Dealing with the Suck


       I was familiar with the term "the Suck" before I last heard it being used in conveying an idea.  However, I am not exactly sure how I came to know it's meaning.  I also never gave it much thought.  Still, the last time I heard it uttered it had a most profound effect on my life.......  

           The term "the Suck" has been used for some time, even back to Vietnam.  It was used by soldiers (predominantly Marines) in reference to a situation that seems to have no redeemable characteristics.  Everyone in that place and time are equally subjected to the hopelessness of the shared experience.  "The Suck" is a noun referencing the universal negative nature of being involved in existence in a particularly unpleasant shared time and place.  Being in the Suck is finding yourself in no-win situations, where all options seem hopeless.  The Suck leaves you totally exhausted.  Nothing good seems to be possible when the Suck is slowly drawing any personal knowledge or memory of anything "good" slowly from your soul.

          Let me share that for most of my life I have had no personal knowledge of such a concept.  If you were to speak to a blessed existence you could well use my life as an example.  When younger, I knew no great hurts.  At that time even when losing a loved one it was always late in their life, and there was a general feeling that it was life as it was supposed to be.  My life was "just".  I experienced the bounties of a seemingly endless supply of love.  Truthfully, I was completely ignorant of any and all the things that constitute existence in the Suck.

         We are talking over fifty years of such a relatively pain free existence.  It was late in my life before I experienced the loss of a loved one that touched me in ways that I could not classify as life being "fair".  While the overall experiences of that loss were perhaps one of the most intimate and loving events of my life, I still lost my life long best friend.  I was left with a hole that seemed larger than the entirety of my heart.  My Father was gone.  I had never known such a loss.  Dad was young, vital, and had people that depended on him.  It was not how I thought God should be running the world.  It was my first experience whereby I felt "someone" in charge was falling down on the job.  His passing was just not fair.

        It was almost immediate that the process of losing my Mother started.  She was already well into her losing a greater part of herself when Dad passed.  She was lost without him, and the helplessness of not being able to in any way "fix" her life made me familiar with the feelings of being helpless to in any way make things "right".  Helplessness, my first steps toward familiarity with the Suck.  Mom's existence just strengthened my feelings of "injustice" at Dad's death.

        It was within a year of my Mother's slow deterioration reaching it's final phase that we were told that the job I shared with the best and most wonderful people in the world was done.  After over 75 years of service (and within a week of my receiving notice of my 27 years of service award), the best airline job ever was no more.  The examples of the worst of the US economic system had laid low a very proud and productive group of workers.  Seriously, no one ever worked with a better more conscientious group of people.  They were family.  Our family was destroyed by greed.  It was totally unfair.  What was done to the loyal employees was an evil that I had never experienced.  I did not really know just how frequent such evil is inflicted on good people here in our wonderful country.  Nor did I know just how protected the actions of people who profited from such practices might be under the laws of our wonderful democracy.  Yep, I took my first walk into the Suck.  I must admit to finding many of my dear friends also spending time  there.  While I would claim no permanent address there, I was a frequent visitor.  Worse, I had no tools for dealing with what I was experiencing.

          I did not spend all my time in the Suck.  No, it was more a matter of suddenly realizing I was angry, and yes, depressed.  When engulfed by the Suck, I just had no tools or experience to draw on to find my way out.  In a day or two, or maybe just the next morning, I would be able to see my blessings and would feel guilty for having allowed myself to engage in "self pity".  Guilt, depression, and a disjointed feeling that even when aware of my blessings that life was not "whole" kinda summed up my existence.  The effects of a visit to the Suck were a little longer lasting than I recognized.  Even after I felt better, I really had no desire to do much of anything.  Lethargy was a constant battle. You begin to wonder, is there ever going to be a time when I am like I was before all this?  

      So, after almost two years of this existence I was again spending an afternoon at the movies with Jeni.  This has been a common activity as of late.  There was a scene in the movie we watched where a young Marine is listening to a reporter offering  apologies for being responsible for the Marine being in a situation whereby an IED was detonated and removed the Marines lower legs.  The young Marine was having none of it.  He objected to her version of who was responsible.  Why, exactly was this her fault?  He proceeded to offer a whole litany of people throughout history who could be blamed, including the President of the United States, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and maybe even the Taliban bomb maker.  After he let it be known that there was no one to blame, he offered a suggestion for dealing with such feelings.  As he spoke, I swear it was like the Heavens opened up, and unspoken words hearkened me to something wonderful and holy about to come my way.  I knew something of extreme importance to my life was about to be presented.  Maybe Moses knew such a feeling just before God wrote the ten commandments onto stone.  Anyway, the young Marine patted the hand of the reporter and offered the truth shared by any number of Marines......"Sometimes you just have to embrace the Suck, then you have to walk the f*ck away."

      The message registered.  To the source of the message, "I got it."  I own it now.  No more time in the Suck.  Life is not fair.  Loss is a part of life.  Time in the Suck is probably going to be inflicted on most everyone.  Maybe, it is not until you embrace it and you give it it's due, that you can finally turn your back on it.  Being thankful for everything that comes your way in life is hard.  Maybe impossible.  Still, I am trying.

       The fact that I am again writing is an affirmative answer to that question "Will life ever feel normal?"  

       

          

The Story Of A Life

     Today I was watching a National Geographic special on Abraham Lincoln.  It covered his life, and especially his challenges and talents at facing diversity.  I have somehow always admired the man in the simplistic history books that are shoved down the throats of all students who suffer a public school education.  I say that sarcastically as I am not exactly a supporter of the way history is taught in our school systems.  Teaching history in most schools is more about dates and making good citizens than encouraging individual students to examine how we got to where we are, or if all that was done was in fact what was right.  It is in my own further readings that my true admiration of the orator and master politician that saved the experiment in democracy that we enjoy today has flowered.  If it is possible (and I believe it is) to love one you have never met, then I love Abraham Lincoln.

     My admiration is endless, and my sympathies are as almost equally boundless.  Here was a man who dealt with heartache and despair, and yet he endured.  Here was an example of humanity to be exalted.  A noble man, one we should endeavor to emulate, and yet one who suffered enough so as to still be "attainable".  In his life I can recognize the best in what humanity might be.

     So, in the TV special today they discussed President Lincolns debilitating depressions.  It was noted that at one time his closest friends actually ensured there were no sharp objects available out of concern that he might hurt himself.  Lincoln consoled them with the observation that he could not die, he felt he had as of yet done nothing "great". 

     This recognition that Lincoln wanted to do something great made me think.  Certainly he could not have seen his eventual central role in what has been the single greatest defining moment of our shared history.  And while it is obvious that he did in fact play a central and crucial role in ensuring it's outcome, he was still just a player in a larger series of events.  So I think it is safe to assume that Lincoln's desire to do something great was not exactly focused on any single situation, but just a general desire to ensure his having been significant..... IE  having lived a life worthy of note.

    So, again this left me pondering the mysteries of life.  I have often stated that I think it is at the center of every life to desire the achievement of some level of significance.  And, as I am perhaps a little past the more formative years of my life, I could not help but pose the inevitable question of myself.  Have you done anything great?  Or, more germane, have I been significant?

     Well, I certainly have not shaped the course of the worlds largest democracy.  I have not led a country through the crucible of a civil war.  I have not suffered the responsibility of sending young men into harms way.  I do not think I have ever made a decision that might have caused even a single death, much less 750,000.  In comparison my life might be insignificant...... except to some few. Still, I am keenly aware that I have shared in a multitude of loving relationships.  Oh, I would not flatter myself that anyone (not my children, nor my grandchildren, not my friends nor family) are what they are due to just whatever influence I might have directed their way.  No, I will not even go so far as to take credit for who I am (I feel the influence of so many others who shared in creating "me").  Each life is formed by the mutual efforts of both those who shared in that loved ones life, and the individual loved one themselves. 

      I am the product of my choices, and the shared experience of life and love of those individuals who have "touched" my life.   Today, a simple counting of the lives I have touched (or that have touched mine) makes me satisfied that my life has some significance.  My first thought was of grandchildren, and moved immediately to their parents.  My thoughts then moved to my children, then on to my larger family.  I have been blessed to share in loving relationships with a large family group...... and I love (and am loved) by them all.   Then, there is the larger groupings.  All those individuals that have shared this journey that constitutes my life collectively reinforce my feelings of having been significant.  I can easily see a parade of lives that have all touched mine, and in the reflection of love in each set of eyes I see my significance as plainly as if a monument to my having been important were in existence at the end of the reflecting pool in Washington DC. 

      It is with no little satisfaction that I can note the totality of my life's worth in the faces of those I love.  I imagine my significance will end when those I love are no more.  Still, I imagine the world is a better place for my having been here.  That, I think, is enough.

A Letter To My Grandmother

   


        I have tried to keep a copy of everything I have ever taken the time to write.... at least if it carried any significance to me.  I do not often review those things I have collected.  Still, in the course of checking the computer to see if there is anything I might delete to make more room, I occasionally run across something that caries some greater meaning.... and the trip to that moment when I was writing it is a journey worth making. 

      The following was composed some time ago.  Back when my life was centered around just one grandchild.  Today we count six young lives as grand babies.  Life is full.... and the grand babies occupy a place of honor at the center of my existence.  It should become obvious in the following that this is not an original concept.  This is a letter I composed to my own Grandmother years after her passing when just beginning to understand the impact she had on my life.  As being Pop is central to my life, I thought this should be included......

Granny,

     Today, while sitting in the sun of a glorious early spring afternoon, I was pondering the blessings of my life, and suddenly the need to share a few thoughts with you became overwhelming.  The awesome totality of your love filled my heart to near bursting. The need to let you know what is in my heart is still immediate, and unavoidable.  I know that communicating through a letter at this point in time might seem a little pointless…….. in my heart I know the simple truth that you, more than anyone I have ever known, have always understood and conversed regularly in the language of the soul….., so I will go ahead and write this down and trust that you will be able to somehow understand what is in my heart.

      It seems to me that it is inherent in the human soul to desire at the very core of our being to somehow “make a difference”…. We want to believe the world is a better place because we were there.  Maybe it is the question we all ask of our maker, “Did I matter?”  Well, it may be extremely presumptuous of me to assume that I might answer a question that is more accurately directed at God…… but in your case I will plead that love motivated me, and will offer the simple observation that your love is a cornerstone of something truly miraculous.  

 

    Do you marvel at the extent of what our little “circle” has become?  You always gathered us in……. in big groups at Christmas, as individuals in the middle of the night…..  you held us all in your heart.  You should be proud of the intimacy shared by those you taught to love. 

 

    It is humbling to sit in the presence of those you nurtured, and to be overwhelmed by the magnitude of their love.  Your family has grown…… your legacy reaches beyond just those who sit in our little circle to share (although to call it little anymore is a little bit of an understatement)…… our family now includes countless individuals and families that those you loved, have come to love…..  

 

    Family time (anytime any of us are together) is always so special, and it never occurs that somewhere at its center I feel your presence.  You had your hand in all our lives.  Your patience, your slow measured wisdom…… I feel you whenever I am in the presence of love.  Life has progressed, roles have changed, and today I find your children, and now your grandchildren blessed in being allowed to revisit the role you played as “Granny”. 

 

    We all play the role to the best of our ability, and I think we are all conscious of the high standards you set for the title of “grandparent”…….  So, Granny, today there is a little blue eyed girl that I love with all my heart….. I never hold her, I never am in her presence that I do not feel your love for me, magnified and shared again. 

 

    I am now “Pop” to a younger generation……..  and I am so thankful for what you shared, what you taught, and what you mean to my life.  I hope I bring to the title just a little of what you demonstrated. 

 

    I would say “God Bless”, but he obviously has….. so I will close with a simple statement …..  I love you, on the road that is my life, from Tommy to Pop, you are at the center of all that is my world.

 

Love You

    I wonder if most of us give even a passing thought to what we communicate verbally.  Certainly, most of us are most guarded as to how our actions might be perceived by others.  I think that with rare (psychopath) exceptions, most of us have some construct as to how we behave "plays" in public.  I am not exactly sure when it starts, but "self awareness" is one of our earliest developments. 

    I am at an age that actions that might be perceived as "silly" are just hard to entertain.  It's not so much that I really give a shit anymore, it is just so ingrained that I am hardly able to "dance in the rain...".  If you spend any time watching young children you know they suffer a definite lack of self awareness.  Still, they do seem to be infectiously happy.....

     But that is not where I have intended this discussion to go.... It is not the physical communications that are the most easily miscommunicated.  It is the verbal.  I was listening to a couple in the store and as they parted they both loudly proclaimed "Love you."  This made me think about the people to whom I have spoken those words.  Did my "I love you" to each one mean the same thing?  No, that would be impossible. 

     Again, I am left wondering about the nature of spoken (or written) communication.  The very same words in different context can carry extremely different messages.  Without the context of the overall relationship, it is really impossible to ascertain the fullest meaning of what is being communicated.   So, I thought a deeper delving into what might have been meant whenever I said "I love you" might be in order....  In no particular order....

    "I love you" at one time meant "You have made me very happy.  I am thankful for what you have done.  I am thinking my saying this will make you happy too...."

     "I love you" has also meant "You obviously care for me.  I recognize that, and return your affection in as much as I am able."  Later in life it might morph to "I can not fathom a life without you caring for me..... I need you."

    Obviously there is the teenage "I love you, there I said it, can we have sex now?".  Obviously not one of the moments in life that one would hold up to posterity as a defining moment.  It is in this general stage where "I love you" is not so much a statement as a question.  It is not so much "I love you", but more "Do you love me?".

     The "I love you" that for the first time actually involves having knowledge of the others wants, needs, motivations, and with the budding intimacy we tend to romanticize the object of our affections so that we see them without a single fault.  It is somewhere in this "love" we have being "in love".  We are growing in our capacity to love, but maybe have something greater to offer.  This particular "I love you" often means "I love the idea of you so much that I am willing to discard whatever that is me that you might find lacking...."  It is not so much a desire for a relationship as a willingness to sacrifice identity for the promise of affection.  I would equate it to an addiction.

     The "I love you" conveying a more intimate awareness as to whom the other is.  This one is offered to those that have made it beyond the superficial conversations about what happens and what we are doing, to the more spiritual realm of sharing what we are feeling and what we are being.  It is these intimate friends that harbor the seeds of life's greater meanings.  This sharing is not particularly easy to begin.  We are often aware of our status as somehow being tied to another before we ever offer the observation "I love you".  This time it is not a question, but a simple statement of what is in ones heart.  Some never have such friends...... that is why each and every individual that you can say you love is such a treasure.

    Then there is the "I love you" that is reserved for those few that somehow define your life.  In this case "I love you" conveys "You are Gods gift to my existence.  I recognize that there is divinity in existence, because when I think of you I feel myself in the presence of God".  These relationships define a life.  These blessed individuals are more precious than your own existence.... they are your soul expressed.  They are the manifestation of Gods love in your life. 


                           The greatest happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved, loved for ourselves, or rather loved in spite of ourselves. 
                                          
                                                    Victor Hugo

The Hypo

         


                                            A disclaimer:  This was composed throughout the Christmas Holiday season.  It does not come close to conveying  my usual jovial and positive personal demeanor.  Please relate accordingly.  The man who wrote this was troubled.


      Abraham Lincoln frequently made reference to his having the "Hypo".  He was alluding to his suffering from hypochondria.  Today we use the term to convey some delusional malady with no basis in reality.  In Lincoln's day it meant depression.  Lincoln suffered from depression most all of his life.  Not just in the period of our nations greatest trial, but even as a young courting lawyer.  He might even have been borderline manic depressive.  A life on an emotional roller coaster of tremendous highs, and incredible lows. 

     Even a cursory knowledge of the man reveals more than a smidgeon of justification for the lows.  Until the presidency he enjoyed little political success.  He lost his mother at an early age, and all records show a strained relationship with his father.  He adored his children (to the continual annoyance of his White House cabinet) and lost all but one.  He gave audience to most any practitioner, and is reported to have been as accomplished with a bawdy joke as history has proved him to be as a writer.  What agony to have suffered the loss of a child while bearing the burden of our nations highest office?  To receive and personally answer most correspondence from an endless and growing number of grieving Americans indicates an enormous sense of responsibility.  The stress and lingering hurt must have made it damned impossible to get out of bed in the morning.  However did he manage...... ?

     Why bring this up?  Well, without any similarities in situation, I think I might have visited (if even briefly) the same general territory as Mr. Lincoln.  In the light of day it is embarrassing to admit, but on a lesser scale I think the same lethargic hopelessness has visited me recently. 

     What in the name of all that is holy could I (whom God has so undeservedly blessed with treasures beyond my worth) ever have suffered so calamitous as to cause me to forgo the normal thanksgiving of my day to day existence and wonder if God calling me home might not be an act of loving kindness.  How could I ever get so "weary" as to even for a moment forget the faces of all who have found it in their hearts to love me?  What blow could be so egregious as to destroy my usual happy life?

     Nothing occurred pertaining to me, or to those I know and love intimately.  No tragedy, no loss, not even a minor hurt.   It was members of our larger family (yours and mine..... all who live on this earth are related) and their condition that drove an emotional spear into my heart. 

     There, at twilight in the winter cold was a family with a sign.  I do not know what it said, but it was obvious they were soliciting help.  This was just after Christmas (thank God, I do not think I would have been able to continue if it had been before Christmas), and there they all were, standing on the little grassy area in front of the grocery store.  I am somewhat conditioned and immune to the continual sight of young seemingly able bodied men with signs asking for work (but mostly just wanting cash).  I am not at all conditioned to seeing a Mother, Father, a couple kids frolicking around on the grass, and the big kicker, a small bundle wrapped up in the Mother's arms. 

     One whole family, standing in the gathering dark, and in the cold............. with a baby.  With Christmas lights still lit on most homes, they experienced a need great enough to take that small child out into the cold?  God, is there not a stable somewhere? 

     I did see several cars stop.  The need was not apparent to just me.  I watched them in the gathering dark.  The kids continued to roll in the grass, and find endless ways to amuse themselves and burn calories at a rate we adults can barely remember.  I watched and the injustice of my having and others wanting seemed a burden.  I have never felt more unworthy in my life....

   What did I do.  I sat in the car.  I allowed others to dictate my actions.  They seemed so assured that the family in my view were just exploiting the season, and were certainly not in any great need.  It was pointed out that they all did have on heavy winter coats, and probably had a nice car.... Oh, how I resented one that I love at that moment.  Still, when darkness had settled further, the family did run/walk across the parking lot and climb into a minivan and drive off.  Does that at all imply their need was any less???

    So, what drove me to borderline depression was the realization that there are some who do not have my blessings, and I will never be able to touch that need.  That alone would be enough to justify heartache.  But, the further realization that there are some who would use that need to misrepresent themselves (not at all saying that this family was engaged in such an activity) furthered that feeling of being "weary".  How ever can we know???  Does it even matter?  Should it even matter?  Acting on a perceived need is it's own reward.  Whatever the gift is used for, it was given with holy intentions.

    Not since 7th grade have I felt so impotent.  In 7th grade I watched others bully a young man and leave emotional scars I can not imagine.  At 57 I sat in the car and let a "loved one" bully me into not acting in response to a desire of the best part of my soul.......  I have (with great effort) given up the resentment I felt at having argued with me over sharing our largess......................  Still,  I am ashamed. 

Prisons

     I remember a conversation from long ago that I shared with my Mother.  It dealt with a desire to somehow escape whatever it was that was weighing on my life at the time.  I remember her saying that she remembered my Grandfather one time conveying the same basic sentiment..... the desire to somehow just walk away (or maybe run away) from the burdens of being responsible.  I was shocked to think of my Grandfather in that light.  He was always conveyed as being bigger than life, and carried the burden of being the sole provider for a rather large extended family (during the depression).   That HE could be subject to such a temptation seemed unthinkable. 

    I bring this up because of the emotions and thoughts birthed by my watching Tom Cruise's latest movie (I think it is called Jack Reacher).  In it Cruise plays the part of an ex military police officer who has consciously gotten off the grid.  He has a government pension, but no permanent address,  no transportation, no license, no home, cell phone.......  just the clothes on his back. He is free of any and all responsibilities.  In the movie he makes reference to his military service to make Americans "free"...... and then he points out individuals (who are obviously not happy) working late into the evening in a high rise office building.  He asks "Are they free?" 

    Damn.  That is a profound thought.  The people he references are all held prisoners by mortgages, family, and things that they can not live without.  This character has no family, lives in hotels, eats where he wants, and is tied to nothing.  He is free..........................

    After the movie I have to confess to being a little enamored of such a lifestyle.  I even imagined what such an existence might mean.  Go where you want, when you want.  No demands.  No responsibilities.  IE no self created prison.  I spent a goodly afternoon nap enjoying what I thought such a lifestyle might entail.  I gave no thought to giving up my "stuff" (we did that a few years ago).  Well, let me elaborate, I just gave that no great consideration.  Further reflection might have elicited a more reluctant point of view.  I like where I live.... I love the house on the lake...... and I am rather partial to most of the things in the house.

     So, what made the temporary mental dream vacation a nightmare?  The simple mental picture of one of my grandchildren's face as she gave me a kiss.  God, the thought of not having that in my life floored me.  It was an actual physical pain.  Visions of grandkids, holding them, marveling at them.... listening to them laugh......  to have made a choice for that not to be a part of my life would negate everything "me".  That which seemed just moments before "enticing", were now the worst Hell I can imagine.  What is life without people to love? 

     I will accept the things and people that I am bound to.  Yes, they are my prisons..... but I am serving time with a most thankful heart. 

Why?

     "Why?"  Dad said it was the first word I ever muttered (before Momma or Daddy).  I suspect that is an exaggeration based on a lifetime spent answering my never ending litany of questions.  I find that I still ask the same type of questions, it is just that now it is almost totally rhetorical. 

    Today I was spending some time day dreaming.  I do this often.  The usual mental exercise involves the mental gymnastics of what I would like to convey to whomever is currently center stage of my thoughts.  These mental correspondences are letters conveying something that at the moment seems germane (although more often than not the thoughts are never committed to paper....or even email).  The second (and perhaps more frequent) type of mental exercise involves this very forum.  Things that seem to be of personal significance just require purging.  Strange way of saying it, but it fits. 

    Why publish anything?  Why not leave the thoughts buried in that fertile but safe graveyard in between my ears?  I thought it was a good question worthy of some further analysis....  Yes indeed, why?

     I wonder if even the greatest authors have wondered "Why would anyone give two shits as to what I think?  Is there a snowball's chance in Hell that I can have a thought or opinion that is truly original?"  Why do we read whatever it is that we read (discounting that which we read because it is mandated by the hopes of further employment)?

     I am not a great writer.  Obviously.  I have read that there are professionals that in some form of professional self discipline (or self flagellation) demand of themselves a thousand or so words a day.  That just would not work for me.  Whatever I write is motivated because the thoughts demand expression.  To not give voice to whatever it is that demands release would somehow diminish that which is my existence.   As tears are expressions of emotions more powerful than words alone can convey, this format has become essential to my being able to somehow continue to define "me".

     We have all been made aware of those rare people who can in fact create verbal "art".   Abraham Lincoln was such an artist.  We all have our personal favorites.  The artists that created something speaking to some greater truth or ideal.  They help us see, and take ownership, of that which defines and elevates us.  In that process they perfect all of humanity.

     As thousands of hobbyist paint without any hope of being remembered as a Picasso or Rembrandt, but take satisfaction in the expression of their own  vision, I will continue to write. 

     Does it matter that few will ever note what is written here?  Not really.  Not to me.  Oh, there are a few that might gain insight as to what I think (and therefore the man I seek to be) in reading what I write.  But there is no personal need.   It is essential however, that I find means to express, and therefore acknowledge that which defines me.