Sentinel

It’s quarter to five and I’m sitting here at work unable to accomplish much of anything really.  A letter that I want to write hides inside the overgrown jungle of partial thoughts. The old Kansas song Dust In the Wind echoes faintly in my mind while newer tunes from London Grammar, Paolo Nutini and Tom Odell vie for attention.  There is a faint hum of an air handling system that resides in the closet of my office, but otherwise the only the truly audible sound is the click clack of my typing.

There are other distractions and work available yet there is little interest in them right now.  The struggle to grasp the purpose, meaning and fruitfulness of life gnaws at me. It’s simultaneously time to celebrate a birthday, a death, a coming wedding and pending death.  I’m excited to call my mom tonight and wish her a big happy birthday and pray she has a great day.  Meanwhile my friend Bill, a Vietnam Vet, passed last night after his last battle.  A battle fought long and hard against COPD.  COPD is another one of those insidious diseases that little by little wear at you, eventually your lungs unable to supply enough oxygen to your body. 

A dear friend is getting ready to be wed this weekend and I am thrilled to see her happy, and excited for the future.  Deb and I have the honor of being involved in the wedding and it will be lovely.  Yet my excitement, right now at least, is tempered.  For only a couple hours ago my cousin Alan’s battle with cancer is nearer its conclusion.  His pain was no longer manageable and he has been placed on a conscious sedation.  He can hear, but basically he’s asleep and won’t be able to respond.  It’s a sad reality that he is not long for this world.  The consolation is that his pain is gone.

I wish I knew how to reconcile all of these emotions.  I had hoped to find words of meaning and value to share with my cousin’s family and likewise with my friend’s family.  There just doesn’t seem to be a vocabulary that is sufficient for the task.  There is no way to communicate the empathy that I long to share.  The best image that I can conjure is that of a silent sentinel.  One that stands guard, stands with them in the quiet darkness, and continues to stand there until the light of fond remembrances emerge.  For they surely will.

Both Alan and Bill, though they knew each other not, shared a passion for life and for motorized art as well.  Alan’s first car was a wreck of a machine that most would have sent to the wrecking yard.  He pounded out dents, of which there were many on every panel of that machine, applied bondo and shaped, sanded and painted until it was a pretty decent machine, far, far better than anyone would have expected from such a sorry initial state.  That passion continued and grew over the years. I’m not sure of all the motorcycles and cars in the garage over the years.  But it should come as no surprise  that even his golf cart was tricked out with a raised suspension and custom paint.  Bill too liked his hot rods and motorcycles.  From Goldwings to Camaros and Dodge Charges, he loved his machines.  And again for both, the even stronger passion was for their families.  It was just plain evident, it was a palpable, noticeable love that you couldn’t help but see.

My sadness followed by wonderful memories feels like being in an ocean swell falling down the face for a time yet picked up the next incoming wave. There doesn’t seem much to do other than accept the ride for what it is – a part of life. The ocean seems a fitting metaphor in many ways.  How often do we visit the beach to find “our happy place” by taking in the calm lapping waves, or maybe a bit rougher time of a roaring break good for surfing?  Yet seeing a truly angry confused sea will cause trepidation, awe and maybe even fright.  There are a variety of moods offered up by that body of water, just as there are by the reality and remembrances that our minds wrestle to understand.

I’m sure my melancholy will ebb, and my excitement will grow for the other events that occur today or this weekend.  For now, though, I’m going to surf the plunging break of sadness and rise to the next fond memory before starting it over again.  This is not an intentional planned adventure but rather a random wandering brought on by the shifting sands of mood, and musical choices.  I still haven’t found the words to share, but perhaps the feelings and sentiment tied up in this note will point the way and illuminate the path.