Been home with the flu since mid-day yesterday. Ack. I’d forgotten how much fun it can be. Everyone in the house save my 74-year old mother-in-law, and 4-year-old daughter got socked in the gut. Little CindyLou Who wanted to climb in bed with us, but she just got, “We don’t want you to get sick, Avery.” Her answer: “Ok. I won’t.” She didn’t … at least not yet.
The place has finally settled a bit. The Christmas tree is mostly upright, walls are painted, mother-in-law has moved in. I could live without the flu, but there are worse things.
We recently acquired a photo of my father-in-law:
Don left the family when my wife was 5, and shot himself in despair after the “affair with the secretary” proved (I assume) less than fulfilling about 10 years later. What a horrible tragedy … that has lead to other tragedies. I do wish I could have a conversation with him. There’s too much that doesn’t fit. He was apparently often great as a dad, even if he had a hot temper. He’d take the family on daytrips and vacations, they decided to adopt a child together, he loved taking the family out to eat, they sang songs in the car, and got generally silly. Something of an artist, he went right up the ladder at Westinghouse. Somewhere along the line, something went wrong. I suspect it was small and slow at first, each step building on another. I may never know exactly.
Things like that seep back into my thoughts around the holidays. Life is not as it should be. The world is askew. It wouldn’t be so bad for the world to be askew, if I (we) didn’t have this sometimes-overbearing desire for things to be “right” – there is a “way things should be”, and we all know it. I suppose that’s why we get angry and frustrated when we see things go wrong, even if it doesn’t have a direct impact on us.
All this makes me think I need to keep myself in check, and figure out how to see the world as good, even though it is clearly broken in half -- kind of like a family that the father has abandoned. I need to remember that my imperfect sense of “should” probably exists because the target is real. I will give up pretending everything is ok. I will give up abandoning the world as completely lost and ruined. I need to do the difficult work of redeeming the broken-ness of the word, because the world -- that is, other people -- matter, and they are valuable. And my own brokenness is fixed as I go.
I think this is why it is a good thing to be alive.
Merry Christmas
I think 99% of the time there is a rational explanation for these types of things. We are intuitively in touch with connections in our surroundings. Our minds perceive far more than we are aware of. For the sake of survival and sanity, we filter out most of what goes on around us and zero-in on what we believe relevant. This partly explains why people in crisis often describe things going in slow motion: surroundings and perceptions suddenly become more “present”. We never really forget anything. We just conserve our mental (and emotional) energy by spending it in places we believe will provide the greatest safety.
Don left the family when my wife was 5, and shot himself in despair after the “affair with the secretary” proved (I assume) less than fulfilling about 10 years later. What a horrible tragedy … that has lead to other tragedies. I do wish I could have a conversation with him. There’s too much that doesn’t fit. He was apparently often great as a dad, even if he had a hot temper. He’d take the family on daytrips and vacations, they decided to adopt a child together, he loved taking the family out to eat, they sang songs in the car, and got generally silly. Something of an artist, he went right up the ladder at Westinghouse. Somewhere along the line, something went wrong. I suspect it was small and slow at first, each step building on another. I may never know exactly.
