Is This That Little Boy at Play?

A big chunk of time has past since I wrote in this blog, at least with any degree of consistency. I had intended that it be some sort of journal; a chronology of my life, with all the profoundly moving stories of my wacky world. While it started out that way, it quickly became more of a collage, little snapshots of the journey thrown onto this cyber-canvass with the hope that someday the reader of my "journal" is able to put all those pieces together and arrive at a mental image of me.

Today's "snapshot" is that old familiar stirring in my gut, the one that comes up when overwhelm begins to feel too, well...overwhelming. That's when I know it's time to do one of two things: either retreat inward and shut down for a while or sit my ass down and write.

So here goes...

My baby boy is graduating from high school in just a few days, and, I'm an absolute mess. I am very happy for him, for sure; as well as bursting with so much pride I can hardly contain it. I am also, however, feeling sad. In fact, I can't talk much about it without tearing up. Alone, and alone with my thoughts, and I'm a sobbing, snotty-faced nut-case.

Why is his upcoming graduation effecting me this way? With Cody and Hillary, each of whom went about this phase of their education in unique ways that best suited their individual styles, I certainly experienced a range of emotions that went from pride to worry about this or that and then back to pride again. With Alec, it's different. There is something about his graduating that has me asking myself what the hell is going on.

Maybe it's just empty nest syndrome. Could it be that thoughts of seeing Alec pack up and move away from us leaves an empty space in my paternal paradigm? I think I remember hearing my parents talk about something like that when I left the proverbial nest.(Actually, given my adolescent collisions with the law and worsening alcoholic behaviors, it's likely they wished I had left much sooner than I did.)

Or, is it just worry. God knows my mother taught me  how to worry! I mean, seriously, he's not mature enough to go away to college and make the decisions and bear the responsibilities that go with such a move. Is he? Isn't he still that little boy at play? Isn't he still that beautifully shy boy who required a little push when it came to talking with people he didn't know or being the new kid at a new school or trying something with the slightest hint of celery? Isn't he still that boy who I thought would stay close to his parents for a very long time, until he was really ready to step out on his own, I mean, 5 or 10 years from now kind of ready? Where did that kid go? In what feels like and instant,  Alec the boy is gone, and, reality is: I do worry about him, but not much more than I do the other two. Alec is maturing very nicely into a responsible young man, very capable of managing the challenges that lie ahead for him, and/or, gathering the resources he needs to figure it all out. Moreover, he's gifted with copious amounts of  talent, emotional-intelligence and wisdom for his age. (Those are just the facts...not the boasting of a proud dad.)

My heart tells me it's not that; that it's not about my son at all; not even a little bit.. Alec, I think, represents something to me. I think he stands out in the caverns of  my psyche as the last chance to get it right. Drug addiction is an isolating illness. It's ability to progress through its' usual course generally comes at the expense--at least to some degree--of relationships between the addict and those around him. So how is the relationship between Alec and me? How has my addiction effected his ability to feel close to me as his father? How have my attempts at recovery improved on my abilities to draw him closer in as my son, rather than keep keep him at arms length because of shame and guild? Apparently, despite any kicking and screaming on my part, now is when these questions are begging to be asked.

I used to think that, because I'm an addict, I am automatically a bad parent; At best, little more than an ineffective presence, always sort of looking into their lives, wanting in--desperately wanting in--but feeling separated by the consequences of my choices. Now I'm realizing the "cross of shame" that fostered separation was something I, after having been indoctrinated into the false belief that addiction is a moral issue, chose to drag along with me. The truth is: addiction is a medical issue, a disease, and is completely separate from my morality, or that of any other person or religion or society. The acceptance of that fact has allowed for a degree of  self-forgiveness that is long overdue. So...why the sadness?

Here's why: my relationship with Alec, while certainly not worlds away from where I'd like it, as in years past, is not where I want it. Frankly, I have not been honest enough with him about my drug use, in recent months, to allow an authentic deepening of our relationship to happen. (Alec is no dumb-bunny! He knows I've been using more than that for which I've been accountable.)  I have put far too much effort into maintaining the appearance of the "appropriate" parent, to allow the real me to be consistently present.  Now, to some degree, I feel stuck in that superficial limbo sort of energy that sits like the awkward silence between strangers just getting acquainted. And that's not what I want! Damn it! I want authenticity. I want a stronger closeness between my son and me. I want Alec to trust me and look to me for at least some answers to the questions life will be presenting at this important juncture. I want to be more than just the cumulative  example of decisions I hope he does not make; more than just the do as I say, not as I do kind of parent!

Deep breath...

So, what the fuck am I going to do about it? That's not a question I can answer right now. More about that later I'm sure. I do want to thank my son for holding up for me the mirror I really needed to see. Thank you Alec, for showing up me in complete perfection and for showing me how I can better show up for you.  I am so proud of you, son. I love you with all my heart and I am honored and grateful for the opportunity to be your dad.

Congratulations my dear boy!


(There better be lots of facial tissues available at this graduation...that's all I can say! Perhaps I'll just shove a roll of toilet paper down my pants before going in.)

Good Bye Melanie- -A Tribute To My Beautiful Sister

(Read at Melanie's funeral, January 5, 2013) 

When I stood at this podium, just a few months ago, honoring my niece Jennifer, I had no idea I would soon be here doing the same for her mother. Since hearing that my sister had died I've done some praying. I've expressed to God my anger and my sadness, my confusion and my desire to understand. "She is too young to die!" I said, "this is not what a fair and just and loving God should do" Looking back, the arrogance is comical, but the response was an attentive silence, like He wanted only to listen.  

That said, I could not stop asking WHY. Why, God did she have to go now? Why not let her wait until she’s 95 like her great-grandma Talbot, so she could use old age as an excuse for wearing her right shoe on her left foot and her left shoe on her right foot and saying she couldn’t figure out why her feet hurt. Why not let her wait until she’s 78 like her grandma Ransom, so she could use her tired aging bones to explain why she absolutely MUST watch the Price is Right—and that annoying soap opera that followed it-- every single day. Or, God, why not let her wait until she’s 71 like her dad was, so she could say that she’s just too old to drive amongst all the crazy drivers on the road, “and why won’t they just home."

Then, it occurred to me that if Melanie had lived as long as those people she would probably have become so amazingly refined-- kind of the way coal turns to diamonds when the weight of the earth bears down on it-- that I would not have recognized her. There’s not a person I know now or perhaps in my lifetime who has suffered as much heart-ripping grief as Melanie. Even if she did not fit the mold that some of us, unfortunately, use to define courage and fortitude, Melanie held her head high and walked bravely through what is likely the most painful thing some of us humans have to endure: the death of a child. And, she did it three times!

Then, there is the weight of the burden of her disease: the disease of addiction. And, if by chance there are any of you who still struggle to see addiction for what it is: a disease, a medical issue--not a moral issue--I invite you to get the appropriate education regarding the true nature of this devastatingly fatal disease. (The information is abundant and easy to obtain online.) Like others, there was a time when I allowed Melanie’s addiction to justify and fuel my self-righteous judgments against her. There was a time when I proudly wore the “I AM NOT AN ADDICT” chip on my shoulder. And that badge somehow made me strangely better than my sister. Now, however, it's been replaced with one of those nerdy name tags that reads: “ Hi. I’M SHAWN, I’M AN ADDICT." You see, Melanie’s addiction has been perhaps the greatest teacher I’ve ever had. It has straightforwardly shown me the truth of the advice I once received from a beautiful old Shaman woman. “If you remember any of what I’ve taught you, remember this,” she said, "we will forever attract to us that which we fear, and we will forever become that which we judge.”

So as you can see, with all that stress and all those challenges, a deep and brilliant refinement would have surely have eventually taken place and, that transformation, I believe, was not part of Melanie’s divine purpose.

Now, far be it for me—a liberal, gay, Buddhist, vegan, drug addict—to determine what another person’s divine purpose is. So, I’d like to turn to scripture that most of you value as truth. I believe Matthew, chapter 25 offers a hint at Melanie’s divine purpose and an answer—if only an answer to comfort my broken heart-- to why this has happened now:

Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was an hungered , and ye gave me meat. I was thirsty and ye gave me drink, I was a stranger and ye took me in. Naked, and ye clothed me. I was sick, and ye visited me. I was in prison, and ye came unto me.

Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungered, and fed thee? Or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee.

And the King shall answer and say unto them, verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

In recent months, if I can just be really honest, it has been difficult to listen to and even see Melanie at times. Her disease had brought about changes in her body that made it apparent something was dreadfully wrong and changes in her cognition that made simple conversation awkward. Her speech was often pressured and her mannerisms came from a place of anxiety, self-preservation and defense.

More than that, in recent years, Melanie’s tremendous grief showed through every goofy thing she did, her smile and her laugh. When she wasn’t visibly mourning the loss of her beautiful daughters, she was expending the energy required to keep her emotions at bay. Melanie’s emotional body had been so wounded that to watch her go through it was difficult, to look at her squarely in the face was often painful, and to simply BE present with Melanie, sometimes felt like it was too much.

Hindus have what I think is a beautiful practice of bathing and adorning statues of their Gods, while joyfully imagining they are actually bathing and adorning those beings whom they love and honor. According to these scriptures from the Bible, Christians are given the same opportunity, except with fellow brothers or sisters, their friends and neighbors and even strangers and those they call enemies. Isn’t it comforting to know—according to his own words-- that when we did watch Melanie and when we really saw her and the challenges she faced, and when we were willing to do our best to just BE present with her-- faulty though it was because we’re only human—we were actually doing those things for Christ? Melanie provided us with opportunities to step outside of our boxes, to listen when the listening wasn’t easy and, and to love when it felt like indifference was the only path. Indeed, if you are a follower of Christ, you should offer up your prayers of gratitude for the assistance Melanie provided in the development of your relationship with your God.

Melanie—my dear sister, my friend, my teacher, my confidant-- thank you for sharing your life with me. Thank you for helping me to love and accept myself when to do so felt unbearably hard. Thank you for making me feel special and loved, for feeding me and taking me in and for visiting me while I was imprisoned. And, last but in way least, thank you, Melanie, for being for me the voice and face and light of Christ.

Amen.