My wonderfully sensitive and gifted friend, Belle Logie, gave me the above painting for my birthday last year. It’s a “Waterloo Sunset” with Vernon and me up on the bridge.
This week, she sent me a song she wrote about us. She said it was okay for me to share it here. I think its beautiful and sad. Sometimes, that’s the best kind of song.
So, I reaffirm that Vernon is a spiritual being, who had a human experience!
I’ve been missing Vernon for a long time, but its only recently that a new kind of loneliness has been allowed to seep in. I notice it a lot when I get still, when I talk to God, when I’m practicing yoga, or maybe painting in silence. The rest of the time, I can keep myself pretty busy, which keeps some of that at bay. This is the loneliness that is unattached to words, but I know that pressing into it makes me so sad to realize again that he is really, truly gone and won’t be back. That most of my life will be separate from our season of family, even though the decisions that came from the life we shared still affect us every day. I may have shared this analogy on here before, but I’ll use it again: when someone you care deeply about dies, its much like a piece of duct tape has been pulled from a painted wall after being stuck together for some time—part of the paint is left on the tape and part of the tape is left on the wall. When a person dies, you are changed (though not as much as they are, obviously)—a part of them lives on in you, and a part of you goes on with them. When its someone REALLY close, it takes awhile to adapt to the new version of yourself, because you are not who you were before and the world isn’t what it was before either.
It’s kind of a strange time again because I’m very aware are now in the final month stretch before the 3 year accident-versary. The first death. Or rather, the night his life slowed down—his body, his brain, our time with him—it was when his life out slowly toward the finish line, though we didn’t always realize/accept it. How could we have known? One always fights for life, even if it is in a shallow form, as long as one can. For us, it was the tape trying harder to adhere to the wall and the wall offering all the paint it could part with. It didn’t feel like letting go, it felt like attaching more tightly. So that we could let go, but be changed through the experience.
I went all the way to Denton, Texas, and look what I found waiting there. Pigeons painted on a wall…above an alphabet, bonus! I’ll never stop noticing. Also, here is some paint already peeling off Vernon’s bedroom wall, scratched away by the bed rails and possibly his hands. It looked like he was fighting to get out, but actually he was fighting to stay. And in his way, he made that happen too.
“Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity.“—Hippocrates
When I was in England in November, I had the opportunity to record a podcast for the BBC Radio 4 show Soul Music. It’s was an unexpected invitation that came up about two weeks before my trip. My friend Ian Mcglynn (who released a version of Waterloo Sunset to help support our family after Vernon’s accident) had been contacted by a radio producer who had discovered his song online, and so he shared the story with her. Anyway, it was several months ago now that we recorded in London (yes, at the official BBC studios!) but I just received an email today from the producer, Karen:
“With apologies for the delay, I’ve finally had it confirmed that the Waterloo Sunset edition of Soul Music will be broadcast on BBC Radio 4 in the UK on Wednesday 17th May at 0902. It’s a new slot and a high profile one. It’s the first programme in the new series so will get lots of publicity and on-air trails.”
EEK! Now I’m nervous. What did I even SAY? That’s the problem when you generally have a lot to say: you aren’t sure what is going to actually come out of your mouth…and you don’t remember what you said very well either. Which is fine with friends and family because you know they love you anyway. Big sigh. Well, its going to be out there soon and I’ll find out (along with a lot of people in the UK) what I said. It was a lovely experience though…really special to return to London to talk about Vernon and his favorite song. It felt like a way to share him one last time with his fellow citizens, a way to bring him back to the land. We’ll see how it goes! Maybe even Ray Davies of the Kinks will hear it. What a thought! 🙂
This story has been playing out in my head the past few weeks. I’d hoped to sit down and write a short story about it, but I can barely finish my basic responsibilities these days, rather than embarking on a new kind of writing. But still, I want to get it down before the thought has moved on forever (a vocational hazard, it seems) so here I am offering up something in its least evolved form…again.
What happened the night of May 23, 2014? Vernon was involved in a terrible accident, but he survived for a couple of years: yes, we know this. When Maki first wrote a letter to the other driver, he wrote: “The dad I knew died that night.” Ever since I read that, the concept has rattled around in my head as a possibility. What if he did die that night? Or next-best, what if it was a soul-changing, near-death experience that he was never able to communicate to us. I remember reading books, while Vernon was in his coma months, written by people who had died and come back, who had reached Heaven and returned to tell us how loving and beautiful it all was… written with the urgency of letting the rest of us in on the secret of the Whole Thing: life/death/earth/heaven/humans/consciousness/God/eternity/all-of-it. On Vernon’s awakening, I’d ask him really weird questions like: “Ok, did you talk to God? What did you see? What’s it like in Heaven? Is there a Heaven? What have we got wrong? What have we got right? Come on: give us a crumb…we’ve been waiting here!” And there was nothing but a crooked-eyed stare of pure bewilderment. Obviously, I was the crazy one.
But what if he DID die that night? That’s the story I want to try to tell. Here it goes:
God: Hello. You hit your head pretty hard there. Can you still feel it?
Vernon: Yes…I’m so embarrassed. Is it as bad as it looks from up here?
God: It’s bad…well, on earthly terms, it’s bad. But if you come with me, you’ll see its not so bad. The fact that you are still feeling it though…well, you are one of the rare ones.
Vernon: One of the rare ones? What do you mean?
God: Well, most people when they get this far…they don’t feel any pain. Are you sure you still feel it?
Vernon: Well, it doesn’t hurt that much, really. There just seems to be a lot of blood. But what hurts…you’ll think it is stupid, probably.
God: Would you be surprised to learn I don’t think anything is stupid?
Vernon: I just am so embarrassed. This isn’t how I meant to die. I mean…Alli hated the Vespa. She didn’t get on my case about it, but I could tell she was annoyed. And I loved it anyway. I couldn’t help it…it just was this dream machine for me. Something I always wanted to have. This symbol for my life. You wouldn’t understand…or well, actually now that I see you, I bet you would. But to die on it? To even get HURT on the thing is bad enough. I wish there was a way for her not to know. Ugh, and the kids.
God: It’s a little late for that, but we do have a few minutes. She doesn’t know yet, but will soon.
Vernon: A few minutes? Great…what can we do?
God: How’s that headache?
Vernon: What headache. I feel great. Wait! Does that mean I’m dead?
God: Well sort of, but not really. You are definitely dying. Here’s the thing: when most people get to this place, they feel ready. There is a reason it’s “YOUR time,” but sometimes people don’t want to. Take a look, do you want to enter into this place? The choice is yours.
Vernon: Wow! That is incredible. So. Much. Muchness…I don’t have words.
God: You don’t need them.
Vernon: But my family…I just hate to leave them like this.
God: Are you sure? You want to go back to them instead?
Vernon: I don’t even want to look at the goodness you have to offer because I am afraid I’ll forget my family.
God: You will never forget your family or your life.
Vernon: No offense, all I can think about is my family.
God: You can go back to them. You do have this choice. But you need to know that it won’t be like before. You are changed. They will be changed. You can return to them for a short while, but you will be in another form. This is part of the universal chemistry of things that I don’t think you want me to explain now. Are you sure that’s what you want? You may never hug your children again. You may never ever live in the same space as them. You’ll never make love to your wife or kiss her the way you used to. It will be very hard on your family, but it will strengthen them too. Are you sure this is what you want?
Vernon: But if I die now, what happens to them?
God: The family will have some time of shock and betrayal, but they will spring back. People have been leaving their families in death since the beginning of death. They will be hurt, and they will miss you, but they will spring back in ways that surprise them. Humans are great like that.
Vernon: Then…is it selfish to want to go back to them…even if things are different and hard?
God: Just by asking that, I think you know your answer. Do you have unfinished business?
Vernon: I don’t know. Maybe I do. I’m just not ready to leave them. Can I have another chance?
Ambulance sirens sound as the lights fade out. End of scene.
(I found this today as a saved image on Vernon’s computer.)
Apparently, I’m not finished writing about the mustard fields in audacious “Super Spring” we are having. Yesterday, Justine asked if I’d take her up for a hike. She must have heard me talking about the yellow hills every single day this month. I know its a special spring because of the rare rains we’ve had. I also know that I might not see it like this again in my lifetime. I tell that to Justine: “Pay attention! Remember this.” But she might not—because apparently most people remember very little before they are seven years old. Can you remember being specifically six? I’m sure most people have a couple memories, but it takes something pretty unusual to ensure the memory sticks. On that note, do you remember how much energy you had? Here’s a reminder:
I’ve loved this spring so much with all its green and yellow. It’s changed the landscape…which is exactly what I needed after feeling like a stranger in a stranger land after Vernon’s ordeal/death. One thing I keep returning to in my mind these recent months is that nothing stays the same. People lose their lives over trying to keep things the same, and it doesn’t work. Something I miss about other places I’ve lived is the concept of dramatic seasons, in which nature changes in front of your very eyes. The changes are much more subtle in Southern California: you mostly have to be sensitive to the light in order to really notice. But this year we got it. Cycles of new life and the clarity of decay. Sometimes seem brightest just before they die, as we found was the case with Vernon. I am seeing the brown sneak into the landscape already. The hills are still beautiful, if not more so because their glory bloom is fading. I value the life/death I see in the hills. The tax of enjoying such beauty is knowing it won’t last. What was a bright blaze of glory these months of spring, helping me pretend I lived somewhere new and exotic, is fading again—but gloriously so. What once was bright and smooth and vibrant like a gorgeous swath of velvet is now looking worn-down, patchy but well-loved. Velveteen Rabbit hills.
Maybe I’m hypersensitive right now, but its hard for me not to see the world full of death and decay anymore. I think about it more. I recognize it in everything. That said, I think about life a lot too. I see how children grow and change so quickly. I understand that I may or may not be around for them for a long time. I think the kids understand that too, though they don’t like to think about it. Life is full of life, but for some of us, we see the death of life more clearly.And because of that, the life is so much more precious. So much more of a privilege than we understood before. So bring on the change, I just want to admire it while it’s happening…and not be so afraid of what’s coming. We are meant to go through seasons. These are gifts we get to unwrap again and again…as long as they are there. As long as we are here.
The best part is, when the glow of one season turns to the brown dearth of boredom in another…we know that even that won’t last. There are always signs of new life for those who notice them. These things are intermingled. One springs from the other.
Nothing Gold Can Stay—by Robert Frost
Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.
