THIS
BLOG WAS WRITTEN IN DECEMBER, 2014.
What am I thinking about?
Good question, at least that’s what I tell myself. It hit me, like most
revelations I encounter, at the end of a 10K run. It was a cool, crisp fall
Saturday, perfect running weather and I managed the twenty-two laps around the
hard gravel track with little problem. I was in the zone, fluid, smooth,
constant stride propelling me forward. I wouldn’t have noticed the six guys
lifting weights until I was asked the time on lap sixteen. I didn’t even miss a
breath; I switched from “lap mode” to “time” with a finger push on the Ironman
watch and announced, “1:22.” The laps rolled: 2:05 pace; 7:50 miles; it was a
perfect run.
The entire time out there
I’m singing tunes in my mind’s eye. I’m running through “Let It Be” and
“Rambling Man” and “Son of a Son of a Sailor.” There’s a whole playlist in my
head and I hear it and summon it on these runs. The words are etched in my mind
from years of conjuring them up when I needed just “that song, just those
words” to make sense of so much senselessness in my life. I sang and I told God
between mind tracks I was doing well; and, I ran. I finished, shirtless and
pouring sweat even with forty-five degrees, and drank water. I began to cool
down and chill quite soon. Hat and sweatshirt took care of that. Then, the
thought.
“A Wonderful Life.” My
favorite Jimmy Stewart movie; my favorite Christmas movie, my saving hope
during that first ugly holiday away. That was all before … before the filing
and the decree, before the letter telling me “I’ve met someone,” before the
college graduation, the wedding, the proms, cross-country races, law school,
graduation, and finally before the remarriage. “A Wonderful Life.” I mattered
to her and our two boys. I mattered to family and friends. This was a short
chapter in my life’s book, I told myself. And, I had hope. No matter what would
happen out there, eventually it would all work out.
The run ended, the cool
down lap walked, and the thoughts began. Everyone was better off since my fall.
A wonderful life my ass! She was remarried, happy and in love. The boys – those
two amazing lives I held seconds after entry into the world, these two
breathing, flesh and blood creations who I whispered “Forever Young” to over
nine years apart as they let out their first exhales – they had done remarkably
without me. The older, he graduated with honors from a prestigious liberal arts
college. He’d gone to law school, married his college sweetheart; there’s been
law review, awards at graduation, a clerkship. The younger had become an
athlete – triathlons, teaching swimming, considering Navy Seals after high
school. His girlfriend was gorgeous, blonde, blue-eyed athletic. He spent his
senior high school year already in college. I had left a slightly pudgy,
round-faced little eleven year-old. He had grown in my absence into a man.
The new husband, the new
me, he’d taken my place with “the guys,” our collection of husbands from the
small band of couples who socialized. “He’s not as funny as you,” one of my
buddies who dared stay in touch told me. Still, he was me – or playing me,
living in “my” house, using “my” Viking gas grill, sleeping in “my” room with
“my” wife … except it wasn’t … mine … anymore. None of it: the house, the
beautiful – though complex – soulmate, the sons, the social club. It was all
gone and it was as if it never was mine. Everything, everyone had moved past me
and I had faded; not slowly over time, no, I had been wiped clear of all their
lives in rapid succession. The image overwhelmed my brain. Every breath, every
thought as I stood there alone on the track with the last droplets of run sweat
fading on my skin, “They are all better off.”
I showered and tried to
drown out the words with music. I settled on the Beatles and began to lose
myself in tune after tune until “Let it Be” began. I froze. The words from Sir
Paul metastasized in my cortex. “Let it be … there will be an answer … let it
be … whisper words of wisdom …” Where was my Mother Mary? Where were my words
of wisdom? Everything I loved, everything I had ever truly wanted, ever truly
valued, was gone. And there was no regret, no comparable loss from those out there.
I thought maybe that’s better, maybe that’s good, they are whole, healthy,
living. In the back of my mind I heard the whispers, “You’re fooling yourself.
Too easy. You never mattered, you weren’t even needed …”
“It’s a Wonderful Life.” George Bailey delayed everything
he dreamt of, everything he wanted, to stay in tiny Bedford Falls. Then the
bank examiner, and forgetful Uncle Billy, and criminal charges facing him.
George is on the bridge. All is lost. Even God, the Being he prayed to and said
“I’m not a real spiritual man, but show me the way …” had – it seemed –
abandoned him. He looked at the water below, life insurance contract in hand,
and knew he was worth more dead than alive.
I choke up every time I see Jimmy Stewart on that bridge.
I choke up because I know what’s coming. Clarence, George Bailey’s guardian
angel appears, and soon it all becomes clear that George’s life mattered. He
meant something to more people than he ever knew. I choke up because I know –
at least in Hollywood – dramatic arcs come to conclusions and there are
restorations, reconciliations, happy endings. Not this day, not the way I feel.
There aren’t any happy endings …
Happy. That’s a word we throw around so nonchalantly. “I
want to be happy.” What does that mean? I think of my happiest days – the day I
married her; hearing heartbeats on the ultrasounds; holding healthy baby boys.
Yeah, happy days … and yet distant memories. All of it replaced; all of it set
aside; all of it lost. This isn’t a movie. There’s no brother “Harry,” no “Mr.
Martini” coming to my aid. And, “Mary” – she’s gone. Billy Wilder, you bastard!
You made me believe I matter …
“Unto
us a Son is given;
And the government will be upon His
shoulder.
And His name will be called
Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace …”
It’s the next morning, still dark, and I’ve had a lousy
night. It’s Advent, expectation and preparation – “God with us.” I went to
sleep trying to pray, trying to be hopeful, trying to …
And the verse from Isaiah is there before me.
There is clarity in those words; they make sense. And, the voice quiets. You
know, it was a good life … it still is a good life. There are expectations for
the future, a good future. And I realize. I was wrong. My watch alarm goes off
– chimes – and I never have it on chimes. I think of the movie and little
“ZuZu” telling her father, “teacher says every time a bell rings an angel gets
his wings.” She might just be right.
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