Life Is Messy

Life. There's all kinds of things to be said about it. It's long. It's short. It's beautiful. It's tragic. It's frightening. It's confusing. It's excruciating. It's a dream. Take your pick. You could spend a lifetime just coming up with different things to say about life. Nearly all of them will be true, at least to some extent. Similarly, they'll also be incomplete or incorrect to an extent. No wonder there's hundreds of years of philosophers' writings out there...and why we keep getting more.

For now, there's one that I want to go with as a place to start: life is messy. I don't mean that it's dirty or disgusting or a breeding ground for disease (though those things are kinda true). I mean that it's complex and surprising and sometimes unpredictable and hard to figure out. We get surprised. All the time. Sometimes what we think is coming comes around. At least as often, it goes in a different, unexpected direction. Sometimes things we think will last forever...don't. And sometimes things we think are done pop back up in some of the most unexpected kinds of ways. Not surprising, this is all an introduction to what I wanted to share.

I'm lucky enough to have several good friends from high school. We graduated 25+ years ago, which means we've now been friends for more than half our lives. One called me up today, a friend I hadn't talked to in a bit and I'd been thinking I should call. She had some sad news to share. The husband of another friend of ours just passed away. He'd been dealing with some heavy health issues for some time. Last I'd heard, about a year ago, he was doing OK. Evidently, that wasn't to last. I think she called me for a couple reasons: to let me know, because I'd be able to relate to where our friend likely is right now, to be able to process it some herself. It makes sense.

It was good timing for a call. See, I've been having a really rough time of things for the last few days. My financial situation's gotten somewhat messed up, thanks to complications with student loans, the loans being handed off to another agency, no-one having contacted me to let me know for the last seven or eight months, being told there's a deadline on getting them paid off. Before me darlin' wife ended her life, I'd have been upset by this but able to handle it OK. Instead, in the last few days I've found myself dealing with anxiety that sometimes verges on panic and makes sleep as elusive as smoke in a breeze. I was glad my friend was willing to talk a bit about that, as she's had to do some work with her loans, could relate, and had some good suggestions. What really helped, though, was having her remind me that, even if this situation is kind of screwed up, it doesn't mean that I am or that my life is. That there's plenty of good stuff I've done, that has meant a lot to a fair number of people. She reminded me about something I'd done for her brother way back in the day. And it reminded me of something else that I mentioned to her. She was kind enough to let me re-tell the story. When I was done, she said I should write it up, and I promised I would. So, here goes...

About five months after me darlin' wife committed suicide, the wife of a co-worker died. I'd gotten to work with Grant indirectly for a couple years. Our offices weren't in the same area, but what we worked on overlapped some, and so we'd end up running into each other fairly often. He'd been one of the most friendly and welcoming and respectful and gentle people I'd met. Those were qualities I really appreciated when I started, and came to respect even more over time. I'd known his wife had been seriously ill for awhile, but her death still seemed sudden. I remember that they'd announced the memorial for her at work, and at first I just knew I couldn't handle it. I figured I'd wish him the best and, if he wanted, be around to talk when he got back to work. As the day kept approaching, I was more and more sure I wasn't going.

The day of the memorial, I remember getting a couple things done and then talking with my boss when he was getting ready to leave for the memorial. Suddenly, the nudge hit me that I should go, too. My first take was that it was a ridiculous idea. I wasn't dressed for..... And then I looked down. And quietly muttered, “Aw shit....” to myself. Because I realized I'd dressed in all black that day. And then I realized I was going to go. For the whole drive out there, about 25 minutes or so, I recall shaking and frantically praying that I'd get there in one piece and at least not break down myself in front of him and his family. They had their own grief to deal with; they didn't need me becoming a spectacle. I just figured I'd show up, offer my condolences real quick, and get the Hell out of Dodge.

I got there in one piece and a bit before the memorial service was sent to start. I walked up to the front row where Grant and his daughters were sitting. He was a big guy, and usually carried a sense of energy and vibrance. This time, though, he was hunched over, like he barely had the energy to be sitting up. There was sadness in his face, but something worse. He wasn't all there. I've heard that look described as a thousand-yard stare, like he was looking at something a LONG ways off. I walked up to him and it took him longer than usual to even notice me (which doesn't happen often to a guy who's pretty close on six and a half feet tall). Suddenly his expression lightened and he came back to himself. His surprise turned into a mix of joy and gratitude as he quietly said “Oh, my God...” before he stood up. He'd known what had happened with my wife. He said he'd never expected me to be there. I told him I was sorry for his loss, that I had some idea of what he was dealing with, and that if there was anything I could do that I'd be willing. He wasn't always a real demonstrative guy, but he gave me a hug. After brief introductions to his daughters and similar condolences, I got the Hell out of Dodge. I'm still proud I made it out to my car that day before I broke down crying.

Well, about six months later, I was going to another memorial service. Grant had died of a brain tumor. He'd collapsed at work about two months after his wife's memorial, and didn't last much longer than that. By then, I felt like I had it a bit more together, and so I knew well beforehand I was going to his memorial. I figured it'd be the same, that I'd show up briefly before it started, offer my condolences, and then head out. I got there a bit early and waited in line with other folks to express condolences to his daughters. When it was my turn, before I could say anything, the first daughter called me by name (remember, I'd only met her the once for a couple minutes at her mother's memorial six months before). Before I could say anything, she said that her father'd gone on and on about me, about how much it'd meant to him that I'd shown up at his wife's memorial. That it had meant so much to him....and by extension to his daughters. And that she was so grateful that I'd come for his memorial service, too.

I hadn't gone to either of them to try to make a big, earth-shattering difference in someone's life. I was focused on just trying to do the decent thing. His reaction, and the reaction of his daughter, both surprised the Hell out of me. It hadn't felt to me like I was doing much. I hadn't even stayed for the whole service. I just knew they were sad and hurting and wanted to let them know they weren't alone. Nothing special. At the time, the only thing I could see that would be in it for me would be knowing that I'd done the decent thing, for a co-worker I respected and later for his family.

Here's where the thing about life being messy coming in. Like I said, when I was talking with my friend, I was kind of a mess. Anxious. Confused. Struggling to keep my head clear and not just run away from the situation or ignore it or go off over it. Feeling like I'd screwed up my life and having a hard time holding off that inner boot that kept bruising my inner ass. My friend didn't tell me that story. She made the comment that reminded me of it. The payoff for me in having just tried to do a little, decent thing was giving me a memory and a story that I'd need to help pick me back up and carry myself through one of my own dark, painful moments.

We really don't know how the things we do will affect others' lives....or our own. But that's the thing about life being messy. Things are connected, often in ways we can't see or predict until they suddenly show up. Sometimes it's those little acts of kindness or compassion or decency that are the ones that mean the world. And sometimes come back around to save our own.