In this, the most terrible year, in which I have lost my sister-in-law in the Vancouver drive-killings and no less than three dear friends, I have wondered briefly how I held things together. So far, I have not shed a single tear and I don’t know why. But I have several ideas.
The obvious one is that I am stuffed full of antidepressants. While I am aware that being clinically depressed means much more than being just sad, I am convinced that there is some kind of emotional suppressant at work. However, this surely cannot be the whole reason for my apparent lack of outward emotions, can it?
Yesterday, the news came through of the death of yet another old friend. We had been more like acquaintances for most of our lives, until he was stricken with cancer. Indeed, I had not seen him for 25 years up to his diagnosis. I became a regular visitor from then on and our friendship grew and deepened. I will not go into personal details, but let’s just say that his death, after a long and sometimes painful struggle, was, eventually, a blessing, a deliverance. When the quality of life is so poor and when the pain is so great, there comes a time to let go. No tears goodbye, at least not yet; just a sense of no more suffering, no more pain.
Two of this year’s deaths were expected, one was a surprise and the other a total shock. It is possible that I might have got through it all on my own, but I very much doubt it. My close family, especially my partner, somehow gave me strength, just by being there, just by using the right words at the right time.
The kindness of friends and indeed those I didn’t previously see as friends, but clearly were and are, has been immense. It is their presence, even and especially through the miracle of cyberspace, that has protected me from the worst aspects of pain and loss. I shall forever be in their debt.
Perhaps, I am stronger than I thought. Instead of walking away from problems, when I see people in times of trouble, I tend now to walk towards them. A first visit to my friend, some 18 months ago when his Stage Four cancer was revealed, became the first of many, accompanied as I was by the most incredible friends who had nothing but love and kindness to offer. Privately, I railed against those who were much closer but chose to stay away. Wasted emotions, I later concluded. I could not be responsible for other people’s decisions. The only decisions I could be responsible for were mine. If I could sleep at night, safe in the knowledge I had been there for someone, that would be enough.
The messages kept coming. There was so much love washing over me, I felt it gave me strength to carry on. Hell, there were people depending on me and I couldn’t let them down. Family and friends, they all had my back. If I was able to do my best to show the love for others, it was the love of family and friends that made it happen.
Everything keeps coming back to that word: love. As Todd Rundgren pointed out so many years ago, love is the answer. I learned it later in life than maybe I should have done, but at least I learned it. And love makes the world go round (That’s a Carole King song, by the way.)
I’m not proud of the way I was. I made some terrible, thoughtless and sometimes cynical decisions along the way. I was generally honest, but not always. I’m better than that now.
The success of a life should not be measured in material matters nor riches, which in my case is just as well. But it can, I feel, be measured in the love you give and the love you are shown. And in this, the most awful of years, love has seen me through.
