I need someone to walk with …

After a busy week, Fridays present a very different rhythm to my life. And, now, after January 11, Fridays will forever more be a memory of the day my dog, Harry, died. The scene that morning was more tragic than real and more surreal than I can describe. Even today, as I write and ramble on with these words, I look over to that spot where Harry would be, curled up in his familiar pose, eyeing me and sneaking some nap time simultaneously. How different dogs are in their calm repose and natural acceptance of life.

What was that scene like two Fridays ago? As usual, my morning routine was quite different than that of any other day of the week. Putting out the trash was the first order of the day. And, thus, I gathered up the small wastebaskets and emptied them into a larger trash receptacle. Kitchen debris (old coffee grounds and the like) was then added to the collection and put outside for the trash haulers to take away. All the while, Harry was patiently waiting for this chore to end. Patience was not a virtue that Harry inherited in a natural way. It was only after many years of my enduring his impatience that he now had some sensibility in this regard.

Skipping back down to the hallway, I then asked Harry if he wanted to go out for a short walk Smiling at me, he nodded and off we went. We set out past the curb where the trash cans and plastic bags and other debris awaited their removal. Harry stopped to sniff and smell to be sure that there was nothing that needed to be saved. Such a good and faithful companion Harry was to ensure that I had not thrown out anything valuable!

We meandered down the road a bit until Harry sought out and found just the right area to water. He was relieved and I was ready to go back and continue my Friday morning routine. The first order of business was to ensure that the coffee was freshly perked and that the morning paper was handy. Then, I set to giving Harry his new medication – two tiny pills that were easing the distress arising from the tumor that was pressing up against his thyroid area. I found a small piece of bread with which I wrapped up the pills and gave that little morsel to him. He snapped it up quickly and sat down to swallow it and allow it to be digested – not an easy task with that tumor constricting the passageway.

As I was checking the progress of the coffee percolating, I heard Harry having more than the usual difficulty getting the morsel of bread completely swallowed. He was having a lot of difficulty. He was in great distress. Quickly, I left the kitchen area.

Running, I took up his leash and walked him outside in order that he could try to expel that remnant of bread. He went directly over to the bushes and writhed a bit trying in vain to clear the bread caught midway between his mouth and his throat. Without thinking about the risk involved, I tried to help by putting my finger into the area to sweep out the bread. This was not a wise move. Today, the two bite marks on my finger testify to his sharp incisors.

Yet, he continued to try to try to clear the airway. He lay down on his side. He breathed deeply. He looked up at me and smiled. His ears arose to small peaks on his head and he lay his mouth down on the ground. It began to rain just ever so quietly and softly as to be a melancholy prelude to the final song of his life.

And, thus, as I watched his struggle, I saw his feeble attempts at breathing ebb. I watched his tail uncurl and droop in a contented way to encircle his legs.

His eyes were open; his head was still; and he stopped breathing. He said good-bye with his last smile.

Now. What to do? It was raining rather steadily and the morning rituals were to be changed unalterably.

I called the veterinarian and managed, with great effort, to take my dog, Harry, over to him for his care. When I came back to my place, I went to the kitchen and shut off the coffee machine. Yes, the coffee was stronger than usual. The small bottle of pills for Harry will remain on the side of the sink for a while.

Some parts of life need time to be changed.

Each morning since, I have needed to walk down that road. It is a bit lonely these days. I loved to walk briskly and savored the opportunity to see things and observe things from a distance. As Harry and I were walking companions for the last ten years, we knew each other better than anyone might imagine.

Harry was so observant to a degree I still wonder at. For example, if I ever sat down and changed from my loafers to my New Balance shoes, he would leap to attention and be ready for a walk. He loved the outdoors and the snow and the wind. Everything he saw needed to be sniffed at for whatever purpose I still do not know. I t seems to me that Harry needed me as much as I needed him.

And, so, who will walk with me now?

Connecting and Relating

Collaboration and cooperation are twins in the process of gaining meaningful results. Happily, an effort in this regard is underway in our town. The Walpole Public Library and the Walpole Public Schools are working together on a project that will serve the best interests of the whole community, regardless of age or status in life.

The project is designed to raise the level of consciousness among our citizens to the negative effects of treating others with disdain and harassing others with whom we have disagreements or an opposing point of view. This is a project that will engage people in conversation, reflection, and action. We live best when we live as a community of people who trust each other and serve the interests of others ahead of our own.

As a beginning, the library and the schools have announced an essay contest whereby students will reflect on occasions of ‘bullying’ and try to explicate the dangers of such behavior – both for the victim and the perpetrator. With anecdotes and a critical sense for history, students will explore the ramifications of aberrant behavior.

It is hoped then that this particular event will prompt others to understand more about the implications of mistrust and distrust. Bullying takes on many forms and many varieties. Bullying can be physical; bullying can be ‘merely’ verbal’; bullying can be the start of a process of ostracizing.

To be sure, the process of ostracizing can lead to terrible results. Young people generally are striving for identity. Young people may find part of their identity as prescribed and proscribed by the effects of the behavior of their peers. To be put out at the margin of society by the actions of the crowd is to be put out into a state of anonymity. The state of anonymity is a potential precursor to a traumatic time – a time of anxiety and a time of disaffection.

Recently, District Attorney of Norfolk County William Keating wrote about the high rate of suicide among young people, nationwide and locally. Is there any connection to the causality at the root of suicide and the effects of ‘bullying’ and harassment?

First, let’s look at a few observations. And, then, we will look at the theory behind an understanding of the causality inherent in suicidal behavior.

As Keating indicated, suicide is the second leading cause of death for teenagers in Massachusetts. This fact and other statistics are contained in the 1999 Massachusetts Youth Risk Behavior Survey taken in 1999 among high school students in public schools throughout the state. Note that:

· Female adolescents had significantly higher rates than their male peers of depression and of considering, planning, and attempting suicide.
· Depression (feeling so sad and hopeless that normal activities were stopped for two or more weeks) was more common in Other/Mixed Ethnicity (42%), Asian (35%), and Hispanic adolescents (34%) than among White (29%) or Black (27%) youth.
· Suicidal thinking and attempts were most frequent among Asian and Other/Mixed Ethnicity students.
· Sexual minority youth (i.e., adolescents who either identified themselves as gay, lesbian, or bisexual and/or those who had any same-sex sexual experience) reported higher rates than their peers of considering suicide (49% vs. 20%), making a suicide plan (39% vs. 15%), and actually attempting suicide (29% vs. 7%).
· Students who had been victimized at school (that is, they had been threatened/injured with a weapon at school or had felt so unsafe that they skipped school) had significantly higher levels of depression, suicidal thinking and actual suicide than their non-victimized peers.
 

These statistics and observations offer some insight into the effect of young people feeling put out on the margin of society. Depression and discrimination and peer abuse are related and connected.

But, what are the theories underlying the causality of suicidal behavior? The literature is extensive and mostly anecdotal. A recent historical study might help.

Georges Minois (History of Suicide, The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999), says:

“ … The fact remains that how and why people decide to kill themselves remains a mystery…. Halbachs (completing the classical work of Emile Durkheim) states that ‘People only kill themselves following or under the influence of an unexpected event or condition, be it external or internal (in the body or in the mind), which separates or excludes them from the social milieu and which imposes on them an unbearable feeling of loneliness …’...”

Where does this lead us in our thoughts about community behavior in Walpole?

Loneliness and depression are potentially tragic circumstances, which we all should avoid and work to help others avoid.

The implications of discrimination and harassment and exclusion are powerful. Bullying is just one specific instance of such behavior.

Perhaps this wonderful project of the Walpole Public Library and the Walpole Public Schools can be an initiative for building a bright and trusting community for all in Walpole.
 

Who were those ‘Wise’ Men?

Walpole has many fine and storied traditions. Some traditions are carried on as if they were part of the origins of our history without the slightest cause for disbelief. Let’s look at one grand tradition and the reality behind it and the reality behind the story that gives rise to the tradition.

We have all observed the scene on the greensward opposite the Post Office on Common Street. The scene was put up on the Friday after Thanksgiving as part of the opening drama that leads inevitably to the celebration of Christmas. Yes, there is a wooden shelter, and lifelike figures depicting shepherds, three other men, three animals, and Mary and Joseph and Jesus. This is the traditional ‘Creche’ or manger scene replicated in miniature in homes and portrayed in color on cards and paintings.

But, really, who were these three men offering gifts to the family in the wooden shelter and what were these shepherds doing in the background? Well, first, I remember hearing about this ‘Christmas’ story from bits and pieces of other stories that came from my grandparents. Sitting around the dining room table on Christmas day, they would talk at length about their traditions. Specifically, they would remind us of the pastor who would be coming on Jan. 6 to bless their house and put three letters and the numerals for that particular year in chalk on the frame of the front door. In bold white lettering, it was: CMB 1948.

Why CMB? An old tradition from Eastern Europe was to be continued in West Lynn. CMB referred to the assumed names of those three men who now are seen in the greensward in downtown Walpole. Tradition, and only tradition, names these folk as – Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar. Why just tradition? Isn’t this a bible story that we can verify quite easily?

Actually, we will have to work very hard to build that ‘crèche’ scene from the scant details about the story as given in the bible.

Let’s look at this together.

I open up my bible and look at the four Gospels to see what each says about the birth of Jesus. As an investigator, I am going to the source data. First, I look at the Gospel according to Mark. Oh, my. There is nothing at all in this Gospel about the birth of Jesus. This account begins with Jesus as a young man near the Jordan River and setting out on a mission.

Next I look at the Gospel according to Matthew. Here I find a brief description of the birth of Jesus. It says, “ …After Jesus was born in Bethlehem…wise men came from the East…” OK. He was born in Bethlehem. The story continues. The wise men followed a star and “ …on entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother…”

It now seems that Jesus was born in Bethlehem and some unnumbered wise men found Mary with the child in a ‘house’. And, that is all that we know from Matthew’s account. So, what of the shepherds and animals?

We move on to the Gospel according to John. Again, as with Mark, John does not provide us with any account of the birth of Jesus.

So, finally, we look at the Gospel according to Luke, the only one left in our research effort. Indeed, Luke provides us with an extraordinary set of detail that begins with the preliminary announcement that Mary will be the mother of Jesus. Further, Luke gives more detail on the birth itself.

“ …And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn…”

Then, Luke introduces the readers to shepherds. “ …So they (shepherds) went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger…”

And the story continues.

What do we now know, after reading the separate and markedly different accounts of the birth of Jesus? What we have in our tradition is a ‘Christmas Story’ that is built on fragments from two original accounts and framed to provide the drama that we see in traditional ‘Crèches’ everywhere.

The bible does not tell us how many wise men there were. They were anonymous people who came upon the event of a lifetime.

For about the last eight hundred years, people have constructed manger scenes to make clear to others what we believe about the birth of Jesus. Woven into the story are enhancements that underlie the reality. In songs and carols and paintings, the tradition continues.

Is it important to know the number of wise men who came to Bethlehem? Is it important to know their names?

Traditions can sometimes be more significant than the original story.

 So, go to the scene on the common area in Walpole. Walk up to the shelter and pick out Melchior. Or, is it Balthasar? Which one is Caspar?

Oh, and where did those animals come from?

Holidays and Holydays

Despite the inconsistent and abnormal weather patterns that have altered our sense of the mood of December, we are in the midst of the season of holidays and holydays. And, after the devastation of September 11, in the light and darkness that has altered the landscape for so many, it is almost urgent that we celebrate the great gift of being alive in the season of holidays and holydays.

Holiday is a term used widely to signify that there are people of different faiths and different traditions and different religious experiences who all mark separately their holydays during this time of the year. Have you ever received a “Happy Holidays” card?

It is a particular gift for us in the Walpole environs to recognize the diverse communities marking their unique seasons. Whether Christian, Jew, or Muslim, houses of worship are nearby and welcome their faithful. Churches and synagogues are plentiful in Norwood, Sharon, and Walpole. The Islamic Center of New England has a mosque in Sharon.

What are these holydays that comprise the detail underneath the generic term – ‘holidays’?

Nearly a month ago, in November, on the weekend prior to Thanksgiving Day, Muslims marked the beginning of the Ramadan time. During this interval, for the entire month, from sunup to sundown, Muslims fast from food and drink. Their daily routine of prayer is especially intense. And so, on Monday evening at sundown, Ramadan ends for this year.

December 17 is also the end of the eight-day period that Jews celebrate as Chanukah. The Jews light candles these eight days in memory of the story of their ancestors returning to Jerusalem to restore the temple, burning oil for eight days. This is a joyous occasion for Jews to celebrate the return to their temple for worship and praise of God.

At this same time, Christians are marking the mid-point of the Advent season. Although Christmas is in the air for many, with decorations and lights and good cheer in abundance, Christmas as a church season begins on the 24th of December. What is Advent then? This is a four-week period for Christians to prepare for the twelve days of the Christmas season. On each Sunday during this time, the biblical texts exhort the faithful to focus on the presence of God in the ordinary experience of people here and now.

Fasting and prayer are common elements for people of these three religious traditions in celebrating their holydays. During this season and the year 2001, we sense a reality of extraordinary proportions. Our understanding of the fragile nature of life has been underscored. We have thought more carefully about not taking life for granted. Many of us have reflected on the priorities in our daily rhythm. We no longer have the same assumptions that tomorrow will be as today. The unexpected came upon us in September as a. violent invasion and violation of our existence.

Thus it is that we perhaps look at gift buying and letter writing and card sending and other means of celebrating the holidays with more focus than usual. That gift needs to be just right.

What to say in that letter to our friends half a continent away? Should we buy all these cards and mail them off as usual?  Do we find ourselves being more philosophic in our care and comfort for each other?

As I drive around the area, I have sensed a deeper attention this year to lighting up the house and streets and trees and windows. It is as if we have a collective need to deny the darkness that can depress us all. The symbol of white light is especially poignant. White light in the form of icicles or crystals that drape a shelter symbolize that inner hope we have that life will always endure.

For others, the season is a terrific opportunity to put words behind our inner thoughts and to share them with others. We want to be there with those we love and support each other.

So much of holiday time is family time. Sacrifices are made this year in order that families can be together. The notion of freezing the moment and reveling in the drama of being with one another exists in many forms.

For, we realize all too well, one day is not a guarantee of another. The notion that ‘procrastination is the thief of time’ becomes very real. Well, perhaps I can do that shopping next week. Or, perhaps, I need to attend to the myriad of chores this very day!

Yes, the holiday season is a season for all of us. It is a season for each to recognize the ultimate worth in everyone and the common trust we all have in the beauty of life.

The common origin of the religious tradition for Jews, Muslims, and Christians is the story of Abraham. He welcomed God in his midst and embraced the invitation to go wherever God urged him to go.

In the light and darkness of this year, celebrating Ramadan, Chanukah, Advent, and Christmas, may we all join together to cherish life in every form.

Family Rules are not forgotten

My sister, as I have said so many times, has a terrific memory. She has recall of events in our childhood that have long faded from my recollection. Yet, at times, she will ask me to verify some particular event or memory that haunts us both. Perhaps, the need comes from the critical aspect of the memory.

Recently, she called with a pressing and urgent question. She had been reflecting on the terrible trauma with which the country is struggling and the nature of anthrax and its horror.

The ‘phone jolted me out of a quiet time when I was reading an article in the ‘New Yorker’ and was seeking a little solitude. Anne barely said ‘Hello’ when she asked what I remembered about anthrax and our father’s work in the leather tanning business some forty years ago. The pages of the book of the history of our family were turned back rapidly.

Yes, I told her that I too had been thinking back to the time when our father and grandfather supervised the tanning process for Benz Kid Company. This was the 1930’s and 1940’s and 1950’s. Benz Kid was a very small company that converted raw goatskins into tanned and colored leather for shoe manufacturers and companies that made handbags and fine gloves. This was a labor-intensive industry, dependent upon people working long hours under difficult conditions. Everyone in the factory, supervisors and foremen and laborers alike, were exposed to toxic chemicals and fumes that were a part of the process of converting the raw goat hides into finished leather.

Where did these hides come from? As I remember, (having worked myself for two summers in the factory) a majority of the hides were imported from Pakistan and India and South America.

Be assured. At that time, anthrax was a clear health hazard to which everyone paid attention. Near the time clocks and the doors to the washrooms were large signs that cautioned everyone about the importance of washing. It was almost an obsession. Everyone was instructed to wash hands and arms immediately upon leaving a work area. Soap was in abundance. This soap was gritty and very difficult to raise to a lather. Your hands and skin were almost always red and rough. But, the washing rituals were just part of life.

In a controverted way, the rule for washing in hot soapy water with a scrub brush became a principle rule in our family. My sister recalled this principle. Dad would say: “ Always wash your hands whenever you come into the house, no matter what.”

Also, I remember that handkerchiefs were to be avoided. My father preferred to use paper tissues. We were instructed to put them into the coal stove where they would be burned rather quickly. Yes, my father brought home to us the serious and critical concern he had for cleanliness and the eradication of germs.  Anne and I did not fully appreciate back then exactly where this near obsession with ‘washing’ originated.

Now, we wonder if the real and present danger of anthrax affected my father’s thinking and concern and rules for washing and other hygiene protocols.

After all, in those days, fighting bacteria was not so simple as it is today. Prevention was the order of the day. Society had not yet been delivered of powerful antibiotics.

What else came to mind?

Anne recalled these two things. Dad had set up an old washing machine in the area outside his office and had a shower installed nearby. When work was over, he would throw his work clothes into the washing machine, take a shower, and put on clean clothes before coming home.

Then, walking into the kitchen, he strode directly to the sink, scrubbed his hands and then - only then - said ‘Hello’.

This was a routine that became the family rule for personal hygiene. But, dad never, ever, spoke about anthrax and the dangers therein as the reason behind his caution.

He just taught us all to live carefully and well.

I realize the clear and present danger these days with anthrax is different. I realize that the clear and present cautions we need to take in these tension filled days are different.

But, we can do some rather simple things to be careful.

Finally, thinking back, there is a strange irony about this. My dad and grandfather and uncle all worked in an environmentally unhealthy situation for many, many years. The toxic nature of the atmosphere in the work place was abysmal under today’s thinking. The carcinogens were plentiful. My dad and uncle worked for over forty years under those conditions without ever taking a ‘sick’ day.

Yet, they both died with alcohol abuse as the definitive cause. Cancer and other suspects were not the determinative causes of death. They lived past retirement age.

We know not the measure and length of our days nor what will be the final determination of our life span.

But, we can exercise prudent and cautious judgment in our experience of life – no matter what the particular rhythm or responsibilities we enjoy.
 
 

The way we were is not the way we are

To reminisce is to bring back the great moments of your life into such clarity that you might resolve the puzzles of today. Can the joy of yesteryear overcome the anxiety holding forth today? I suggest that we can overcome our present difficulties with recourse to past successes or achievements.

There are two historical and personal anecdotes that help me. They may also help you and our whole community. It is my habit to reflect on the early days of my life, when I was struggling to understand why puzzles had such a grip on my life. Those puzzles were not of the jigsaw type, or the pictorial type that came out of a box.

No, my puzzles were the metaphorical type that confronted me. The first puzzle related to the lack of trust some adults had for young people. I remember one occasion that related to my reading habits back when I was in elementary school. I lived in a small town north of Boston in which the public library was quite small. Specifically, the building itself was just one floor and could be contained within the children’s area of the Walpole Public Library.

Imagine now walking into this building and seeing the entire library, shelves and shelves of books, right before you. Adults would look to the left and see the card catalogue and find books of interest to them. Adolescents would turn to the right and find books, fiction and non-fiction, arranged by grade level for easy perusal and selection. Thus, in a one-story building, with a very small collection, it would not take long to actually read most of what was contained in the ‘children’s’ area. Indeed, it was not long before I ran out of books to read from the designated area.

Thus, I sought permission to be able to select books that were in the adult section in order to satisfy my need to read more and more. So it was that I described my joy at reading Jules Verne and related the great epic to other fifth graders. However, the teacher did not believe my story because Jules Verne was not on the fifth grade shelf. I felt a keen sense of mistrust.

This then was my first encounter with appreciating how adults have preconceived notions about how adolescents should behave and should act. Imagine reading a book that was not on the right shelf!

A few years later, as a sophomore in high school, I had another brief experience with the preconceptions of adults in relation to young people. It was the first class of the year and the English teacher was calling out names of the students in the class. Thus, this little exercise served the purpose of taking attendance and allowing the teacher to connect names with faces. I listened carefully as the names were called. The teacher was now in the section of the alphabet wherein I should hear my name. With clarity and conviction, the teacher called out my name mispronouncing it unwittingly yet aggressively. I paused and interrupted her to suggest that she had erred.

This was clearly a grave error on my part. For a sophomore in high school (circa 1953) to correct a teacher – that was a serious blunder. I realized this at the end of the marking period when my final grade did not reflect accurately the totality of the interim grades for quizzes and homework and tests.

So, duly chastened, I now had another piece of data for my future analysis of various puzzles of life.

Was there any connection with being dismissed for thinking I had read a book not on the right shelf and being dismissed for correcting a teacher? Should young people always sit back and wait for the older folks to tell them what to do and how to think and what to read?

Fortunately, later on I encountered a fairly larger group of adults and teachers who saw life quite differently. And, my sister and I grew up in a home with bookshelves lining the back wall of the ling room and new books were always a part of birthdays and Christmas gift giving. We were a family of readers.

And what was the great wisdom in reading and constantly reaching beyond the preconceived notions of others? I believe that much wisdom comes from others who have been places foreign to me. I believe we can profit from the thoughts of others outside our family and neighborhood. Reading is an effective way of listening to such wisdom. Here is one example.

In the book ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’, Mitch Albom recounts his deepened understanding of life with his listening to the musings of his former sociology professor. In one such musing, Morrie said that

“ …The story is about a little wave, bobbing along in the ocean, having a grand old time. He’s enjoying the wind and the fresh air – until he notices the other waves in front of him, crashing against the shore. ‘My God, this is terrible,’ the wave says. ‘Look what’s going to happen to me!’

Then along comes another wave. It sees the first wave, looking grim, and it says to him, ‘Why do you look so sad?’

The first wave says, ‘You don’t understand! We’re all going to crash. All of us waves are going to be nothing! Isn’t it terrible?’

The second wave says, ‘No, you don’t understand. You’re not a wave, you’re part of the ocean.’….”

Indeed, in this time of impending tension and anxiety, do we understand how that metaphor might apply to us? Waves crash; the ocean perdures.
 

Walpole Times, Oct. 4, 2001

If I only Knew …

My older sister had a head start. In fact, she has always been a bit ahead of me after all these years. When I need to refresh my memory about things that occurred at the supper table when we were growing up, I merely need to ask Anne. She has the details and she can elaborate about the way my Dad or Mom would control the conversation.

Now, you may wonder how my parents could control a suppertime conversation, with two adolescents struggling for attention. Consider that this was around 1947 when I was nine and my sister was nearly eleven. I thought we should talk about the latest Red Sox failure while Anne wondered what it would be like next year in junior high school. Yet, my parents did control the conversation. And, after doing the dishes, we went off to do our schoolwork.

Their concern was for our benefit. Subject matter was crucial. In fact, as I think back, what was not discussed was as important as what was discussed. It was a long time before I learned details about life that my parents preferred we not learn at an early age. The old adage about “ …A time and place for everything …” was most apt.

Well, one very important event remains today as mysterious as ever. And, I will probably never find out what happened.  Here’s the story.

My sister Anne and I had a sister named Susan. Our sibling died before she was a year old and the circumstances of her illness and death are yet hidden away with our parents. The subject of her illness was never raised. The nature of her death was a quiet resignation to misfortune. I remember my parents grieving and crying and consoling one another.

Yet, I do not ever remember my parents sitting down with us and explaining what happened. They were in mourning; my sister and I were in ignorance about the exact consequences of the illness. Why?

My parents loved us and did not have the experience of knowing how to sit with their children and explain the unexplainable. My parents wanted to shelter us from the hard times and the pain of suffering and the burden of accepting death at an early age.

My parents were not alone in their approach to this type of crisis. And, today, parents in many other homes are searching for the right approach. How much is too much to handle? What should we say about our concern for peace? What can we say about the devastation?

Will our feelings for retribution affect the emotions and thinking of our own kids? How do we explain the enormous complexity of the tragic deaths of thousands of people – along with the bitter memory of the event that will be a lifelong scar for so many survivors?

In my own experience, and after listening to others, and after some careful reading, I think that we as parents need to be candid, truthful, and accessible. Let me explain. Our children are in large measure the product of the rhythms we set in the family circle early on.

 Candid

It is very important for children to know that their parents have deep feelings about events that happen in our society. When a tragedy, whether personal and intimate, or communitarian and distant, occurs, it is necessary that we talk to our children very candidly. And, it is critical that we explain to them exactly how we feel and what we are thinking.

Young people learn from their elders, parents or teachers or coaches, in many ways. Youngsters observe the behavior of their parents and will easily discern any inconsistency with what is being said and what is being done. Candor is a primary aspect of relating to young people in an honest and courageous way.

 Truthful

We cannot deviate in any way from the exactitude of what happened in a crisis or tragic moment. To minimize the event or to diminish its importance with soothing words is to set aside reality. We must never underestimate the ability of people to absorb the detail of life on their terms and in their own language.

The first stage of denial is to evade the clear image of what transpired. Nothing is ever so obvious as the drama of denial. We need to be true to ourselves and, then, true to our children.

 Accessible

Finally, as we consider the optimum approach to handling critically important tragic events in our life and the lives of our children, I suggest that the notion of accessibility is a precondition to anything else. I may not have agreed with everything my parents did or said, but I was always aware that they were accessible. My parents believed that eating the supper meal together as a family was more important than anything else.

Your children will ask questions and want to know over and over what really happened on September 11, 2001. You, as parents, are best able to deal with their questions. You may not know all the political issues and the historical origins of the conflicts worldwide, but you know how you feel. You know what you think. Talk with your children about this.
 

Waiting, Watching, and Writing

Some of us have spoken out publicly in the midst of this crisis. We have looked into the deep of our mind and soul to gather words and thoughts that will help and will heal. In this effort, the looking has been difficult. Our storehouse of words lacks the words that I would love to find and use.

Where should we turn? Who can help? There are no experts around these days with the depth of experience and scintillating balm of rhetoric who can easily comfort us all. The events unfolding, even as we write, from the dark hour of the morning off September 11, 2001, are without precedent and proportion in our contemporary history. We cannot draw upon the lessons of yesterday. They do not exist. We are somehow going to write a new textbook for our time and our society.

Yet, we will continue to speak and write and encourage and console our family and friends with the paucity of words we have.

The fabric of our life has been rent but not torn completely away. The faith and hope of us all is substantiated in the ultimate goodness of creation. And the words we choose are the words spoken and written for generations before of people of faith and hope.

But what of the questions that arise? What of the concern we have for finding the right answers with which to comfort our children? How does a parent or concerned adult explain the events that terrified us? Should we transfer our fear to others, notably those younger and with less experience in the world? Should we take the risk to be direct and speak about the evil deeds of September 11?

I believe that we have to be direct and confront the evil and name it for what it is. Evil does exist in this world as we bemoan the horror of death and suffering such as occurred recently.  It does no good to minimize that fact in speaking to our young people. In fact, young people are able to process, at their own level of intellect and emotion, critically difficult issues. We should never underestimate the ability of anyone to hear what needs to be heard or to see what needs to be seen.

However, we need also to understand that we should be there with young people as they hear and see terrible things and help them move through this ordeal. The discovery of what is good and what is not good is best done with others who have been through that discovery process already. So, I suggest that the best way to respond to the questions of our young people is to talk and talk and listen. Let them know what you know and what you think. Listen to their concerns. Listen to their fears and respect their emotions and sorrow.

We should all hug them and respond to their questions. We do not have the complete answer but we do have the integrity to let them know what we think and know and how pained we all are. In a time of crisis, each person needs another person. People need other people. The town needs all of its residents to be in mutual support for each other. Our country needs and has an interrelated and interwoven network of people consoling and loving each other. The bonds of life are the whole of life.

However, let me offer another suggestion. This is a way for each of us to continue to work through our grief and mourning and to gain further courage to move ahead. It is a tangible way to gain some measure of relief in the constant daily reminders of the fear that runs around our lives.

No matter how old we are, or what educational level marks us, or what lifestyle describes us, we can benefit from this suggestion. Here it is.

At the close of your day, find a few moments to be alone. Locate some blank paper; perhaps a small note pad will suffice. Find a pencil, or ballpoint pen, or any other favorite writing tool. Relax for a moment. Let the events of this particular day arise to your consciousness. Recall the emotions that arose when someone complimented you. Were there other times when someone criticized you for some action you took? What did you feel? What did you do?

Now put down on paper words that can cement those moments and firm them up in your memory for future recall. These words may be in the form of short, clipped phrases – or in the form of succinct sentences that constitute your best attempt at persuasive discourse.

Each person has the latent ability to communicate at clear levels. The more we work at such writing, the more skilled we become at communicating our thoughts and feelings to others. In this time of apprehension, a healthy exercise for the mind and heart is to allow our deepest emotions to be clearly perceived and saved for tomorrow.

Your writing is important and the rereading of your writing for another day is very valuable to assess the progress you make in handling this disturbing time in our history.

Words are very powerful and laden with emotion. Your words are your ways of entering into the heart of your being. Write well and read well.
 

Two weeks ago, I wrote about the various experiences we all share in the cycle of life. From infancy to adolescence to adulthood to the later stages of our maturity, we all move through many aspects of ‘letting go’. At times, we are the ones who take the initiative to let go; sometimes, others take the initiative and take their leave of us.

No matter the situation, it is always a difficult one when an intimate in our lives moves away from our embrace – whether that person is a child or parent or friend or spouse. One of the most difficult situations of all is the last good-by of an intimate when the true end of life as we know it arrives. How do we adequately say farewell to the one we love when death arrives? Are we ever ready for that moment and can we ever understand the depth of emotion that rushes upon us when the letting go is the realization that the person next to us has breathed their last?

It might be useful to reflect on these questions with two stories. First, I need to turn the pages of my personal history back to May of 1986. My Father was hospitalized and some complications had arisen that would ultimately bring about his death – death at an early age. My Dad was seventy-two and had survived the previous ten years with stoicism and courage, despite cirrhosis of the liver, a malignant kidney, prostate cancer, high blood pressure, and extremely high levels of cholesterol.

Let me share the last incident, which was an untimely way to let go. With his physical strength and mental acuity waning, I had taken my Dad over to the Lahey clinic to be evaluated by his physician and for me to understand why his condition was deteriorating so rapidly. His appetite had just about vanished and his optimism about life had likewise vanished. What could be done? Was his life ebbing away as the days themselves waned?

He was admitted for tests and diagnosis, since he did not present any obvious symptoms other than the lethargy that was clouding his ability to function independently. My Mother and I began to sense that his life was about over. We could talk about his death but could not face that reality immediately. But, it could not be denied

One afternoon, I received a call from the clinic to discuss the results of their tests and the prognosis. Alarmed, I hurried over and met the attending doctor. As I walked into the conference room, I realized that this was a conversation that would be fraught with anxiety and serious consequences. The doctor’s face was a veritable visage of gloom and pain.

He said: “ … You need to make a decision right now. We have been transfusing your father with units of blood but he is hemorrhaging faster and faster and faster. The potential of the hemorrhaging ceasing is slim. We need you to decide whether we should continue with ‘extraordinary life saving measures’… you need to give us direction…”

Yes, I was being asked to make a choice that would ultimately be the determination that my Dad would die shortly. How could I make that decision myself? My Mother was at home, coping with the after effects of a stroke she suffered ten years earlier. My sister was in California. I shared my hesitancy about this with the doctor. Nonetheless, he continued to press me.

“ … You need to tell us now what to do…”

Life is not ever truly fair when such events overtake our sensibilities about what to do. Yes, it would be the best thing to talk with my Mother and sister and listen to their thoughts and engage the medical community with more dialogue around options available to us.

It was so logical. We needed more time to digest the criticality of the situation and to be ready to ‘let go’. We did not have the luxury of time. The doctor sat closer to me and stared me down and once more pressed me with the urgency.

I had little flexibility in this moment. I decided as I put the matter into the hands of God. The ultimate meaning I gleaned from this moment was that there was and always is a final letting go for which we never are prepared.

A few moments later, I stood at the bed looking at the sadness that enveloped the face of my father. He was neither conscious nor breathing with any energy. His body had deteriorated beyond the point of survival. I let go.

Fortunately, my Mother and sister were aware of the progress of these events and were trusting of my judgment. My Dad died the next morning in the peace that comes with his release from life.

Once more, I would encounter the struggle for life and the release unto death. It was a short five years later as I sat by the bed and looked at my wife, Pat, who was near death. Her malignancy had been diagnosed nine months earlier and the diagnosis was that she had an incurable cancer. It was time now. We both knew it as we could only share smiles at each other. Pat had suffered through many weeks of pain and anxiety, wondering when and how death would finally arrive.

We truly do not know the time or process by which we do enter into death. When a loved one dies, a part of our person leaves with that person. We let go and they let go and life changes, perhaps more so for the survivors.

My Dad was courageous and suffering. He let go with sublimity of heart and soul. My wife was courageous and suffering. She let go with no less sublimity of her heart and soul.

Life and love are inseparable. And so we all experience the joy and sadness of letting go.

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