A Lament

You have been here before. It is the point where your humanity shattered into a number of pieces like that of a broken vanity mirror. In fact, you have been here a number of times. Let’s see there was the loss of your grandfather, the loss of your innocence, the loss of your mind, the loss of your grandmother, the loss of your niece, the loss of your idealism, the loss of true love, and the loss of your sense of immortality. Until now, you have reformed the pieces of your broken psyche in the forge of hate, anger, and rage. Yet, you know that you can only go to that well only so often, and this time, the well is dry or is it that the furnace has only a few smoldering embers left? Either way, you cannot utilize it anymore. You are too old; your body is worn and has born a heavy toll from the abuse that others and you have imposed on it. So, where do you go from here? Everything on Earth goes somewhere. Your place is not here. However, I am curious. Why did it take the loss of a childhood friend, and not the loss of your own flesh & blood that finally caused you to face the reality that you cannot rely on the promises of an illusory redeemer?

I know that I have been here before. The smell of failure, disappointment, and disillusionment are strong here, and I am fully familiar with them. They have been embedded in my mind from an early age. You are right. I cannot go on like this anymore. To quote a tune from years ago, “Master, Master, where’s the dreams that I’ve been after? Master, Master, you promised only lies.” I have believed in that false prophet for too long. I have seen death of acquaintances, family, and friends over the last few years. I cannot give you a good reason why the death of this person has affected me so much more than the loss of my grandmother, my kin, and my baby niece. I am ashamed to admit that there is only one that comes to my mind. It is selfish, and childish, especially when I try to cultivate the idea and the image that I am a man. I am scared. I am scared of dying. It reminds me of the terror that I felt when my humanity first broke back many moons ago, during that nightmare at my grandmother’s home when Papa Partain died. Also, I am scared that “Death and destruction is all in your mind; Could hell be the place for the peace you must find.”

Okay, you are scared of dying. Big deal. Everyone is scared of dying. Despite of what everyone tries to tell you, no one knows what happens to us when we die. That is no excuse why you have relied so long on anger & hatred, and it does not explain why now you have decided to forsake it to find a new path. Quit rambling. You do it too much. While it may be endearing to some, it rather quite annoying in this culture of instant gratification. Defend yourself.

Okay. I will try to be brief. “I always knew what the right path was. Without exception, I knew. But I never took it. You know why? It was too damn hard.” To blame others, to be angry at the world, to engender hatred at others was the easier path. I have known this for a number of years. However, I did not want to believe it. To do so, would require me to admit something that I really do not like to do: That I am wrong, and that I do not know what the hell I am doing. How is that for brevity?

Wow. Not quite pithy, but I am impressed. So, you have not answered my question of why now and where do you go from here?

Why now? With the loss of my childhood friend, I have hit this “brick wall” once too many times, and I am tired of hurting myself. Furthermore, it reminds me that the connections that matter the most to me have been crumbling down like the walls of Jericho. I want to spend the remaining days, months or years of my life in the company of the people that know me and that cared about me when I had nothing to offer other than myself. Where I do go from here? I do not know. I would hope that my path will lead me to an eternal reward is with that of Papa Partain, Granny, Papa Jones, Kim, and Maddie, but I do not know. While I have felt the rapture of salvation, and I have smelt the stench of brimstone and sulfur, I know that the love and the blood have worked for me, but my faith is smaller than that of a mustard seed. Nevertheless, I believe, and I hope that it is enough. Isn’t that what faith is made of, which is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen?

Great, you are worried about your immortal soul. So that makes you better than the most of America and the world. But to paraphrase Master Yoda, all your life have you looked away… to the future, to the horizon. Never was your mind on where you were. Answer my question. Where do you go from here?

I do not know.

A satisfactory answer, but just barely.

O tidings of comfort and joy

I have a Christmas Eve day tradition. Every year, I pull out my “memory chest,” and take a walk down memory lane while listening to either Christmas Music or Irish/Celtic music. The “memory chest” is nothing special; it is rather large plastic storage container where I have kept mementos from my family and my collective past.

Some years it was arduous to keep this tradition.

On December 25, 2002, my grandmother died. She had suffered terribly. From 1995 to 2002, my grandmother was going to hospitals on a regular basis. If it was not for heart surgery, it was for strokes or some other complication due to her diabetes. Her condition had deteriorated so badly by the time I was in law school that my aunts, uncles, and my mom had to place her in a nursing home. It was hard going to that nursing home on Christmas and to see the woman that I remembered and love reduced to nothing more than a shell of her former self. It was hard to look at the pictures of past Christmases where she was full of vitality and joy being surrounded by her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

Back in 2003, I was still reeling from the death of my sister-in-law, and my baby niece in a car accident where the other driver was intoxicated. Moreover, it was going to be Maddie’s first Christmas. In addition, my other niece and nephew would not have their mother at Christmas anymore. I did not want to open that chest and to remember anything. The memories of my past (both good and ill) would lead me back to the lost that my brother, my family, and I had suffered. Furthermore, it would cause the scar on my heart to tear asunder, fester with anger & hate, and cause the wound to grow anew.

Yet, the tradition felt right again in 2005. It was three years since the death of my maternal grandmother. I was finishing some last minute shopping at the Mall of Georgia. After I was done with my shopping, I felt a calling to go Granny’s grave and speak to her. Like most Southerners, I visit the burial plots of my deceased relatives and spend time talking to them, but I had not been to Granny and Papaw’s grave since Granny’s death on Christmas Day 2002. While there was a more direct route from the Mall of Georgia to the cemetery, I took my time and drove through the back roads of Northern Gwinnett County and Lawrenceville. I found myself going by a number of places that had significance in my life, such as the old Button Gwinnett Hospital, where I was born, Dr. Ezzard’s office, where I spend a number of days hoping that he could find a way to make me feel better, Lawrenceville Elementary, where I first attended school, my birth home on Stone Mountain Street. When I crouched next to Granny and Papaw’s tombstone and spoke a few words, I realized that it was more important to cherish the wealth of memories and love that my grandmother had for me and I for her, and not to focus incessantly on her death on Christmas day. As I drove home, I felt a sense of joy for Christmas that I had not felt in years, and was glad to take that walk down memory lane.

Now, when I go through the “Memory Chest,” I feel a sense that I am blessed. Also, I realize that what is important in this life is to take care of the ones that I love, and have faith that I will see the members of my family and my friends that are amongst the faithful departed.

So, with all this dribble said, I want to wish you and yours a Merry Christmas.

Fathers and Sons

Once every month, I go over to my parents house to do basic maintenance on my car, such as change the oil, check the filters, and make sure the tires are properly inflated. (Don’t let the two degrees fool you; I am one generation removed from farmers and auto mechanics.) The work is not hard, but it is a time for me and my father to talk about what’s new, etc. Although I have done this countless times since I was 16, I still feel like a little boy that is happy just to spend time with his daddy.

Happy Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving to all. I am thankful for my family. I am thankful for having a career that I love. I am thankful that I am blessed to have friends both near and far that care for me. I am thankful that I have a promise that I will see the ones that I have lost this year again. Also, if to state the obvious, I am thankful to be alive.