, I know the pain you are feeling. But, think of it this way: What a lovely thing we both shared: The love of a woman. A real, imperfect, beautiful, Impetuous, tempestuous, gentle, thoughtful, lovely in ways beyond imagination, woman. The turn of a neck. Eyelashes Renoir didn’t catch. Nothing else even comes close. Call me anytime you want to talk.”

Email received at 9:10 a.m.: “Jim, I did not know you lost her. My sincerest and deepest sympathy. Be thankful, as you wrote, that you found your true love. So many never do.”

Email received at 10:41 a.m.: “You continue to have a gift for expressing your heart through your typed words.  I believe Lorena is reading your posts and being filled with joy over how much you loved and appreciated her for who she was and is. Thank you for sharing, my friend.”

Email received at 1:12 p.m.: “Thank you for reminding all of us how life can twist and turn, and what is truly important.   I hope we can visit in person some time when you're up for it. Vaya con Dios, amigo.”

Email received at 2:01 p.m.: “Jim, don’t give up. Don’t settle for anything short of your best efforts to contribute to this world. The power of the universe breathed life into you and only you can use it. You should use it; you must use it, and you will be rewarded with the warmth of knowing that you have. Don’t surrender — just be the strong Jim I’ve always known.”

Email received at 8:51 p.m.: “Jim, I have come to believe there never was anything to “win” or to “lose” - other than life itself. Most of what we wrestle with our whole lives means nothing in the end. But that is something we only get to see at the end.  It all reminds me of a story I heard.

There was this woman fleeing Nazi Germany. She had sold everything she had, borrowed all she could, and finally came up with enough money to buy a 3rd class ticket on a steam ship to America. The crossing was long and her cabin was below the decks. Unable to buy anything, she stayed in her cabin the whole time, eating apples and potatoes she packed to sustain her for the long ocean voyage.

Word came through the ship that they would be sailing into New York mid-morning the next day. She and the other 3rd class passengers crowded out onto the decks and she saw the Statue of Liberty coming into view. Tears came to her eyes as she rejoiced in the fact that her sacrifices had brought her to this moment. The woman next to her on the deck put her arm around the woman as they both took in the view of Lady Liberty.

This second woman introduced herself and observed that she was surprised that she had not seen her or met her in the dining room the entire trip. The woman explained, with some embarrassment, that after the purchase of her 3rd class ticket, she did not have enough money for food or anything else, so she stayed in her cabin eating the food she had packed for the long journey. The 2nd woman looked at her with sadness and said, "The food was included with your ticket."

I long ago stopped trying to proselytize others to my way of thinking and won’t do so here. But I do still like thinking about the best way to live a life and I like exchanging ideas with fellow travelers who think deeply about that. So here goes.

Personally, I think that we spend a lot of our life just like that woman on the ship, purposefully passing up joy because we stay in our cabins instead of engaging with each other. Nazi's are real, people died, she wasn't in first class, but the food on that ship was free and she passed it up.

What are you going to do, Jim?

Email received at 12:03 a.m.: “Been thinking about this all day. Final advice and then I’ll leave you alone. The initial loss is like a huge mountain. It seems insurmountable, but you’ll eventually get over it. But that’s not the end of it. Then you come to the foothills, which are events, problems, issues, etc., that you just let go while you dealt with the big mountain. Then after that comes may be a desert and a long walk, and you’re parched. Tired. But eventually, you’ll come to a verdant forest, streams, lakes, rivers. That’s out there. You’ll get there. You’ll wake up again. Don’t try to rush though it. Let it happen.“

Email received at 2:32 p.m.: “All I am saying is this is the worst of the worst... and it won’t change in that respect. You know I lost my 2 year old daughter several years ago. She is gone and no longer here physically. Whatever is on the other side, I believe our lost ones are there. And what keeps me going, Jim, is thinking they are watching me and I know if I sit and if I pity myself, they would not be happy. I literally can hear Lorena’s voice with the heavy accent telling you not to give up.”

Email received at 3:56 p.m.: “There are no words that can be sent to you that will do anything but be read in the context of a mortal souls’s devastation. No juiced prose. No allegorical story to stretch time into a pretzel so you can feel better sooner.

It's just a fucking bag of shit thrown right into your face and there's only a few things that can remotely ease that: 1) drink - - whatever might illicit memories that make you cry happy tears, and 2) sit alone, as is your right, but knowing your personal universe of people, who know you and care about you, hurt in proxy for you.

Tomorrow will come.”

Email received at 5:14 p.m.: I put myself in your place today. Yeah, it is dark, sad, and defeating. You survived the divorce and the aftermath. You met some nice ladies, but Lorena had that extra something.

You moved out of town into your new home and were ready to go to the end with her. But the end came too quickly, a particularly cruel twist which would cause anyone to question the point of pressing on. That is what I felt when I tried to be you.

I pondered that for a moment and then I smiled for the first time today. Jim, you found a a loving partner. She was torn away from you and her family far too soon, but you now know real love. She is the angel who saved you, buddy!”

Email received at 8:28 p.m.: “There are people in our lives that make us better people, that show us what it is really important. Lorena was that person for you.”

Email received at 10:13 p.m.: “Beautiful and well said, amigo. If I learned one thing about mourning while helping my patients get through stuff is that there is no timetable to get through this and not one single individual family or friend who has the right, nor the wisdom, to determine another’s healing time. Just the person… just you in this case. The rest of “us” can help the most by practicing empathy, not sympathy. You know where I am… where we are.“

The voicemails and emails continue, sincere expressions of care, compassion and concern. And they led me to wonder why I withdraw in times of suffering and why I don’t reach out to decent and kind people who so clearly care. I asked this question to of my best friends, and he told me, “Jim, I don’t think you are a misanthrope. I think you are an introvert who’s had a handful of sharply painful setbacks and disappointments over the last 4 to 5 years.” And because he knows me he calls or leaves a text everyday asking, “How are you holding up?,” not expecting a reply.

How am I holding up? The answer to that question depends on the moment the question is asked. What I do know in every moment is that I value and appreciate everyone who has reached out.

I love you.

Postscript: I want to express special appreciation to the Scotsman, Steve Buchanan, who illustrates Slouching Into Oblivion and his dropping everything to do it over the last few weeks in real time as well as his selfless offer to provide his bone marrow for a transplant. And to my daughter, Kandi, who abandoned her partner and five children to come be with her Dad in his darkest hours.

I am humbled by you all.

🙏

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