One and The Same

Always say what you feel, and do what you think is good and right. If I knew that today would be the last time I’d see you, I would hug you tight and pray the Lord be the keeper of your soul. If I knew that this would be the last time you pass through this door, I’d embrace you, kiss you, and call you back for one more. If I knew that this would be the last time I would hear your voice, I’d take hold of each word to be able to hear it over and over again. If I knew this is the last time I’d see you, I’d tell you I love you, and would not just assume foolishly you know it already.

- Gabriel García Márquez

The two things that you are always free to do - despite your circumstances - are to be present and to be willing to love.

- Jack Kornfield

It was a perfect Saturday morning. Early August. The kind of summer day in which the air was cooler than the stifling heat of the past three weeks. Summer had a way of dragging on in the Midwest, and it still was, but a glimpse of autumn was tapping on the senses. The breeze had that smell of one season giving way to another even though a good six weeks separated the official end of summer and the beginning of fall.

The maples bordering the lot carried on their green hue. However, if you looked close enough, especially deeper into the branches and twigs, where everything was supported by massive trunks, the leaves where beginning to show dark brownish black spots, they spreading wider. 

The boy used to love sitting in the window of his bedroom upstairs. The window was canopied by one particular aging maple splintered and cracked. Somehow it endured fierce winds, rains freezing to ice, and arctic-like winters. To sit in that window looking out, the boy had the best of a tree house. His mind wandered. He dreamed dreams of adventures and a way of life so much more than what he knew. Unlike most boys his age, he didn’t mind the time spent in his fortress. He could be anyone he wanted to be. He became the heroes he loved so much in the books he read.

Along the line of neighboring yards, the needles of the pines showed the beginning signs of wilting. Each year’s summer drought tested their resilience turning the spry green to a crisper looking brown. Before long the ones conceding to the arid days would fall to the ground making a soft bed with an aromatic smell that made you feel the chill of winter long before the first snowfall. 

Deep within the trees and surrounding underbrush hiding the distinct property lines surveyed for legal purposes and taxation some fifty or more years ago, the cicadas could be heard. A symphonic ritual echoed of rising chatter, louder and louder to a climatic apex. Then complete silence. Exhaustion had won out forcing a temporary reprieve. Only for a half minute or so. On cue like responding to a conductor’s baton, the crescendoed affair would repeat, cyclical, an ongoing way of nature, perfect and beautiful lasting into the late morning. Finally, with time ticking to noon, the heat of the sun directly over head, these little creatures would hush into hiding until tomorrow’s curtain call.

But this August day was different. If not for the cicadas, certainly for the man. A respite from the waning summer heat. A reprieve from another sixty hour work week. This August day was the kind of day to wake up smiling. To walk out the back door. Steaming cup of coffee in hand. Black. No sugar. Open up one of the tattered lawn chairs leaning against a stump from a tree felled last year. Sitting down and just thinking. Such is the time for soaking up the simple sounds of the outdoors. Eyes closed. Absorbing the moment. A sip of coffee. A sigh. Such pleasures do not last forever. 

Suddenly there was a tugging at the man’s heart. Startling. No announcement. A pulling of feelings and emotions, backward and forward. Unsettling. Not what he was expecting on such a fine day. What was happening? What was going on? Why all of a sudden did this day feel different? Why was this cool breeze stirring thoughts and memories long believed to be buried and forgotten?

The mind can wander on a day like this, opening to a time of youth, so young. A life full of fun, hope and promise- no worries.

The man remembered the boy a near teenager standing in front of him. He could see himself in worn out blue jeans, faded green t-shirt, and a pair of runner shoes so old the the right sole hung loosely. The man stirred in the tattered chair, sitting more upright, more tense than just a few fleeting seconds ago. The man could hear the boy’s voice as if he were right there now in front of him. 

The man just wanted to spend some time with the boy. Time spent like when the boy was younger. Playing catch. Shooting baskets. Riding bikes. Just time spent together.

The man could smell the oily leather of his old ball glove and the perfect fit on his left hand. He could hear the snapping of the ball hitting the pocket. But the boy’s responses cracked even louder, a dismissive glare of apathy becoming more and more common as he neared his thirteenth birthday.

The man sat with an apprehension not felt when he first entered the backyard. So many questions. So few answers. What triggers such change in a life, a boy growing up? Why must there be such anger and angst? The man knew why?

The boy made it clear he didn’t want to play catch. He didn’t want to shoot baskets. He didn’t want to ride bikes. He wanted to be left alone. He turned, stomped up the steps, slammed the door for dramatic effect and went right back to the cell phone the man had bought him punching the little buttons faster than most people could write.

Empty and lost sat the man. Empty and lost he was that day.

Then a flash. A spark. A car heading down the street to anywhere. To nowhere. The man standing in the driveway alone and empty. It seemed like only yesterday he and the boy couldn't wait to spend time doing things together. 

Off to college the boy went. Those dreams of wide ranging adventures were calling, and no one or nothing was going to get in his way. He was stepping through a threshold and making his dreams come true. But some thresholds are more treacherous than others, and some vows can have long lasting negative effects. A new reality of life would await, and the boy changed. 

The boy abandoned his dreams at a costly price pushing himself away from the ones he loved and who loved him the most. He rarely talked to the man. All the times they would sit and share the tiny but special moments of a day had ceased. The kind of moments no more special than any other but still special enough to let someone you love know about no longer existed. When on a rare occasion the boy would talk to the man, the boy for some reason was always quick to blame the man for all the things as he reminded, the man had done wrong.

What was the man supposed to do? Certainly mistakes were made. They always are. Still there was no denying the love of the man. He wanted only to give his best. But life has a way of stealing dreams. Circumstances and events create new circumstances and event. 

The man had to work and work hard he did and his job devoured more and more of his time. Bosses were never happy. In the morning rallies they would cheer for bigger and better sales. By mid-afternoon the daily doses of encouragement became chided criticism with vein-popping red faces. Every day. 

Pressure has a way of distorting not only the face but the person. Sitting in the weathered chair on such a fine August day, the man was aging by the moment.

New gimmicks were the order, always being introduced and expected to be carried out. The challenges were never to do things right. Rather the bottom line became a polluted avenue of political correctness designed to keep things quiet while making the most money possible. Even though it was never formally stated, the company motto was “No matter what you do, make money”. Failure was not an option. To fall short meant to be written up. Too many write ups, although an exact number was never known would mean termination. So when the day was done, all the man wanted to do was go home, kick off his shoes, undo his tie, fall into his plaid but stained recliner, and drift off into a deep sleep, something often eluding him at night, the stress of the day past and the day awaiting devouring him. His dreams, once so real and full were now faded and blurred.

Tired and exhausted from another day of simply trying to make ends meet, still the boy was always so excited and happy to see the man. He kept wanting to play catch or a game of HORSE. But the man just pushed him away. Too worn out by the demands of a life gone out of control, which happens when one becomes more concerned with being who they are not, the man would tell they boy to leave him alone, he needed time to unwind. 

The boy with his head down, chin buried in his chest, would turn and walk away. He had the phone and headphones he was given, the real purpose to keep the boy entertained. Sure he could text or Facebook his many supposed friends, the ones he never saw or talked to face to face. Still, it wasn’t time with the man.

The boy stood so empty and alone missing the man. All the times they spent together. Where did it go? It wasn’t so long ago was it? Walking down the hallway toward his cramped bedroom, he stepped over at least a weeks worth of dirty laundry. He knew he would be yelled at for not picking it up when the lady finally got home, tired and worn out, tonight’s dinner, a bucket of greasy chicken under her arm. He texts a friend he has only seen once while some obscure rap beat thuds in his ears. Looking back, the man is in a deep sleep in his chair.

Life has a way of passing by. It can rob everyone of what once was and that could have been. You sit and dream while looking out a window. You sit old and alone wondering was it all worth it, the abandoning of those dreams? Sadly the road taken is littered with those who have sold themselves out to please others.

Grayed, wrinkled, calloused, worn out, sat the old man. A grandfather. Those closest to him, those loved the most, his family, most had left. Either they had grown up and moved away forgetting him and the house once called home, or they had passed on. The sixty hour work weeks seemed a distant past, almost forgotten for that matter except for the fact retirement was only realized and afforded six short years ago. Expenses, the kid’s college loans, car payments, and ever mounting medical bills never seemed to end. The old man knew, even though the boy’s reflections and comments of growing up were distorted, that the lady and he gave all the love, support and encouragement to the the boy so he would have the confidence to be himself and live his dreams. How strange the old man thought are the perceptions and reflections of youth. Quick to judge. Quick to blame.

But today, this day in August was a day to sit and reflect. The cooler breeze made him feel more alive than he had in weeks. 

His grandson was rarely seen anymore. What was he, fifteen? A teenager, far too busy and way too uncool it was to hang out with old people, even if it was his grandpa. When he asked why he never saw the boy, his son told him kids are just so busy these days. Funny and sad all wrapped in one is it how being busy is the excuse for turning your back on the ones who have always been there for you.

Society has taught each generation a bit more that the fast-paced way of living has little or no room for the elderly. Besides, the boy has on his wrist a new piece of technology that keeps him “connected” even though he never notices his grandpa sitting there in the old plaid and stained recliner.

The boy’s dad, the grandpa’s son is rarely seen as well. He has moved “up the ladder” as they say where he works. Sort of a big shot he believes. But a price has been paid. Now overwhelmed with endless meetings with big time decision makers in fancy suits, often extending into the evening, he is vacant. Sure, the money he earns is great, but it blinds him. It blinds him so much that he has convinced himself he loves his job. Oh the root of such evil. It is in these moments that all the dreams he dreamed while sitting in that upstairs room looking out through all those beautiful leaves flash before his eyes and haunt him. 

What has he done? The over-priced house in the upscale neighborhood was a must. There is a certain level of achievement which must be exuded so all looks good on Sunday mornings. The well privileged son seems to have it all, at least to those who have become closest to him. He is so busy, even his dad has never seen the inside of his house. He has everything except time. Time to spend with his son and his dad.

The cycle of life is a strange and fasted paced one. So fasted paced it is, the boy, the man, and the old man are one. Each passed through their moments in time never once appreciating the moment at hand. Life has a way of fooling each into believing being busy is the norm. Sad are the ones who buy into this myth forgetting, even turning their back on the ones so loved. It is never intended and so often difficult to accept. Each in their own way believes they are right. But being right is never what life and living should be about.

It doesn't take the end of life to look back and reflect on all that was and wasn’t. Sometimes it just takes an unexpected cooler day in August. 

The son looked back and saw his vacant dad. The dad looked back and saw his vacant son. The grandpa looked back and saw his vacant son and grandson. Everything and everyone is connected.

Eventually this beautiful August day succumbed to more hot weather. It would be several months until snow finally blanketed life. Each moved on as the calendar flipped to the next year. Spring seemed an eternity away as winter lingered on. 

In time spring arrived. Nature’s path is perfect. The blooming of new life, sitting dormant, always breaks through cultivating the earth. But this spring would be different. 

The man and the boy are standing side by side. Each holding the other up while tears stream down their faces. Their heads are bowed as the old man is laid to rest. A part of them has passed on as well. They now know and feel how much has been missed. A story, like life weaves in and out of time- past, present, future.