Random Observations from Dallas -: How little we know of the sufferings of others. In sympathy to my uncle Martin on the loss of his wife Linda.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

How little we know of the sufferings of others. In sympathy to my uncle Martin on the loss of his wife Linda.

I learned today of the passing of my Aunt Linda, second wife of my uncle Martin; my mother's only brother.

I never met Linda, my sporadic ramblings never having intersected with his, but I'm told by my mother and other family members of just how much joy and peace my aunt brought to my uncle.

His has not been an easy life. His first wife died of cancer and too soon again, his second wife succumbed to the same.

When I read the email from my mother I was sitting here alone, at home, wondering about what horrific blunder had been made by the government or the republican candidates today, that I might find interest in commenting upon in my blog.

But the news of my aunt's passing, set all that aside temporarily as I stopped to consider how little we know of other people's sufferings.

It occurred to me that while distant appeals for financial help over the television reach us everyday, for people we don't know, and to which we most likely do not respond, there also come to us infrequently, the sufferings of those closest to us but which happen far apart and seem far away from today's petty worries and inconveniences.

But why is it that the much greater sufferings of those we know, or should know, better are often less discomfiting than they should be because time, distance, difference in upbringing, and a whole host of other, minor things which we magnify into an importance which they do not deserve, makes us almost immune to the pain felt by those who should be closest to us.

As I sat down to write a note of sympathy on my all occasion personalized stationary I thought to myself how meager was my ability to offer any real consolation to my uncle.

Why is this so? I have had so many friends pass-away from HIV, the loss of which I suffered on my own, that perhaps I have grown immune to the suffering of others.

I think of my first partner, Jerry Guiterrez, who died only 8 months after we met and I remember completely his unique ability to make me laugh, something I have never completely regained.

I think of my second partner, Burl, a small town boy with small-town dreams I could never meet and wonder did he know when he died that it was me and not his circumstances that kept us apart.

I think of my best friend from childhood, George, who left without a word to me, to die alone because he did not want to be a burden or be remembered as anything less than when he was in his prime.

And, I realize I suffered these losses on my own because I had built a wall between me and those who might understand because of what I thought was my unique situation and the less said to me the less I had to expose of myself and how much it cost me each time someone so close to me died. A needless and unwarranted separation from those, like my family, who would have understood if only I had shared how angry I was with such an unjust world and the pain it had to inflict.

Today, my actions would be different. My family understand me better than I think and they would have been there to help and understand when I needed them. But it has taken three decades of such losses for me to learn that.

So, I think of my uncle Marty. So distant in Montana, suffering a loss only he fully understands and I pray he understands that family and friends will pass over and through such walls of separation if we let them. They won't ever fully understand the loss he feels, because they weren't there when so many of the memories were made and simply being with his wife was enough to erase the petty, small unhappinesses of the day, in order to enjoy the simpleness of being in the presence of someone we love.

Uncle Marty, nothing comes from the death of a loved one but loss. Nothing can fill it and nothing can erase even one moment of the grief.

But the love and sympathy of your family, your friends, and even those minor individuals who fill you life and time can give you memories to fill the days going forward with small bits of joy, that when added together, will give you something other than your loss to fill your days. If you let them. Tell them what you feel.

They already know but they need your permission to enter the private world of sorry, we imagine is ours and ours alone to travel. It is not so. All of your family and friends are with you now, though your loss may make them seem all so very very far away.

God bless you. Remember that God makes the rain to fall upon the just and unjust alike. Upon whom would we wish our sorrows and losses if given the chance to set them on someone else?

Remember the days of pure bright sunlight that we never asked for. Remember the quite, wordless spaces, filled by our thoughts of our loved ones which we never shared.
Remember to put a gate into the wall of your separateness, through which your family and friends may pass and through which you, in time, will pass as well to where family, friends, happiness and God still dwell.

With my utmost respect, your nephew,

Norris Stough

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