“It’s nice sometime to open up the heart a little and let some hurt come in. It proves you’re still alive.”
The past few weeks have allowed us to do just that. It has let us be with ourselves and our families in ways we have not been in years. It has let us go back and touch parts of ourselves that have been so dormant the dust has crusted. It has let us be still and hear moments in our hearts we have not heard or felt beat in years.
The words quoted earlier are from Rod McKuen, a poet many young people have never heard, and one many of my generation have forgotten. He was an icon. He protested against the Vietnam War, marched for gay rights and wrote about being human. He was an advocate of the underdog. And as I sought to help heal friends in their seclusion, I found him again. And I did what we should always do with those jewels we have held, or been exposed. We share them with others. And when we do we are amazed, at the brilliance they reflect.
As I shared these nuggets with a friend who is going through a particularly difficult time, he asked permission to share an experience. It seems his dad had died on his wife birthday. Rather than share that with his sons, he and his wife went out and celebrated her birthday. A couple of days later, he told his sons his dad had died. His older son was a bit sad as he told his dad, “You didn’t let me be sad with you.”
As we wander through these mountains of feelings and valleys of deep despair, we should take time to see who else is in those valleys, or wave to those who are on the mountaintops as we strive to climb there as we remember we have each other. Remembering it’s not our joy that embraces us, but our sadness that lets us know who we are. As this young boy told his dad, we should be vulnerable enough to hug each other with our pain as we comfort one another to shout our joy. It’s a trajectory we need to get us through more than we thought we could manage.
It’s been trying to take my office home and teach remotely and not be able to see my students as I saw them in class. I teach speech and for the last two years since my bout with prostate cancer, I’ve focused on heroes. I also do a weekly Facebook post on heroes. These measured journeys have been instructive as I’ve shared my fears, talked to my students, encouraged others to realize they can do more than they thought they could, and been forced to not only listen to stories, but embrace a part of me that was almost lost. I’ve heard about their heroes, and how they found the courage to accept who they are is more than what they do.
I’ve heard about mothers, dads, grandpas, brothers, boyfriends and girlfriends who are genuine, caring and real. Students shared about being protected, saved and loved. That’s what the virus has taught us. If we can pull ourselves away from the politics, the science and the faces that do not belong to us, we see we are capable of clothing ourselves with the hope that will get us through.
I was so touched by the fathers’ story. I felt his pain. His loss became mine.
So take a few moments to look around and inventory the day. Before we get too wrapped up in what is not us, take a part of who we have found and move forward. That’s the growth. That’s the hope. That’s the cure to restoring our humanity. That’s the efficacy that can become real again and make us all better for it. Because if we have not learned anything from this, has it really been worth it? The time to be alone is precious. “It proves we are still alive!”
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