All It Takes Is A Little Love

A good man is gone  His name was John and he has quietly died but not unnoticed. I did not know him well. I only sat with him a few times when he came to visit his sister who is my sister-in-law. He was born in Taiwan and even as a young boy he showed great promise, earning a spot at one the the most prestigious schools in that country. He studied hard and proved his mettle before going to college to earn a bachelor’s degree and then attending Syracuse University where he got a master’s degree in Chemical Engineering. 

John was certainly a very capable man but in his heart a love of God overtook any desires he may have had to become wealthy. He spent most of his lifetime dedicated to a spiritual life of compassion and sharing. He gave away much of any money that he earned and spent his energy being of service to his fellow human beings. He was a prayerful man who found joy in his personal journey with God. 

Eventually John went to live near his younger brother in San Francisco where he became a Catholic and a daily reader of the Bible. He spread the good news of the gospel through example, never by pushing people to be religious. There was an aura about him that spoke of his devotion to the messages of Jesus. 

Once John moved to San Francisco I only saw him one more time about ten years ago. He was quite humble and spiritual. His life was guided by the commandment to love. There was something special about just sitting with him and knowing if his many good deeds.

 While I was recuperating from my knee surgery I learned that John had died. His sister called me with the news and it was apparent that her heart was broken. He was younger than she is and his death came at a time when she was battling her own illnesses. I understood her devotion to her younger brother and the pain that she was feeling in losing him. We humans tend to believe that things should happen in an orderly way. We hope that we will leave this earth in the same sequence by which we came so that we do not have to bear the sorrow of losing a younger sibling or friend or child. Somehow such things feel wrong in the grand scheme of things and yet we see it happening again and again. 

I have little doubt that John is united with God. He was a truly good man who inspired everyone who knew him. I pray that any suffering that he might have endured on this earth is now gone as he finds new life in eternity. I hope that his brother and sisters will feel the sympathy that we have for them. May his memory be a blessing to all who knew him and may we learn from him how to walk peacefully through life from his example.  

When my granddaughter was still an infant her twin brother had already mastered the art of turning  over from his back and then crawling away. My granddaughter, on the other hand, would just flail her arms and legs back and forth unable to propel herself from her back to her tummy. It was sad to watch her frustration as she somehow knew that she should be able to do what her brother was already doing. 

A call and a trip to the pediatrician revealed that my granddaughter’s muscles were stiff, making it seemingly impossible to accomplish the most basic maneuvers. Luckily there was a program in Chicago that provided a pediatric physical therapist to help the little one build up the strength in her muscles that would ultimately free her from a state of feeling as though her limbs were frozen in concrete. 

The incredible therapist came to my daughter’s home four days a week to work with the little girl who seemed determined to overcome her handicap. I watched one of the sessions and it was quite apparent that the exercises were painful but had to be done to loosen the joints that were holding the child back. It hurt to watch her straining and wincing and pushing herself to do something that she surely did not totally understand given that she was not yet one year old. She had so much fight in her that it was inspiring to watch. 

My granddaughter Abby did overcome her handicap and was soon meeting milestone after milestone alongside her twin brother. She has exhibited the same level of determination over and over again in her lifetime whether it was learning how to swim or sticking with an exercise program that keeps her strong and healthy. 

When I elected to have a total knee replacement I found that nobody really explained the recuperation process associated with having such surgery as well as they probably should have done. It really is not until the deed is already done that the truth of pain levels and the need for exercise becomes real. Before that point there are simply phrases and platitudes that don’t take into account the wide range of possible outcomes that tend to vary from one person to the next. 

The pain is unrelenting even with narcotic drugs but mostly bearable in my case. I’ve had a full hysterectomy, had a bone grafted to my jaw, and endured an implant being placed in the back of my mouth and nothing compares to the pain levels of total knee replacement. Nonetheless, I tend to be a stoic so I mostly find ways to divert my attention from thinking about the pain by concentrating on doing something else. At the same time I tend to be a fighter like my granddaughter. Once I know what I need to accomplish I am unwilling to cease my efforts until I have met my goals. 

That being said, I also understand that tolerance to pain varies widely from one person to the next. I suspect that I am in the midrange where I can’t say that the pain is not so bad, but I also have to admit that I can only bear it with a bit of teeth gritting. It makes sense that taking out one’s knee cap and replacing the mechanism with an artificial joint that moves much like the original is not going to be a piece of cake. Fortunately, I seem to have found an outstanding surgeon to do the deed who is accompanied by an experienced group of medical experts who track my progress from day to day. As such even the smallest question or concern that I have is addressed quickly with my comfort in mind. 

I have to admit to being quite surprised by how quickly progress is made. I am now about two weeks from my surgery date and I will be walking around my home with only a cane. I have met my goal of bending the new knee at least ninety degrees and am very close to being able to hold my leg completely straight. I have devoted myself to a routine that controls the pain and keeps me from becoming stiff. It involves walking every hour on the hour and repeating exercises throughout the day. 

I’ve managed to do a load of laundry, make my bed, dress myself, and shower without help. It took a bit of time but I finally was able to put on my socks and shoes. I literally keep the memory of my granddaughter working so hard to free her limbs as my source of inspiration. If that baby girl was able to overcome the stiffness holding her back, then this old gal should be okay as well. 

My sense of compassion is in high gear right now as I think of people dealing with far worse injuries and situations. I know that my pain must seem mild compared to those with more horrific physical needs. I feel a strong sense of gratitude for the many people who are walking with me on this journey and I suppose that I have a sense that I will never again take for granted that I understand the pain or suffering of someone else. This experience has been both humbling and miraculous and I know full well that when my granddaughter graduates with high honors from college in May I will be walking without a limp and with a heart filled with pride for the woman she has become. I don’t think that I would have done nearly as well without her inspiration. 

I had a rather scary fall a few weeks ago. I got tangled in a pajama leg whose static cling unbalanced me and sent me careening across the bathroom floor. I landed with my head banging loudly on the marble of my bathtub. It was a scary moment as I lay on the ground wondering if I had broken anything. As good luck would have it I ended up being just fine other than having a great number of aches and pains on the areas of my body that took the blows. A CT scan confirmed that everything was miraculously intact and the only damage was to my psyche which felt terribly stupid in the moment. 

I joked about my mother’s oft spoken belief that I was a very hard headed child. I know that she was right in her appraisal of my personality but I prefer a more positive sounding description such as being someone with an independent mind. Where I got that trait would probably have shocked my mother because I have always believed that in many ways I am an amalgam of both of my parents. 

My father impressed me when I was an eight year old transferring from a school in Texas to one in California. The principal there insisted that I was younger than the average third grader and that my education in Texas was in all probability inferior to what was being offered in her school. She wanted to put me back into the second grade where I might have an easier time both academically and emotionally. 

I can still hear my father insisting that I did not need to conform to the so called norms of the new school. He boasted that I was a strong girl who would be able to make up any deficits that I might have with sheer will. He would not agree to holding me back but instead noted that I should be encouraged to push forward if I was willing to do the work needed to adapt. I loved him in that moment and became determined to always do whatever I needed to do to keep moving forward. As it happened I was not behind at all and my transition to the new school was as smooth as silk. 

Years later after my father died and I was entering high school my mother and I met with another principal who believed that my abilities had been overestimated by my former teachers who insisted that I be placed in advanced classes that were then known as honor classes. He reluctantly deferred to their advice but explained that he would rescue me and provide me with the proper placement once I had failed.

This time it was my mother who insisted that I would be fine. She boasted that I was a tough young woman who knew how to work hard when needed. She noted that she had taught me to be brave and to achieve beyond what people believed I might do. As I listened to her I knew exactly what my assignment was. I determined that there would never be a failure on my part no matter how hard I had to work. 

My life has been such that I have had to prove myself again and again. I don’t look like a gritty person , but I am. I know that my IQ and my testing abilities might not be as outstanding as others but I have found that in this life there is no substitute for effort and I have always been someone who gave my all to whatever I was doing. Sometimes that meant that I had to overcome challenges that pushed me beyond what even I thought I might be able to tackle. Every single time that hard headed streak in me overcame my hesitation. 

Both of my parents taught me to have a mind of my own. While they respected rules and laws they also admired people to stood up for truth and fairness. I suppose that the lessons that they quietly gave me with their own example stayed with me to this very day. Along the way to where I am now others inspired me with their courage to do the right thing when others were reticent. 

Shortly after we moved into the home where I would grow up after my father died a man murdered his wife one evening. When the shots rang out virtually everyone in the neighborhood rushed outside to see what had happened. While we were still unsure of the exact situation everyone knew that the man had been abusing his wife. During our wait for the police to arrive the man’s children were screaming and crying in a window facing the street. I was only eight but the scene horrified me and would be etched forever in my mind. 

Seemingly from out of nowhere came Mrs. Bush, a tiny but feisty woman who walked straight to the house and banged on the door demanding that the man send his children outside away from the horror of what they had witnessed. Everyone held their breaths in amazement of her courage as she kept up her demands even as the man shouted threats at her. Then the front door of the home inched open and the children came out sobbing and shaking. Without a word Mrs. Bush took them to the safety of her home. In that moment she became my hero.

Years later when I was a married adult a similar incident occurred. A man was beating his wife and his children were begging for help. One of my friends in the apartment complex bound up the stairs and threatened to break the window if she had to in order to save those youngsters. She too became a person whose bravery inspired me to learn how to speak my mind whenever situations demanded. 

I suppose that to some people I sound a bit crazed when I harp on issues and situations that I believe to be hurting others. It’s not that I am a bleeding heart or that my empathy is a weakness that pushes me to question rules. It is because my family taught me about the power of thinking for myself. Those beliefs were further reinforced by individuals who impressed me in dangerous moments when their help was crucial. Those people have been my guiding lights and the reasons why I am no longer willing to stand mutely watching wrongs. My hard head demands that I follow my heart.  

“Who was your favorite teacher?’ is an often asked question. In my case it would be several different people. First there was my father who read poems and stories to me from the time that I was very young. He took me to bookstores and libraries and transferred his own love of reading to my psyche. Next came my first grade teacher, Sister Camilla, who noticed my tiny bit of dyslexia and showed me how to overcome its challenges so that I might learn to read fluently. Finally came Father Shane who introduced me to a world of literature and artistic expression that my father had only just begun to show me before he died. 

I was already a full blown reader when I walked into Father Shane’s classroom but without much guidance I chose a rather limited number of authors and genres to devour. He challenged me to widen my horizons on a journey to becoming what he called “a citizen of the world.”

Father Shane had us follow scripts while listening to noted actors reading poems with so much feeling that I hung on every word with an understanding that would only deepen as I matured. He took us to performances of Greek plays and concerts featuring the music of great composers. He required us to read one book every single week of the school year and then write a critique of what we had learned from the wide ranging topics and styles. 

It was in Father Shane’s class that I first encountered the works of William Shakespeare. He began with the tragedies and comedies that were easiest for us to understand. He chose different students to read the parts aloud and then coached us on how to draw out the meanings of the words. I became quite adept at understanding what the great bard was attempting to convey in his poetry and plays. I could not get enough of his body of work. 

Eventually we moved on to the greatest hits of Shakespeare like Macbeth and King Lear. By the time we read Hamlet I had been totally enchanted by the works of William Shakespeare. I had also developed a love of my English classes that was almost primordial. Through the words of great authors both ancient and modern I came to understand how alike we humans have always been. I also saw that reading would become a lifetime experience for me that would never end as books became my most cherished possessions. 

When I traveled to London my quest was to visit the Globe Theater and experience a Shakespearean play the way the people did in the days of such productions. I sat on the hard thin seats in the area that would have once been reserved for the wealthy while watching the throng standing below me. I saw the interaction between the actors and the audience and felt as though I had somehow travelled back in time.

It took me awhile to finally watch the movie Hamnet that is garnering rave reviews and prizes. When I finally rented it, I settled in for an evening that I suspected would speak to my very soul and so it did. The story is historical fiction at its best, weaving the little known aspects of Shakespeare’s family life with how tragedy influenced his writing of Hamlet. 

We meet Agnes, who is better known as Anne Hathaway, early on and see that she is an enchanting character who would no doubt have attracted a man like Shakespeare who seemed to understand the human heart better than most people. The marriage and family life of Agnes and William is portrayed as being one filled with love but some tension due to Shakespeare’s need to express himself in his work. The story centers around the untimely death of the couple’s only son, Hamnet, and weaves a connection between the real life event and the writing of the tragedy of Hamlet. 

Every aspect of this movie is superb from its screenplay to the acting. The costuming and visual productions take the viewer back to a time when life was rather brutal for many folks. The reality depicted gives us a picture of the Elizabethan worldview of the era. There is a haunting feel to every scene and the ending is beyond all description. I do believe that William Shakespeare himself would be delighted that his work still rings true even in the complex world in which we now live. Somehow those human emotions that he was able to describe with his beautiful words have transcended the decades and centuries. Hamnet is a bridge back to another time when a genius lived an ordinary life while achieving extraordinary things. It is a must see movie for sure.  

The last words that Alex Pretti uttered were, “Are you okay?” His concern was directed to a woman who had been manhandled by ice. In typical behavior for a nurse who had cared for very sick people in an ICU Alex demonstrated his concern for the well being of another. I can imagine him asking the same question over and over as he helped some of the sickest people in the hospital to become well again. Now I am thinking that we need to ask this question not just to Americans but to people from all over the world. I wonder how everyone is feeling in this moment in time and I think that is it important that we listen to the answers. 

I know that I am not okay and neither are my children and grandchildren. We are all worried about the chaotic turn that our nation has taken in the last year. I do understand why so many good people believed that electing Donald Trump once again to the presidency would provide a sense of stability after a time when so much tragedy had upended the world. They appear to have wanted someone who seemed to understand what our nation needed and although I do not believe that he was a wise choice, I believe that they truly thought they were doing the right thing for our nation. Sadly what they did was not okay.

The first year of Trump’s new administration has been chaotic almost on a daily basis. He has upended many of the structures and departments that kept the inner workings of our government working smoothly. He has single handedly changed our role on the world stage, indicating that he no longer cares about what happens to our allies. He has used the tactics of brutality against immigrants and long time citizens as well. He wants us to believe that his tariffs will make life better when we are bearing the brunt of rising prices on almost everything that we purchase. He is tossing aside scientific research projects and programs at universities that made our nation leaders in the world. He has made significant members of our communities feel unwelcome and unsafe. College graduates are scrambling for jobs that are becoming more and more difficult to find. Mothers of children with skin that is brown and black and shades other than white are worried about their safety. Instead of stability Trump has given us a government that has rocked the foundations of our daily lives. So of course someone needs to ask us all, “Are you okay?’

In so many instances the answer would be, “No!” While we are wondering why our lives are in such an upheaval the wealthiest among us seem to be the only ones receiving perks in the form of tax relief and support for financing their dreams of making ever more money. The rest of us are finding it more and more difficult to believe that we are going to be fine because right now very little seems fine. We never asked for a new ballroom that we will never see. We didn’t want to destroy our relationships with Canada or France or Great Britain. We liked knowing that other nations would  be around to help us when we needed them and in turn we wanted them to know they could count on us. So no, we are not okay!

We watch the chaos in Minnesota that has been created by Trump and we hear his boasts about how he is socking it to the people there and we wonder how things got this way. Aren’t our presidents supposed to be working for all of the people? Is it right to use our tax money as resources for Trump’s vengeance? Why would he trample so freely on the rights of Americans and use such ugly and illegal tactics to find and deport immigrants just to satisfy his ego? Why do we see his late night tweets that would be unbecoming to a belligerent teenager but allow him to keep threatening our fellow citizens? Does he think this is why he was elected? If so, do the people who elected him actually approve of what he is doing. Do they feel okay?

I could go on and on and on but in truth I have grown weary of waking up each morning and wondering what outlandish insults to our democracy Trump will pull out of his hat just to soothe his own desires. He is as dangerous as a runaway train speeding towards a crowd of people and yet the very people who might stop him have remained mute. They are either terrified of him or they agree with his determination to break everything that we has ever been built to make America great. He is like a bratty child whose parents think he is so adorable that they dare not curb his bad behavior. This is truly not okay!

Sometimes I believe that people are slowly but surely coming to their senses and that it is just a short matter of time before we join together to reel in the horror of what Trump and his people have wrought in just one year. If we have to keep dealing with this for three more years without any relief then eventually none of us will be okay. Watch the series called “After Hitler” and you will see what I mean. When people go silent when anyone among us is not okay the result is never good.