A Series of Unusual Events

 

In many previous posts I have noted my "un-churched" status. While I have never claimed to be atheistic, I am probably a-religious if there is such a classification. That said I AM open-minded and able to consider differing points of view.

(The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function. F. Scott Fitzgerald)

I have recently been reading the Bhagavad Gita, a sacred Hindu text heavily steeped in yoga and morality. What has been a surprise to me, fallen catholic that I am, is the similarities between this ancient text, the moral teachings of the bible I was taught, and what I think of as indigenous faiths/beliefs with which I am familiar. (ed. I have finished the Bhagavad Gita)

For some time now I have regarded god as within me. I an loathe to pray to an external power as though I have no self-control, no ability to change, no free will. The Bhagavad Gita has opened my eyes to a different perspective on beliefs. The focus is on the self, and becoming truly self-actualized. I am sure this is not news to friends who have studied Buddhism, but it was a new perspective for me.

One common denominator I find among all these versions of faith, including what I know of indigenous Native Americans, is a sense of a "lord above" making worship of gods in the sky somewhat universal. While considering these thoughts on faith, I have experienced a number of what a friend would call "god winks", explanations for seemingly random events. While reading about the Bhagavad, I also came across references to reality that have led me to read about quantum theory again, and the very nature of reality. Schrodinger's cat comes to mind as our observation of phenomena affects the phenomenon itself.

I suppose the focus of these random ramblings is to say that the link between my thoughts and the surprising coincidences seems to be based in Physics. If energy cannot be destroyed, only transferred, and if we are capable of being reincarnated based on our karma/dharma, does it not make sense that the energy that leaves our bodies at the time of death returns to the cosmos and can come back or remain as pure energy in the universe from which all things have come? My reading of the Bhagavad, admittedly an uninformed reading, suggests that everything that is always has been, everything that will be exists now. Hence my (again uninformed) reading of quantum reality. 

If I have ever actually emptied my pockets of mental lint, this is it. Sorry for the logical and philosophical leaps, but I am trying to organize my thoughts in some meaningful way.

If this has meant anything to you (or if you can help me make some sense of it) please comment below or on Facebook where this will appear...

Thanks for reading.

Grief, heartbreak, and their many manifestations

 Grief has many manifestations. We mourn loss in different ways and for different types of loss. I know that we usually associate our grief with death, but death too has many ways of presenting itself.

 

If you have read any of what I write, you'd know that I love Mary Oliver's works and have found meaning and comfort in many of them. Much earlier when blogging I wrote about how March has always been a difficult month for me. The greyness, the bare trees waiting for Spring, and the remembrance of the loss of both my parents. Both in March albeit 4 years apart. But grief has no fixed time frame, and I'll not go into a Elizabeth Kubler-Ross reflection.

Covid-19 has given us all cause for grief. Some loss of loved ones, some loss of connection with valued friends and colleagues, and some with loss of work or faced with economic uncertainty due to the pandemic. Not to diminish the very real pain of lost loved ones, we have all experienced some level of loss. A dear friend lost his mother quite a while ago, but was unable to gather with family and friends until this year. Terri knew of his love and devotion to his mother as a colleague of hers commented on what a loving support he was for someone who he knew would never come home, never again be the mother he cherished. He expressed his grief and love in a very moving and meaningful service that was appropriate to her "joie de vivre" and love for friends and family. He is still grieving but has taken some solace in the support of friends and family.

While being a supportive friend I came back in contact with another friend, or maybe more appropriately an acquaintance who was dealing with his own difficult situation.He had already lost a sister to cancer and was facing the same situation with another, close sibling. His father was now admitted to the hospital and the  prognosis was not good. He was not well, but aware enough to know that he would soon lose another child. After her death, he too passed away.

I do not intend to be morbid, but his health was not good, and I have to believe that his health was also affected by a broken heart.

I've written often of my father and his life and times. One thing I neglected to note in my last post was that the first time I saw my Dad cry was at the death of our Aunt Anne. The woman who had raised him and his five brothers. My father was not often an emotional man, but I saw, even at six years old, the impact and broken heartedness he experienced. It would be some time before I saw him in that light again.

My Dad seldom called. the calls were always initiated by my Mom who would put him on the phone, so when he called one evening years ago, I knew something was amiss. He asked me "are you alone? Can you talk right now?" It as so unlike him I knew something very bad had happened. He wanted to talk to me somewhere away from my children so I took the phone in another room. He was audibly shaken and could only say "something terrible, something terrible". He had called to tell me that one of my cousins had tragically taken his own life. Having lost my Uncle Bill in WWII I knew that the worst family tragedy we could experience was losing a child. As I noted in an earlier post about my mentor, I understood how difficult it is to receive that call. He was devastated. 

Dad was not much of a traveler. He used to joke that he didn't fly because they wouldn't give him "frequent flyer" miles. But, he and my two Aliquippa uncles made the trip to the funeral in support of my uncle.

Why all of this background? Not long after this my aunt fell into poor health. Some time after she passed a "cousin-in-law" a physician, told me that if anyone ever died of a broken heart, she had.

I have come to realize that grief is not isolated to loss of a loved one, although that seems to be the hardest to bear. There is no "coming back". But hopefully there is closure and we can move on.

Another friend has experienced one of the most devastating losses I can imagine. "Ghosted" by a lover. No closure, no answers, no explanation. This is both heartbreaking and cruel. How can we leave a loved one without notice, without any opportunity to understand. I am deeply hurt for my friend. I cannot grasp how someone you love can treat you so callously. I know my friend is still mourning. I hope my friend can heal, can trust and love again.

I too have experienced loss, but no where as deep or devastating as what I have described. I was hurt, disappointed, and affected on a deep level that threatened my self worth, my self esteem. As I have processed this loss I have come to the mantra I have described here before. I focus on Patience, Kindness, Forgiveness, and Gratitude. The hardest of all has been forgiveness. In mourning it is coming to grips with the loss and forgiving the other so we can forgive ourselves. Outside of loss due to death, forgiveness is often transactional. I can be grateful for all the good that has happened for me, and I realize that the root of gratitude is grace. I can be graceful in my sadness and forgive the transgressions I experienced. Hence, the Mary Oliver quote at the start. I was given a box of darkness, but I have found a way to appreciate it as a gift.

as always, thank you.

About Honor and Family

The dictionary yields several definitions for honor. It is both a noun and a verb, and it is used in many different settings; military, academic, athletic, and in discussions about virtues.

This may seem saccharine, but I would like to address this in a personal way and write about two of the most honorable people I have ever known, my Uncle and Godfather, John William Nairn, and my great aunt, Anne Byrne.

My Uncle John and my Dad were very close and for a long time I had assumed that their close bond was a result of circumstance, they were the two youngest of the six Nairn brothers raised in the "Bricks" of Aliquippa by my great-aunt, Anne Byrne. Aunt Anne came to Aliquippa from Maryland, where my branch of the Nairns originated, to care for her sister, my grandmother, Mary Elizabeth Byrne Nairn, when she gave birth to my father, Thomas, in 1932. Shortly after my father's birth, my grandmother passed away, leaving my grandfather with six boys to raise. Aunt Anne gave up her life in Maryland, about which I know very little, to stay and raise "her" boys. She is the only mother my father ever knew. Aunt Anne loved her nephews with a ferocity that was legendary in the Bricks back in the 30s. No one messed with the Nairn boys without incurring her wrath, also legendary. I find her to be an inspiration in her decision to "do the right thing" in caring for six often unruly boys that were not her own, but were unquestionably "hers". Honor was not in short supply when speaking of Aunt Anne. She lived with us briefly when I was quite young, both at King Street where I was a toddler, and later in Hopewell where my father bought his first, and only home. In the early 60s, my Uncle John built a new home in Center Township with a space for Aunt Anne to live. 

Honor was, again, not in short supply. John and my Dad made sure that Aunt Anne was always taken care of, and they did so unquestioningly. Her example has always served as a model of self-sacrifice for her loved ones, and her memory is honored to this day, even after the passing of all six Nairn brothers.

It took me a long time to appreciate and understand the bond between my Dad and my Uncle John. I was an adult before the reason became apparent, and it all had to do with honor. Of the six Nairn boys, only my Dad and Uncle John had not served in World War II. Alphonsus (Phonse, named for my grandfather) and William served in the Army, Phonse in the Aleutians, and Bill, who died off the coast of Italy in 1942,  Jacob (Jay) and  James served in the Marines in the Pacific, Jay on Guadalcanal, and Jim on Iwo Jima. Aunt Anne could never reconcile herself to Bill's death and always believed he would someday come home. Bill seems to have been my father's protector and role model. His loss was deeply felt by all, and to this day the name William has special significance for my family. John, born in 1930, and my Dad, born in 1932, were too young to have served, but worked to care for my Aunt and grandfather as they dealt with the grief only those who have lost a loved one in a war, and never came to closure can know. (Bill's body was never recovered). Post-war, Phonse stayed on the west coast settling down in California. Jay and Jim came home, Jay to WVU then Maryland and Jim to Aliquippa.  They both started families and set about creating the new lives that "greatest generation" needed so badly.

Somewhere, post-war, Uncle John joined the Army leaving my (still in high school) Dad with their father and Aunt Anne. In 1948, my grandfather died, leaving my Dad and Aunt Anne alone. 

Growing up I knew that my Dad was somewhat ambivalent about Phonse, but at that young age, I had no context for that undercurrent of tension. It seemed as though each time he visited from California I had a new "aunt", and Dad had little time for him. My memory of Phonse is him with a glass of Scotch and milk. He'd say, " the milk is for my ulcer, the scotch is for me". He'd visit a while and head back to California. My Dad never traveled to see him.

When Phonse passed away, my remaining uncles went west for the funeral, my Dad did not. He was unusually taciturn about his reason why, but I could sense there was some reason he would not share. As an adult, I came to understand why. It has to do with being honorable.

After the funeral, Phonse returned to California. My father was 16, and Aunt Anne was not a young woman, I'm not sure exactly how old she was. My Uncle John, then in the Army, applied for, and received, a hardship discharge so he could return to take care of Aunt Anne, and my Dad. He went to work in the steel mill, as my Uncle Jim did and later my Dad would follow, but he sacrificed his own needs, his own direction to care for others. Once my Dad could work in the mill, John returned to the service, this time the Marines, and served in Korea where he was wounded. After my grandfathers death my Dad had no expectation that Jay or Jim would leave their families and come back, we Nairns don't do that, but Phonse had no obligations in California and still went back, leaving Dad and Aunt Anne to fend for themselves. 

My uncle John did the most honorable thing I can imagine, putting his own life on hold to care for his family. I then understood the closeness between my Dad and Uncle John. Honor. Integrity. Respect. Responsibility.

When my Uncle John passed away a few years ago, the last of his generation of Nairns, my cousins and I gathered at his home, the place where he had provided for Aunt Anne in her last years, and as befits our Irish Catholic (despite the Scots name) tradition, we raised a glass of Jameson to his memory. Asked to make a toast, I offered that "we now walk in the footsteps of giants, big men who lived big lives, and made big sacrifices, may we honor their memory by always doing the right thing".

Thank you for reading.