Where Would You Be?

We do not go into the desert to escape people but to learn how to find them; we do not leave them in order to have nothing more to do with them, but to find out the way to do them the most good. But this is only a secondary end. The one end that includes all others is the love of God.

----Thomas Merton New Seeds of Contemplation, Learn to Be Alone

Soup Stone and Aaron's House

Aaron loved stories. Every night was a "two story" night. The typical request was one "good boy" story and one "bad boy" story. Attempts to turn two into more were often, especially if both weren't good enough.

This is a picture of Aaron doing the story telling. We used it for a Christmas card one year, probably 1995. Those are "babies" in Patrick's lap--two babies.

A story Aaron enjoyed was the story of The Soup Stone. If you haven't heard a version, here's a link to one that closely resembles the way I told it to the boys: http://brothercadfry.tsmj.org/soupstones/soupstone.html

As I watch Aaron's House grow, I can't help but recall The Soup Stone story. Aaron's House is the result of a story of a good boy, challenges, and hope.

Good Soup.

Tom

In the Presence of Angels

Summer 2005 is forever away and distant. Maybe it was July or early August when I broke. I remember it was a sunny, warm Sunday. Where I was coming from I don't recall but I know the time was near 5:30 PM and I was traveling east on the beltline. East toward home.

Driving to home was an emotionally breaking down time. I usually drove through the sobs. Not wise, but I did. This particular day my emotions overwhelmed my judgment. Anger could no longer be supressed. Violence isn't the answer, I had been told and on this day I responded "It depends on the question." Revenge was my intention.

First I talked to my brother-in-law Dave. He had experience with losing a son. Dave walked this road of anguish before me. His advice was wise. I wasn't. Next I received a call from my AA sponsor. He suggested I take a moment to stop at an AA meeting on my way to collecting atonement. I agreed.

The meeting place is on Northport Drive in Madison. December 23rd, 2004 was the first time I visited this address. It was Aaron's words that sent me on my way that December day. It was Aaron's death that I was mourning that led me back there seven months later. I walked in to a room with more than a half dozen long tables and chairs enough for 80 people. There sat one person. One--and he didn't appear interested.

I sat down a safe distance from the One. He had long reddish hair. At my table I picked up a book and began reading. The One at the table continued doing what he was doing and that was ringing metal circles together to form a sort of metal blanket. The piece he was making looked to be 2 feet by 3 feet. One ring at a time he looped together to make this art object.

After a few minutes, the One asked "What're ya reading?" His accent was Bostonian. He didn't stop or look up from his circles. I was reading from a book called Daily Reflections. The page I read I don't recall. The One asked me what was troubling me. I shared my story of losing my son and my anger and my desire for revenge. This is what the One with the red hair told me in response:

I'm forty years old and never married. I don't have children. I have two dogs and if one of them were to die I would be lost, so I can't imagine your pain. One day I was asked to be a speaker at a meeting. I was to tell my story of being an alcoholic. The day came, I spoke and did a terrible job. My thoughts were jumbled and nothing I said made sense. Afterwards I was so frustrated with myself that I sat and sulked, feeling sorry for myself. Sitting next to me were two men I didn't know. They were talking about resentment. One said to the other, "Resentment is taking poison and expecting the other person to die." What the hell did that mean? I wondered. Whatever they were talking about, I didn't get it...until now. After hearing you talk, Tom, I understand what they were saying. In addition, I now know that the reason I was the guest speaker that night wasn't for me to speak, but instead for me to hear. I was there that night to hear this message to carry to you today "Resentment is taking poison and expecting the other person to die."

When the One with the red hair began telling his story, my sponsor and another fellow arrived. The four of us finished the meeting together. My sponsor has been in the program for nearly 30 years and frequents meetings all over Madison. He later told me he had never met the One with the red hair before or since. The only day he has ever seen this person with the red hair, Bostonian accent, and silver metal cirlces was that Sunday evening in the basement of the building.

Jenna and Patrick have each had dreams where Aaron describes heaven as "Circles". You never know when you are in the presence of angels.

Hearing this story Aaron would have asked, "Is that a true story Dad? Did that really happen?" True story, son.

Remembering Aaron,
Tom

Seeds

More words I wish I wrote:

We live in the time of no room, which is the time of the end. The time when everyone is obsessed with lack of time, lack of space, with saving time, conquering space, projecting into time and space the anguish produced within them by the technological furies of size, volume, quantity, speed, number, price, power and acceleration.

The primordial blessing, "increase and multiply," has suddenly become a hemorrhage of terror. We are numbered in billions, and massed together, marshalled, numbered, marched here and there, taxed, drilled, armed, worked to point of insensibility, dazed by information, drugged by entertainment, surfeited with everything, nauseated with the human race and with ourselves, nauseated with life.

As the end approaches, there is no room for nature. The cities crowed it off the face of the earth.

Thomas Merton, Raids on the Unspeakable, 1966

The anguish we find...belongs to the disorder of our desires which looks for a greater reality in the object of our desire than is acutally there: a greater fulfillment than any created thing is capable of giving. Instead of worshipping God through His creation we are always trying to worship ourselves by means of creatures.

Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation, 1972

In the anguish of mourning the furies of the day are transparent. We see the cold steel fist covered in a soft glove of illusion. Everything I desired was to give praise to my time on earth. How high could I raise myself? On top of how much of my own creations could I stand above God's creatures? For all who live, God grants a window into reality where we can see our dependence on identity. Our altitude is meaningless to acquire the view. Merciful God leads those in mourning to the glass. When given the choice to gaze out for a while or back forever, I'm grateful to have leaned my forehead on the pane and seen truth.

The things I really need come only as gifts and I am open to receive them as gifts, and the ability to be open is God's gift.


Aaron and Patrick's Dad
12/18/06

The Road Less Traveled

Yesterday I spoke with a Mom who was reading this blog and crying. Her son was 17 for the last day she told me. Today he turned 18. Addiction and the chaos which defines it is inflicting terrible trauma on her son and family. This mom could not be sure that her son had another day and that fear breaks her heart.

I remember those days and am grateful for having had the opportunity to hear her pain. My recollection of what happened three years ago could fade into pale images until my view of our actions is distorted unless I hear and see the pain. Sometimes I forget and begin to wonder if I was wrong to send Aaron away for a year and then I am reminded of the hate, anger, recklessness, carelessness, ugliness, sickness, fear, and helplessness. Then I see reality and know the action was a relevant choice.

When the son or daughter is gripped by the claws of the drug culture, we don't see our son or daughter; we see what they have had to become to survive. This isn't their choice, it is their necessity. I could hear this Mother's broken heart sobbing. She stood on the door step to her birth-date for her oldest child. Eighteen years ago, she prepared to give birth to her son. Only images of beautiful times ahead could have filled her days. A joyous day that December 13th, followed by happy birthdays for year after year after year...until now.

Standing at the road with no future my friend was watching her son contemplate his destiny. The road is well traveled and unkind. A person can turn around, or get off the road, but they can not take this road to anywhere beyond the dead end.

At 18 a son or daughter can choose to leave home. At 18, a Mother and Father don't stop acheing for the safety of their children. Under the mask of being what they have to be to live in the drug culture, is the son and daughter with the happy soul. How can they be set free and live?


Today I heard from an AODA counselor who told me a heart warming story of a young man in recovery. This college age young man opened a savings account for "Rent to Aaron's House". His plan for recovery includes being one of the first residents at Aaron's House and that is a motivation for him. I call that, in Aaron's words "RESPONSIBILITY!"

I will pray that the son who turned 18 today discovers a fork in the road and chooses the road less traveled soon.

Peace
Tom

Time the Culprit

A year ago I was in a fog where I could not and did not want to see or feel reality of the present. Participating in the world at the speed of life was impossible and undesireable.

Time does not heal all wounds. Time is a parasite to healthy work done by survivors. It gets all the credit and does none of the agonizing work.

I'm feeling a loss of thoughts or at least the ability to articulate them. I blame time.

Tom

Mourn With Those Who Mourn

In early days of 2005 I met Susan and Chuck through work. Susan and I were in the same business. Chuck, Susan's husband, is a wealth of information and opinion; he's forgotten more people than I could ever know, and he's not on the fence on any topic. I enjoy his company.

In February of '05 Susan was in the office when Aaron came by for a visit. I should always remember the conversation. I was so proud of Aaron. He always handled himself well with adults. His confidence and humilty were apparent in their conversation.

Susan and Chuck were new friends the day Aaron died. I remember them coming to our house to sit and listen to me cry. I recall thinking how unfortunate for them to become have these "new friends" and be thrust in the middle of this anguish. They kept in touch and didn't vanish. One day Cathy and I were pulling together the expenses related to the funeral and we were some funds short of the bill. Chuck and Susan, sensing there might be a need, appeared with a check covering the difference and then some.

Chuck and Susan travel some in the summer as Chuck is an avid tournament golfer and a daughter plays for a college. It was not surprising to me that we had not had much contact since the spring. This morning I saw a mutual friend. She informed me that Susan's son had died in a plane crash in South America--sometime in September. I almost fell down at the news. Somewhere along the way, Susan was advised that it might not be good to talk to Cathy and I for fear of opening an old wound. What good is the pain of living the agony if you don't use what you learned? God's healing grace is a gift to be shared.

I talked to Susan this morning. We will all get together tomorrow.

Praying for another person's pain.

Tom

A Special Share from a Reader

"Grief ebbs but grief never ends. Death ends a life but death does not end a relationship. If we allow ourselves to be still and if we take responsibility for our grief, the grief becomes as polished and luminous and mysterious as death itself. When it does, we learn to love anew, not only the one who has died. We learn to love anew those who yet live."

--Julius Lester

This quote was sent to me by a reader of this Blog. Cathy, Patrick and I can attest to this truth.

Tom