Grandpa's death.
I haven't updated in two months, which is a record for me. With my Grandpa ill, I didn't want to bring anybody inside my head, even about lighthearted matters... at least not online.
He passed last Wednesday morning from the complications of his leukemia condition. The funeral was today.
I tell people it's my "Grandpa" and they get an idea that isn't accurate. This man raised me in the place of my absentee father, he showed me what it looks like to live with contentment, frugality, and genuine care for those around him. He was my favorite person in the family, and one of the dearest of all people to me in this life I will have lived.
There is a lot I could say about the hour of his passing, or the funeral, but my enlightenment wasn't there.
Wednesday, after driving back from the hospital in Ann Arbor, we gathered at my Uncle's house. As usual, I'm the "different" one in the family and had my own grieving process to go through. I walked outside in the freezing snow storm and shivered up a small hill to take a bit of shelter under a coniferous tree where nobody could see or distinctly hear me. It wasn't yet 6AM so it was dark and utterly silent other than the wind and sound of distant highway trucks pushing toward clandestine localities. I settled into myself.
The pain was my bridge to freedom and I had to embrace it. It hurt so bad I grit my teeth and made the sounds of a warrior battle cry filtered through the sobs of a child. I wasn't afraid of crying, of seeming weak for a man. I told him that I loved him so much. But, I didn't know where to go inside of myself for redemption from the pain.
Without religion, without something to fall back on, I struggled for meaning. I wanted a filter to thrust the situation through so that it looked more rosy, but I wouldn't let myself do that. People call it "acceptance" of a difficult situation, but it's not. It's not acceptance, it's a mask to cover the pain. I could not lie to myself and mask the situation by saying, "He's in a better place now." There was no Biblical patriarch of a "God" to corral my brokenness.
Standing there with tears streaming, teeth clinched, and arms reaching up I prayed, "I DON'T KNOW! I don't know what it means! I don't know what to think! I don't know what to feel!" That was my god. It wasn't just a declaration, it was my name for whatever is divine in this existence: I don't know. All I did know was how much he meant to me.
Then it hit me.
We have religious beliefs because we, as humans, seek meaning. We thrive on it. We craft great testaments which serve to filter our experiences in a meaningful way. We create our own meaning; our own meaningfulness or meaninglessness.
We create our own meaning.
As that reality sank in, I focused on what my Grandpa meant to me, and what I meant to him; on what we meant to each other. That might be the most beautiful thing about being human. I prayed again, "I only know what he means to me."
My naked grief is the only way to show that. It is only fair. Anything else would be a fabrication. We have the power to spin life in any direction, but most don't know they are doing it. They see through a lens but cannot see the lens itself. Once you begin to realize such things, you can find meaning everywhere and nowhere, all the time and none of the time. It all depends on you.
Precisely what "meaning" or the desire to have it is or reveals, is an amazing thing to consider... and so far I can only speculate.
He passed last Wednesday morning from the complications of his leukemia condition. The funeral was today.
I tell people it's my "Grandpa" and they get an idea that isn't accurate. This man raised me in the place of my absentee father, he showed me what it looks like to live with contentment, frugality, and genuine care for those around him. He was my favorite person in the family, and one of the dearest of all people to me in this life I will have lived.
There is a lot I could say about the hour of his passing, or the funeral, but my enlightenment wasn't there.
Wednesday, after driving back from the hospital in Ann Arbor, we gathered at my Uncle's house. As usual, I'm the "different" one in the family and had my own grieving process to go through. I walked outside in the freezing snow storm and shivered up a small hill to take a bit of shelter under a coniferous tree where nobody could see or distinctly hear me. It wasn't yet 6AM so it was dark and utterly silent other than the wind and sound of distant highway trucks pushing toward clandestine localities. I settled into myself.
The pain was my bridge to freedom and I had to embrace it. It hurt so bad I grit my teeth and made the sounds of a warrior battle cry filtered through the sobs of a child. I wasn't afraid of crying, of seeming weak for a man. I told him that I loved him so much. But, I didn't know where to go inside of myself for redemption from the pain.
Without religion, without something to fall back on, I struggled for meaning. I wanted a filter to thrust the situation through so that it looked more rosy, but I wouldn't let myself do that. People call it "acceptance" of a difficult situation, but it's not. It's not acceptance, it's a mask to cover the pain. I could not lie to myself and mask the situation by saying, "He's in a better place now." There was no Biblical patriarch of a "God" to corral my brokenness.
Standing there with tears streaming, teeth clinched, and arms reaching up I prayed, "I DON'T KNOW! I don't know what it means! I don't know what to think! I don't know what to feel!" That was my god. It wasn't just a declaration, it was my name for whatever is divine in this existence: I don't know. All I did know was how much he meant to me.
Then it hit me.
We have religious beliefs because we, as humans, seek meaning. We thrive on it. We craft great testaments which serve to filter our experiences in a meaningful way. We create our own meaning; our own meaningfulness or meaninglessness.
We create our own meaning.
As that reality sank in, I focused on what my Grandpa meant to me, and what I meant to him; on what we meant to each other. That might be the most beautiful thing about being human. I prayed again, "I only know what he means to me."
My naked grief is the only way to show that. It is only fair. Anything else would be a fabrication. We have the power to spin life in any direction, but most don't know they are doing it. They see through a lens but cannot see the lens itself. Once you begin to realize such things, you can find meaning everywhere and nowhere, all the time and none of the time. It all depends on you.
Precisely what "meaning" or the desire to have it is or reveals, is an amazing thing to consider... and so far I can only speculate.