El Pueblo Viejo

Grief.

From the Latin prefix "Grixes" meaning "to kick"; and the stem "eff" meaning "in the gut."

I don't know Latin. None of that is actually true. Regardless, grief still feels that way. Since this new year has begun, this world has lost two young fathers. Both were 29. Both went to sleep and didn't wake up. Both left two little ones behind. Both had found love, or at least found love again. Both still had parents who were faced with burying their children. Both deaths are heartbreaking.

I am not writing this to deal with the idea of death. As a great song puts it "death is just too full, and man is so small." That is what I need to know of death right now. It is full. I am small.

What I am writing about has to do with death, in the sense that death is the event that has brought this to my attention. But let us let death be what it is; every one's eventual end and that which we know is all present in our lives no matter what we think of it.

What we all must reconcile in our lives is the moment when we are aware of how far away our childhood really is from us today. Losing two childhood friends and thinking about all the people back in my hometown that are dealing with their loss not in memory but in their daily lives, tears me apart. I wish that I could be sitting somewhere on the East side of Tucson right now, maybe Chuy's, maybe Puerta Viallarta, maybe Eeggee's, maybe Luke's or Pat's Chilli Dogs. Maybe I could go back to Fortunato's and get what my mom used to order for me when I was 6; a yoohoo and a bread stick. I could go back to McDonald Park and walk the base paths that I shared with my friend Anthony. I could throw a couple pitches from the little league mound there, and pretend that he is still behind the plate waiting to catch that pitch. I could walk a quarter mile up the road, and walk the track of my high school. I could pick at the grass of the football field, or walk through the locker room were so much time was spent encouraging each other, but also full of pain that is unconscionable. I could find Shem's locker again. I could remember that guy's smile, or the way he could walk up to you and get you to smile within 10 seconds. I wish I could be anywhere in Tucson right now. I wish I could buy my old friends a beer, and just reconnect. But I left. I had my reasons, and I still would make the same decision again if I had the chance. However, I miss my home. I miss the friends who knew me at Tanque Verde, and Emily Grey. Those of us who walked the halls of Sabino, and leaned on each other in some of the darkest times.

What do we do when we start to lose the pieces of our childhood? What do we do when the memories fade, and when we can no longer drive past our old school to re spark our memory? Yesterday, a great man was remembered. I hadn't talked to Anthony since high school, but growing up he was one of my great friends. We were similar in a lot of ways. We could have past for cousins. We played on YMCA Basketball teams together, little league teams, and even a small time on the same football team in high school. In January, my community said goodbye to Shem. Ever since I met Shem in junior high, he was one of the smoothest, funniest guys I had met. All the girls liked him. He was tough. He wouldn't put up with much. But he also just wanted to be people's friend. In both funerals, I pictured who all was there. People for good and bad, I miss seeing. Death is hard enough, but when we think it is not supposed to happen yet, and when it takes away pieces of our childhood; I feel I am at a great loss.

I guess that I am lucky on some level. I remember them with the memories of a child. I remember them full of life, young and ready to take on the world. And in their own ways, they changed the world they lived in. I guess that is all we can hope for in this life. That we can stay connected enough to who we really are, both past and present, to somehow give all we can to the future to make a difference to someone. Maybe memories of our childhood are waiting right around the corner, waiting to bring to life a memory that drives us forward, or maybe a memory that will stop us in our tracks and make us recalculate who we really are. Either way, I believe that we all have that child still in us. They want to be protected, listened to, loved. They want to remind us of the awe we once had for this world. They want to remind us to enjoy the simple things, and to find joy in friendship. They want us to be confident because they fear nothing. (other than imaginary monsters; not quite sure how to deal with those still.) But even when death breaks into our inner child's clubhouse, it is not strong enough to take away the evidence of our lives. Regardless of how much time we have on this on this rock, our presence will still be remembered. Your presence is an honor to be around. Your presence has made a difference. Just you being you. I am getting back to me being me; to honoring the power of my presence as well. And a lot of that has to do with all of you. I love you Tucson. I always will. You will always be home.

Standing By

So I created this blog, who knows, a year ago. And I have never entered a blog post until today. As much as I would like to think the words that I write and the thoughts that I explore in this form of journaling can help others; I have no disillusions. I am writing this for me. Not for you.

Don't take it personal. I promise that I appreciate you. I promise that I love you and always will. But I am writing this because there comes time in my life where I can no longer hold my thoughts inside of this head, and instead of spilling them all over my family and friends, instead of burdening those people closest to me with this uncontainable presence, I will put them in this form. So if you read this, and it's too much for you, know that I gave you warning.



Enough of with the disclaimer.

Onto this first post.


Remember when you were a little kid? Did you have a best friend? And not just a good friend that maybe shared their blocks with you during play time, or got off the swing and gave it to you so you didn't have to wait in the 6 person line just to swing for 3 minutes. But a best friend that has been there in thick and thin. That friend that if a tiger came into the room and attacked you, this friend would grab a pair of kid friendly scissors and find a way to slay the cat. That kind of friend. I have been lucky to have a number of great friends in my life. I have been blessed with some amazing people who have entered into my life, and have left an unmistakably wonderful impression on my heart. But I only have one friend that is the "Cat Slayer." We have been friends since before I can even remember. Literally, it's like I was born, and we were assigned as best friends. We have spent the last 28 years trying to figure out what to do next. We have spent the last 28 years building forts, egging houses, knicker knocking the neighbors, and sharing what our Prom Night experiences were like. But we have never spent a minute of that time figuring out whether or not we would continue to be friends. Not even when I went to California for college and he went to Arizona State. Not even when we hadn't talked in a year or so. Our friendship was never a question.


I am beginning to understand why this friend has been such a source of strength in my life for so long. And it starts with one of the hardest memories I have with him. When I was in 7th Grade, I was out in my backyard building a compost bin for Mr. Naugle's Earth Science class. It started with digging a 10 inch square hole in the ground, and then erecting posts, and eventually enclosing this structure with chicken wire. Well, if any of you have tried to dig a hole in the desert ground in summer you know that 10 inches isn't as easy as it sounds. I had no pick axe, I had no ground breaking tools. I had a shovel, I had my 14 year old muscles, and I had the fear of getting a failing grade in school. Just when I reached the point of giving up, out of the back door of my house, walks my best friend. I was stoked to say the least. Not only did I get to see my best friend unexpectedly, but to be honest, I had someone to help me dig this hole. We went through the normal salutations and catching up, and then we got to digging. We eventually got some sharp rocks from the backyard, got down on our hands and knees, and dug like we were bank robbers. We finally had hit 10 inches. We were covered in sweat, and dirt, and it was still in the mid 90's even as the sun was finding its way behind the mountains for the day. And then my friend said something I will never forget. "My parents are getting a divorce." Now, when you have a best friend like this, you don't just know them. You know their family. You become part of their family. And his mom and sister were my family too. His dad travelled a ton and actually had to work in a different part of the country for an extended amount of time during the year, so I didn't know him as well. But nonetheless, this news was devastating. What came next is what I really want to talk about in this blog. I looked at him, and with some tears in my eyes, I just said, "I am sorry man. Whatever you need, you let me know." And then we built the rest of the compost bin. There were not a lot of words. But there didn't need to be. What had been said was all that each of us needed to say. But just because there were no words, doesn't mean that there wasn't something very important and very powerful happening.


Witnessing. Standing by my friend.


Life is tough. Big secret right. But the thing is, whether or not you accept that life is tough for everyone, it doesn't make the struggles that you go through any easier. Sure there are times were there is strength in numbers. If I was building a house and had to raise the roof on this house, I would like to have about 100 people to help. That would make it easier. But I don't think that this strength in numbers thing works for some of the trials in life. Sure we would like to lessen the load that the people we love carry in their lives. We would surely shoulder the burden of life for those closest to us. But there are times were you can not do that. Literally and wholly; You cannot become that person, experience the unique pain and struggle that they are experiencing, and take over their pain. There are times were actually trying to do this is more harmful than doing nothing. I am going through some trials in life right now. And I am lucky to have people in my life who care enough to ask me how it's going. And what I am even more lucky to have are some people in my life who listen to what is going on, and then they just sit there. No words. No thoughts. No advice. No cliches. Nothing. But even though there is no words, I never doubt that they love me and would still do anything for me.

What these people are doing are being witnesses to my life. They are walking with me not trying to be my guide, but trying to be my fellow walker. They are watching the path that I am travelling on, and not commenting on it, but yet helping me carry on. They are standing by me without the illusion that somehow they have the answer to what is breaking my heart. The fact of the matter is that life doesn't always give us the answers we want to hear. The fact of life is that there are times where answers don't come to solve our problems. The fact is life can be messy and brutal, and it really shows no regard for the wake of destruction it leaves behind.

And sometimes silence is the only response. Sometimes tears, and a tearing heart are the only utterances that we can muster. Sometimes words only add to the wake that has so cruelly deconstructed us. But presence can be a powerful thing. Standing by those we love even as they are being beaten down can be the most love we can ever show another. Sometimes we can look into the eyes of the people we care about and say more in that glance then we ever could with even the greatest of vocabularies. When we solely witness to the people we love, we are showing a reverent amount of respect to their personhood. We are communicating to them that we do not think of ourselves in such a way that believes it can somehow conquer the very thing that our friend is fighting. Because the fact of the matter is, we cannot conquer it. We cannot put their skin on, put their shoes on, and go to war with life for them. Even though all we want to do is everything for them.


Sitting there in the dirt, I instinctively knew that my friend would never ever question my friendship. And knowing that we were going to live long in each other's lives, words weren't necessary. I would be there. In some form or another I would be there.

There are times when we tell someone whom we deeply care about that we worry for them, or that we are concerned for them. And while this is meant with the greatest of regard, it still comes across in a way that is hurtful. Sometimes this is unavoidable. But sometimes it is completely avoidable. We don't have to tell someone we worry for them. We love them. We are their friend, we are their family; THEY KNOW WE ARE WORRIED ABOUT THEM! Sometimes we don't need more judges in our lives. Sometimes we don't need more commentators analyzing what they think of the situation. Sometimes we just need a friend, Someone to lean on. Someone to sit in the sewer with us, and smile through the crap. Sometimes the greatest love we can show is not with our mouth or our words, but with our presence. Your presence is significant. Your presence is important. You don't need to explain yourself. Just be.


Stand by me.


Let me know what you think about my first blog.