It was a quiet week at Camp Dashew Park City this week. First Denise’s neck went into spasm from working at a not-ideal office setup here at camp headquarters. Then my lower back went into spasm from working at a, maybe, um, I’m not sure?
Regardless we were not feeling our best. Plus Teddy got sick. I don’t have children, but I have it on good authority (and a bit of experience) that it is well known that if children and/or dogs are going to get sick, it is almost always going to be at, say, 1:30 am, and then maybe again after you’ve spent a solid half hour cleaning things up and getting them into the laundry and finally going back to bed and getting to sleep at, say, 4:30 am.
Teddy is our lovely wheaten terrier who is a distinguished-gentlemanly almost-9-years-old. As sensitive as I am, he is more so. Allergies? You got it. Really tender tummy? Heck yes. A massive panic brought on by any kind of flashing lights, shadows or reflections which can turn into approximately 48 hours of panting and pacing before he steadies? Don’t mind if he does!
As we all get older, I am looking towards frustrations and irritations and spasms and middle of the night sickies as opportunities. As a way to reflect on whatever is going on that I might want to take a look at and shift. Mind you, this is not foremost on my mind in the middle of the night as I am furiously cleaning the carpet in our rental. But the next day it is. So it was that yesterday, while Denise was taking natural muscle relaxers and gently stretching her neck, while Teddy was pacing and barking, and while I was rolling deliberately on a red lacrosse ball, I started to think about things.
Before Garrison Keillor got fired for sexual misconduct, I was a fan of his storytelling. (I still think he’s a great storyteller but I haven’t decided yet where I fall on being able to separate art from the artist.) When I was a teenager I had a copy of his book Lake Wobegon Days and I devoured it. In these stories set in a fictional town in Minnesota, people had mishaps and learned lessons but for the most part they were funny, genuine, good people and I loved reading them and imagining Keillor’s voice: deep, nose whistling when stopping for a breath, calm and dry and affectionate.
There is one story in particular that has stuck with me for the past 30 years, not because I remember the whole plot, but because I remember that it is about the end of summer coming, the feeling that rolls into place as the seasons start to shift and cool and darken even as you bake in August heat. The thing I remember most is that as the story winds down he writes, “Thank you dear God, for this good life, and forgive us if we do not love it enough.”
So I was thinking about how grateful I am for my family, for the fact that Teddy is still around and kicking and reminding me to take a pause when he gets too worked up, how grateful I am for all our challenges and for all our gifts (often one and the same), for the fact that our bodies work well (mostly), and that we can explore and talk and hear (sort of) and touch and feel where we are.
Last night I took the dogs out for nighttime potty, and as I was walking on the grass a wind stirred the aspen trees. They rustled. The moon was rising gibbous and gold. Someone was playing “Into the Mystic” by Van Morrison and it drifted across the hill to me and rocked my gypsy soul. I was overwhelmed with love.
Thank you dear God, for this good life, and forgive us if we do not love it enough.
I can’t thank you enough for the beautiful and insightful gift of your words. And reminding those of us who need reminding that it is indeed a beautiful life, for which we are grateful. I am feeling grateful, also upon reflecting after Nicolas had COVID (yanking him away from papa-puppy duties, which I was so looking forward to), then my own summer cold and neck/shoulder pains, followed by Laska’s stomach issues, necessitating 3 vet trips in 2 days (she ain’t a great patient, btw…total drama queen)…and 5-10 days of “special diet,” medication, and reduced(!) Physical activity for her recovery. Just as papa is about to hit the road again for a week. Sigh. But honestly, I was thinking just yesterday, after the vet said it’s going to likely be all fine, not to worry too much…thank you for this little beast, with all her challenges, because if we lost her, my heart would break and I would miss her even at her cranky, defiant worst, which is something. I love you!! ❤️
I love you! Poor us humans and pups. JoJo got excited and peed on our bed at 10:30 last night! Wheeeeeeeeeee xoxoxox
Hi
Your song “Brent” made a huge impression on me. I would say that I love it, but it is not the kind of song that you love. Better to say that I was really impressed and moved by it. The first time I heard it I said to myself “She’s been there.” It sounded perfectly plausible, and realistic. The two questions were perfect, as was the fear of the knock on the door from the police.
My personal experience with suicide is being just a few minutes away from a clean escape myself the night my wife of 23 years suddenly kicked me out of the house. I had been suffering from severe depression, and even electroshock therapy had not worked.
When I drove away from the house a plan formed in my head. Drive up to our favorite hiking trailhead in the mountains, load a pistol with one round, lie down on the ground, fire one shot through my head so the bullet would then go into the ground to be sure that no one else would be harmed. Just prior I planned to call 911 and report a body at that location. It was 10:30pm by then.
My stepdaughter had a two-year-old then, and never answered the phone after 9 pm. I knew that I could leave a voicemail, and not have to speak with her. I left a message telling her that I loved her, and was getting ready to call 911. Then my stepdaughter called me back. She convinced me to try one more treatment for depression that was pending. Three weeks later I had Ketamine infusions, and survived. That was 10 years ago, and I am still here and no longer suicidal.
When I was driving back to town my thoughts were that I had been minutes away from a clean departure, and it was now all to be done over again sometime in the future.
There is a brilliant scene in the Tom Hanks movie “Saving Mr. Banks” when a child rescues her mother who is trying to drown herself. The girl jumps into the river to save her mom, even though she can’t swim. Her mom rescues her, and they both get on a horse to ride back to their house. The mother’s facial expression and body language show that same thought, despair that she was seconds from escape, and now would have it all to do over again in the future.
Your song, and the two questions have continued to haunt me. It is a brilliant song, and I expect that it has made many of your fans realize what effect suicide has on those left behind. I presume that was why you wrote it. Great music has great power. Thank you, your song works.
With great respect,
Chris Copeland
Hello Chris, I have been wildly remiss in checking comments or much of anything on my site for too long. I just read your incredibly thoughtful and vulnerable comment, and needed to say thank you. First, thank you for being vulnerable and sharing. When I write, it’s a stripping down to the core and an intense vulnerability, which sometimes feels unseen. Thank you for seeing it and reciprocating. The song is based on a true story, but not mine. I have never been close to ending, but am close to those who have been. And one who succeeded. I will just say this–I believe very very deeply in connection and the continuity of energy. Call it God, or the Universe, or simply the unknown, but there is so much we can’t even begin to understand. What I love about your story is the connection between you and your step-daughter. That you reached out. That she answered. That you felt the tug and she tugged back. These are our biggest gifts in life. Be well, enjoy the ride when you can, and hang on when it’s rough. My very best, Sarah