What Are YOU Really Doing?

As I write this, we are still processing the news out of Uvalde, Texas, the site of a shooting at an elementary school. More than a dozen people, many of them children, are dead. As a parent, I suspect I have many of the same thoughts as there are for parents everywhere: Why? Schools should be a safe place for our kids. We all want something done about it. 

Just as troubling, there is an all-too predictable cycle with these events. It has become far too easy to engage in that cycle. Here's what I mean:

The event happens. The always on, 24-hour nonstop news media blasts the story into our awareness, via television, the internet, social media, cell phone app alerts, and the like. Politicians flock to the nearest camera and microphone to express their opinions and outrage, many times before legitimate facts are even known. Celebrities flock to social media to express their emotions and calls for government to "do something." Others of us, less famous, rush to our own Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and other accounts to express their sadness and support for the victims. Some even rush to change their profile pictures to some symbol of the latest cause celebre.

And then, after a few days, the national news coverage fades away, and the latest tragedy fades from the consciousness of all but those closest to it, and those who will grieve devastating losses for the rest of their lives. Others quickly move on to something else. 

As I was observing the social media posts tonight, it was as if from a template. "We need more gun control. How many of these will it take before we do something? Enough is enough." For those who aren't politicians and celebrities, perhaps social media serves as some sort of vent or release. That's entirely understandable. 

But here's my question: What are YOU really doing about any of this? 

Social media posts and pronouncements lull us into feeling like we're "doing something." But I've concluded opinions expressed online have very little productive effect. If you believe gun control measures are the answer, for example. are you contacting your state and federal representatives to implore productive action? Are you talking with your local school boards, police, and others about prevention measures in your community? 

I won't pretend I have any grand answer to the problem of gun violence, especially where our schools are affected. But our society craves easy, quick answers, and here, there are none. It's a complicated web of problems that have developed in our society over the last 50-60 years, if not more. Here are just some of them: 

• A continually fading respect for life and the dignity of the person, institutionally and individually
• The decline of the nuclear family
• Government programs that destroy the incentive to work and a sense of self-reliance
• The systematic tearing away of religion from the fabric of our communities
• A devastating ignorance of mental health needs and care
• A failure to confront difficult topics in a civil discourse that seeks common ground

It is too easy to fixate upon "gun control" as our quick solution to all of these events. But please consider this carefully: tell me you can point to one law or other legislative measure that would have stopped any such tragedy. I can't come up with one. Cities such Chicago have some of the highest counts of shootings in the nation, and the gun laws there are said to be some of the strictest. Criminals or anyone bent on doing harm do not stop to consider laws and their consequences. The proof is in history. Look as recently as the Buffalo grocery store shooting this month. It is reported the shooter obtained the gun through legal means. 

As I write this, little is known about the suspect in the Uvalde, Texas tragedy. More will be known soon, but predictably, people are already rushing to judgement, before the facts of what led to this are really understood. 

It is sad to say this won't be the last time this comes up. It will happen again, somewhere. But my challenge to all of us is this: What will we REALLY do about it? 

Put down the electronic devices. Get out into your communities and talk with your neighbors. Meet people you don't know. Get involved with a mental health board. Have a discussion about what we can do together to work for constructive changes. It won't happen overnight. But gradually, the outcomes we want are possible, if we are willing to work for them. 

And so it goes. 

Deep Topics: Not Always Welcome

I was just talking with a close friend about this one. She'd told me about how a client of hers loves to come in and spout off about politics, religion, and other sensitive topics. And it's not as if these two are what'd you'd call close friends. 

I told her about a time a couple of years ago. It was right before my mom passed away, and as things were getting heavy, I'd remembered about counseling that is available through my company's Employee Assistance Program. I thought it would be a good idea just to have an additional outlet for what I was trying to process.

The counseling went fine until the fourth session, which occurred a couple months after my mom was gone. Seemingly out of nowhere, the counselor asks, "So are you mad at God over losing your mom?" I was thrown for a loop. I asked, "Why would I be? This is life, and what good would that do anyway?" 

That was one of the reasons, among others, I decided to end that round of counseling. I've mentioned it here before, but I'm not the most devoutly religious guy on the block. I do have a faith, but I don't always open up and talk about it, especially with people I don't know or trust. Perhaps I am too closed off, but topics like that require permission before delving into them, especially with someone you don't know. There are boundaries. 

I've had close friends ask permission or perhaps apologize for delving into something too deep. If they are close and I know and them, no apology is needed. 

"Think before you speak" goes a long way. 

Autumn? Not always a fan...

To read social media, lots of people seem to be excited about the first day of fall. Colorful leaves, cooler weather, pumpkin spice everything... But I don’t always look forward to fall. 

Though it doesn’t happen every year, I sometimes encounter seasonal affective disorder as we lose daylight. I think that started for me the autumn after I was in a car accident in 1993. It happened again the fall and winter after we lost my wife’s dad in 2000. 

I’m expecting it again this fall. This time last year, we were in the middle of my mom’s second battle with cancer, and though we did our best to remain strong and hopeful, it was becoming clear we were going to lose her. (We did, November 6, 2019.) 

I tried hard last year to let myself grieve when I needed to, and to not push it off as I’ve done in years past, an effort to be strong for everyone else and not look after me. I have to remind myself of that again. 

I call it the “year of firsts.” We’ve been through the first Christmas without her, what would have been her 80th birthday and my parents’ 51st wedding anniversary, and so on. And now there are reminders of many tough days this time last year.

I will again make an effort to take care of myself during this time and to look for and work for the hopeful things. Despite all the stuff life has hurled our way the last couple years, there’s a lot of good stuff and good people out there, too.

And so it goes...

Look For the Candles

One of life's treasures is a good friendship. I have a friend I've known since my junior year in high school. She has always been wise beyond her years and a good sounding board for whatever is on one's mind.

Last fall was a tough time. My mom had been battling cancer for almost a year and it was clear the end was approaching. It was a tough new reality to come to grips with. It's natural for us to always think we have more time. Just in discussing the situation, she reminded me to "look for the candles." In other words, wherever we are in life, whatever situation, there are those bright spots we can identify. We may just have to look a little harder for them.

After my mom passed away and we got through the holidays, I thought, here's to 2020 being a nice smooth year for us all. And as they say on social media, 2020 has been like, "hold my beer."

There's a lot of craziness right now, but it does help to look for the candles. The late CBS newsman Charles Kuralt was quite good at that in his career. Two decades of his career were the 1960s and 1970s. If you read your history, there was a lot of insanity going on in those years: the assassinations, Vietnam, Watergate, and more. I can't imagine what those years would have been like if social media had been around.

And yet, Kuralt had a brilliant ability to find the candles in our society. That's in evidence in this quote attributed to him:

If you haven't experienced any of Charles Kuralt's work, look for his book "A Life on the Road," written just a few years before he retired. There are some wonderful stories of humankind.

Grief Bombs

Last year was a difficult one. Three friends and I all lost parents in 2019. Another close friend is losing his dad as I write this.

One of my friends, who lost her dad in April of 2019, told me about the idea of "grief bombs." It's an excellent description. The idea is that the grieving process is not really linear. We're somewhat conditioned to think that it is. We should go from denial to anger, from depression to bargaining, and right onto acceptance. But grief in real life doesn't work in a textbook fashion, I'm learning.

My friend whose dad is in hospice now has been describing some of what he's been seeing and feeling the past week. I want to be a willing listener for him. He has shouldered the responsibility of caring for his dad for many years now, and he's been alone for a lot of it. (For reasons I don't know and don't understand, other relatives have pretty well left it to him and can't or won't help.)

He said it's been so tough to see his dad fading away, and it's as if he is starving him. He's not, and he knows it's not true. The natural dying process is taking its course, and the hospice people are doing what they do, helping keep his dad comfortable and as pain-free as possible. I told him I know what he's going through. I remember thinking the same thing last fall as my mom was in hospice. We may understand it's all part of a natural process, but it is very natural to also feel helpless when we have been so involved the rest of the time.

Not to sound selfish... but his descriptions provoked a grief bomb, and brought me back to some vivid recollections of my mom at the end, last November. It will soon be eight months since she's passed away, and in some respects, it still doesn't seem quite real. We went up to visit my dad for his birthday recently, and her absence is still so palpable. The sadness strikes at odd moments, sometimes when I least expect it.

But it is to be expected. Many of us are still within what I call that "year of firsts" - the first milestone days within the first year of one's passing. Birthdays, anniversaries, other holidays, etc.

I don't have any grand answers on any of this. But I am grateful for family and friends who are willing to listen when I need it.

A Motherly Truth

More than 20 years after her passing, Erma Bombeck remains one of the foremost observers of motherhood. I found the following words of hers and posted them to my Facebook page this past Mother’s Day:

My mother passed away on Wednesday of this week, after a year long battle with cancer. Erma’s writing here says just a little of what I’ve been thinking and reflecting upon this past year.

Death takes away a lot, but it cannot take away the memories we have.

A Lot to Process

The past week has been a whirlwind of activity and emotion. I've shared here previously that my mom has battled cancer over the past year. The battle is coming to its conclusion. We learned this past Friday that is was time to begin hospice care. It's a prudent move. The focus has to be on the quality of life for whatever time there is left.

I live about three hours away from my parents, so there has been a lot of travel through this. I am not complaining. We are a strong family, and I am beyond grateful. At the beginning, my father said, plainly: "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you this (the diagnosis), but this is a fight and we're in it for the long haul." He set the tone and we all have known what we needed to do and when.

Dad and Mom have been married for 50 years. This has been terribly hard on him. But he is here for her and for us. His strength gives us strength.

I was back up there today for a funeral arrangement conference. The time has not yet come, as of this writing, but this is one more instance of my dad thinking ahead. He said he simply didn't want to be in crisis mode when the time does arrive, especially with all of the choices that had to be made. I couldn't agree more, and I wish more people would think this way. In fact, I was about to suggest we start to work out some of the arrangement details and Dad was already on it. My sister and aunt and uncle were also there. The funeral director was just amazing. Attentive to detail and compassionate... not at all pushy. We have a plan. 

On one level, my mind still can't reconcile that we are actually experiencing and doing all this. But it is reality, and we must confront it head on, of course. 

I saw my mom at Hospice today. She is quite frail and didn't seem to be very alert. My aunt told her I had come to visit. I believe she can still hear, but she didn't react. When the time came for me to begin the drive home to my wife and son, I said something like, "I have to go, Mom, but I'll see you again."

In situations like these, I will not say "goodbye." It is, in fact, "I'll see you later."

The drive back was tough at times. I stopped for a break to refuel the car and to get a soda. (The soda, while not so healthy, is one of my coping mechanisms. Some soda and I load up the cup with ice. I'll sip the soda and chew the ice.... something to do and to help stay awake.) I had an intermittent pressure in my chest. No heart trouble here. Just a physical sign of stress and sadness. I was thinking about everything I had seen and heard today. 

There really are no good words for any of this. Sometimes it is helpful to jot it down. But I'll find more to say another time. And so it goes...