My father in law had an aneurysm the other day.
A sub arachnoid hemorrhage to be exact (as he described it, he's a Psychiatrist himself and knows these things, even still)
I say new father in law because my husband and I had just got married two days prior. And he was there, in costume no less. With the rest of the entire clan. Their side of the family is as much a tribe or perhaps a joyous cult as anything else. Anyway they were all there, some of them literally in tails. It was a Halloween wedding,but more on this later. That is story for a different blog. Ken. This one is for you.
Let me say a few things I wouldn't say to your face, but hope some day you will read them. And maybe weep.
When I first met you I wasn't sure what to think of you. You didn't smile and seemed to look at me sometimes down your nose in such a way I imagine you examine your patients when you think they're not looking or are trying to pretend to reserve judgment.
I could tell you were are smart man. A powerful man. But I had and still have some issues with MEN and authority so I too perhaps sized you up. And was vigilant.
I can imagine what you must have thought, who is this wild red haired woman who came to seize the heart of your youngest son, your cub, the scatterbrained rascal, your golden boy away from you? What harlot harpy is this?
Perhaps it wasn't all that bad. But you weren't pleased when I told you the lovely green garnish of herbs on your Christmas lamb roast was in fact cilantro and not the Italian parsley you swore it was, and later claimed the grocer had mislabeled.
You didn't fool me. But I don't think I fooled you either. My attempts to suck up were viewed under the same downward but even gaze as my obvious foibles, nervous and LOUD talking, over emotionality, sometimes self aggrandizement, other times painful self deprecation. A wild vacillation between extremes in contrast to your well cultivated composure.
You to the world say I AM A ROCK and the world listens. But I have seen you cry when describing the difficulty of transitioning into this, your fortieth year of marriage and also and the brunch before the wedding of your youngest son, now my husband, at the fact that after 30 years you finally realized your little rascal had become a man.
And I see you now, as today, with an eye patch to cover your newly soured eye, struggling to sit up or lie down or get to the bathroom, reliant on the help you used to seem to abhor, having your son shave you and not being the master of your own and perhaps some other peoples destiny. But still with some mystical air of authority, and sometimes that winning wry grin and attendent bit of wit or sarcasm that lets me think that you're gonna be ok. That you are ok. That you are still Ken.
I have caught your blood children look at you gingerly like you would great wounded bear, and seem to be surprised that on closer inspection that you are only human, not the monolith you but weeks ago appeared. You are more humble now, vulnerable, more grateful than I have ever seen you. And I like it.
I feel closer to you than I ever have. And this event, this life changing moment that has forced all of us to confront and reconsider the strong thin twines of FATE and human fragility,for all its pain, discomfort, loneliness, loss of control, short distance between you and the long hall of death, the abject fear, the hallucinations and delusions that have haunted let me say that already I think I have seen something change in you, bloom perhaps. The seeds of a greater humanity.
You were a great man before this Ken. You are perhaps a greater man now. I hope you will begin to see it too.
Your wife and children adore you, you bear of a man.
Your blood children as well as others.
I to, great one, am grateful to be a part of your clan.
And I hope you enjoyed those cillantro enchiladas I made for you.
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