A Matter of Perspective
There is an expression about writing – that sometimes the most important things for a person to write are the worst things to publish. That may well be true; this whole article may be a horrible mistake. There is, however, another belief that people read to know they aren’t alone. I’m not sure I hold to that belief, but I do know that words have meanings, often larger than the person who wrote them will ever understand. When I started this column I thought that it would be little more than a forum for funny stories generally at my expense. Somewhere along the line to me “Flyosophy” stopped being a tongue-in-cheek joke and started to mean something more. Reading this article you will gain no insights into fly fishing, and it may prove to be a mistake putting it up, but today at least, I feel it is important that I do so.
All fishermen, fly fishermen especially, understand the life cycles of insects and of fish. We use common terms: the spawn, a spinner fall, a hatch – all mundane words to describe miracles.
Occasionally…generally only when the fishing is either very good or very bad, we take a moment to recognize what is truly happening all around us for what it is – a miracle. Whether you believe the universe is a collection of random sub-atomic collisions or holds the very fingerprints of God – life – all life - is miraculous. If you never realized this then you simply haven’t been paying attention.
Of course, this is only one perspective, there are others. For example, some people look at the birth of a child as the single greatest miraculous achievement of which a human is capable. Others look at the same event as a horrible failure of contraception and promptly dump the mistake in the nearest trash receptacle. Some people think a baby born nearly 3 months early should be given a name, loved, and provided with the very best medical care available…that this child is a person and every effort should be made for him or her to live and achieve their potential. Others feel that the same babies still unborn ought to have their tiny skulls opened with a pair of surgical scissors. In a society like ours, devoid of any consistent sense of responsibility or uniform moral decency who can say which perspective is right? Everyone is entitled to their opinion, God bless America.
I stood at the gravesite of my niece and weeks later my nephew. There were some flowers, their were some candles, a number of friends and relations trying to say what no one knows to say, a poster with a picture of the baby, and a tiny white coffin – smaller than the box my last pair of sandals came in. I was afraid to look at it, and wanted to punch the person who had made it. That is how a mind protects itself. Thinking about what was inside was too much, so I thought about hurting the person who made their livelihood from building such things, a stupid lie to block an honest truth.
I’m no stranger to loss, but this was different. Normally when a member of your life is lost you can remember the times you were with them, stories you heard of them, or if it is a relative of a friend that you did not know personally you can lend an ear to the memories that they share of them. With a baby there are no memories. You don’t feel the loss of the person, you don’t know the person, but you feel the loss more profoundly. Remembering a friend, you feel sadness, you may feel regret, but you also feel a sense of love – which is still very much there. With these babies, I found myself mourning ideas. I imagined where I’d take the twins fishing, or toss them around at the beach. I even thought about the photos I’d be able to take of them holding sunfish with ear to ear smiles, and of course teaching the obligatory “Pull-my-finger” prank. I would go to their house, rough house with them before bedtime and then leave and let their parents deal with the fallout. I was remembering and mourning things that had never even happened. Heck, I’m not even an uncle given that they were my cousin’s kids. Nothing I was feeling was real. Yet, looking at a baby coffin, what image could hold a starker realism than that?
Then there was the helplessness. There is nothing like the struggles of a one-pound child to make even the largest, strongest man feel absolutely helpless. I’m not sure there is anything worse than not being able to help the person you most want to help. I felt it, and looking at my brother’s knuckles I know he did as well. Still, I believe it was only the merest fraction of what their father felt. A man who would have done anything, but there simply wasn’t a damn thing he could have done.
It was then that I had the single most inappropriate thought of my life. Standing at the grave of a child, I thought about the Maury Povich Show. Specifically, the countless men who danced and cheered when they learned they weren’t fathers or the dozens who lamented when they were. Again I felt the desire to hurt someone, perhaps more appropriately now. Justice doesn’t exist. Here is a guy who wanted nothing more than to have his family: to work and struggle for them, to literally sacrifice his life for them, not in a single dramatic moment, but every single minute of every single day. I admire that, more than anything. But no, that’s not part of the plan.
Maybe it is a stupid plan.
Of all the platitudes and clichés you hear yourself say, the ones about what was “meant to be” irk me the most. So these children weren’t meant to be, but frigging Osama Bin Laden was…or I was for that matter. Or you were. Think about that for a minute…if these kids weren’t meant to be…than you were.
That’s a pretty big “if” though. A two-letter word that can define a person’s entire out look on the universe.
Personally, I want to believe it. I would love to say definitively that I know the world and the children of the world rest in wiser more able hands than mine. When things happen, it is for a reason. Good can grow from and ultimately defeat evil, and the sufferings we all must endure today are for happier tomorrows. Yet, if I said that now it would be only words, perhaps wishes, but not something that I know or believe without doubt. Faith is a gift. To some it is freely offered, to others hard won. I just know that at present it is something I lack, and too precious and important to claim otherwise. I’m not sure how a person who lacks faith earns it, but I’m pretty sure lying about it isn’t the way to go. Probably the natural downside to living inside your head and thinking over-much, thoughts drown out what the heart may already know, or want to.
Again, it is a matter of perspective. A perspective can change your entire life. My cousin and her husband believe strongly in the metaphor of the butterfly. That death is not an end to life, but a transition from one form to another. Allyson and Owen are now more beautiful than ever, happy and at peace. Hopefully, they are looking out for the people who would have loved the chance to look out for them. They have no pain, only we do and we are big enough to handle it. I hope that is true. If they do look down on us, then maybe a goofy uncle who goes fishing too much does have some purpose.
2009 has been a bad year for me, a lot of personal turmoil not the least of which caused by the simple fact that my little family keeps getting littler. As my long-suffering mother likes to phrase it, “All my grandkids are dogs.” I took my “Sabbatical” to deal with many of these issues, and for the mundane reason that for the better part of the last couple months I was homeless – well between houses – brushing my teeth in a public bathhouse and sleeping on the beach, it happens. It was actually kind of fun. Well the biting gnats and greenhead flies made things more interesting, but at least I can officially claim the title of “Beach Bum.”
One perspective could be that this is the start of a downward trend. Opportunities that had been open are now closed; friends and family I had known and loved are gone. I miss my old life, I miss my dog, I miss the happier guy I used to be. Yet, nothing needs to change for a perspective to. This could just as easily be seen as the start of a new era. A lot has been learned in this year, and things which were blurry are now sharply in focus. Things taken for granted are now given there proper due. Not to share too much, but as a young kid I got married because I wanted to have a family, to attempt to regain the happy life I had known as a kid with my parents and siblings. Now older, balder, sun burnt, and something of a loner, ironically, I know I am closer to that end than I was.
I know this wasn’t a typical “Flyosophy,” but I needed to write something to Allyson and Owen as a means of thanking them. I still do not believe that things happen for some meaning. I have come to believe that meanings come from events. I do not think that life hides some secret meaning; I do not think “The Meaning of Life” is a question that we should ask. Rather it is the question asked of us, and we are called to answer. When the dark times come, it is no use to ask “Why did this happen?” I think a wise person will ask, “How will I respond to this?” A simple question does not change the world, but one that gives a measure of control, a measure of responsibility, a measure of meaning, a perspective you can use.
So what is my response?
I allow myself to feel sad for what was lost. I stand by my family to support them and to be supported. I choose to see miracles for what they are, and to live with the joy that we are surrounded by them.
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