A Note to a Friend Facing Grief

Sometimes, there are no words to say or write.  Being present and loving another person is often what is called for.  You honor their life and their love for you, in how you live, and love.  Words may come later.  Actions speak now.  Love others as another has loved you.

--Neal Lemery, July 24, 2017

Taking Up Again, At Our Fortieth Reunion

It was that class we took together, both out of our element. A business class, way outside our academic path, but it was really about what we we both passionate about, human interaction.  The psychology major and the political science major, finding the “juice” of our college experience. 

Our big assignment for the term was to get together every week, for a day, maybe a weekend, and spend time together, interacting, observing each other. And, most importantly, observing ourselves observing others and how we behaved, inwardly, within a group.  We had to write about it all, without any real direction on what the professor wanted, how we were going to be graded.  

It was, we agreed, standing outside in the hot evening after our class reunion dinner, the best experience of our undergraduate years, studying how people related with each other, how that really was the gist of becoming a better person, how we used those skills, those observations, in growing our lives, in making a real difference in the world.  

We took our experiences together, all those late night conversations, the four years of living on campus during the social upheaval of the Vietnam War years, and went our separate ways.  We kept in touch, sharing news of our careers, our marriages, our kids, and how our lives were enriched by what we learned at college, and in navigating our lives in the world. 

The best things in our lives, we realized, weren’t the things we thought we’d do, once we graduated and moved on.  Life happens, and we used our skills and brains to do unexpected things, growing ourselves and learning even more about life, and who we are.  

One of the reunion organizers asked us to ponder whether or not we had changed the world, like we’d all talked about in those late night gatherings, and if we’d made a difference in our lives.  

“Yes, indeed,” we answered, but not in the ways we had thought, back in the days of Watergate, and the week we staged a sit-in in the college president’s office, angry at Nixon bombing Cambodia.  

The conversations that night were about good relationships, connecting with people, making a difference about how people felt about themselves, how we could make their lives better, simply by being who we were. No one showed their bank statements, their stock portfolios, their photos of their real estate or talked about their job titles, or the cars we drove to get here that night. We didn’t wear any fancy clothes. We laughed at the photos of our days on campus, the wild hair, how much beer we could drink back then, and the times when Angela Davis and Anais Nin spoke on campus.  

We talked about the people we had become, how that one class, that one professor made all the difference to us as we went on about our lives, how we became better people, how forty years gives you a perspective on life and the world that we may not have had back during our days as eager, curious college students.  And, who we are today is still about who we were then, curious, looking inward, and figuring out how we can connect with someone, and change their lives.  

—Neal Lemery 6/27/15

Cheering With My Best Friend

May 20, 2014

He would have liked yesterday.  Yesterday, my state made history, ending a legal ban against letting people get married to the ones they loved, ending a time when our state constitution wouldn’t let people enjoy their right to be married, simply because because of their sexual preference.  

We would have one of our deep discussions in the car, listening to the radio and the reports of long lines of couples lining up at the county clerks offices across the state, getting their licenses, and getting married today.  We would have talked about all of the possibilities we have in our lives, and social change, and people being happy, raising kids, and moving ahead in their lives.

Best friends in high school, we always had those serious discussions, and challenged our teachers and our classmates about what they believed, and where we needed to go as a society.  We grew up during Vietnam and the March on Selma.  We skipped class that day that Robert Kennedy came to our small town, and spoke in the town square about our country being a land of opportunity, of freedom, how each of us had a voice, and a duty to move our country forward.  

We read Thoreau and Ginsburg and Malcolm X and listened to Pete Seeger and Joan Baez.  We had deep discussions about war and poverty, racism, sexism, and how we could change our town, and our country.  

We headed to college, and our separate ways, and drifted apart, as friends do after high school.  Once in a while, we’d send each other an essay or a book review, offering more ideas to each other about making a difference in the world, how things needed to be changed.

Ten years after high school, he came back to town and we went out for coffee, taking up our conversations where they had left off, doing what good friends can do, the years apart really not changing our friendship, and how we challenged each other’s thinking.

He came out to me then, telling me that he knew he was gay, back in high school, but had been afraid to tell me, to tell himself, afraid to really be who he was, deep inside. He knew his dad would probably kill him if he came out to his family.  He was beaten up for a lot of lesser sins, and couldn’t wait until he could run off to college, and live his own life.  

He’d always struggled with love and relationships, and we lived in a time when being gay was looked at with more suspicion and hatred than it was for folks who were trying to live their lives by being black, or being against the current war our country was waging, or for the language they spoke. 

He cried when he told me of coming out to his family, how his dad had disowned him, of wanting him dead, of telling him he didn’t have a son now, that his son was dead.  And, how his mom had called him later, telling him that she loved him more now than ever, that she was proud of him and the man that he was becoming.  

Yesterday, I listened to the radio, and all the celebrations and stories of joy and love, and the happiness people were willing to share, being proud of being gay and in love, proud of the families they were nurturing, proud that they could now be married, and publicly love their partners.  We would have talked about how times have changed, so much, about how we’ve all moved ahead in our thinking, how we live our lives.

He would be proud, too, proud that he could marry his lover, and live in a state where his love and his family was respected, that he could be married, and respected for who he was, for who he had become.  Knowing him, he’d have been one of the parties in the lawsuit that brought us to this point.  He’d be leading the charge, speaking out, willing to take a stand, willing to publicly fight for civil rights, for bringing a bit more equality and liberty to our country.

We’d get together for coffee, to talk about his work, and his activism.  We’d talk about this week being the fiftieth anniversary of Brown vs Board of Education, when racial segregation in schools was finally seen as something that we didn’t think was right in this country.  We’d say that fifty years really wasn’t that long ago, that racial bigotry is still around, and we needed to keep working to change how people looked at each other, how we treated other human beings, about how we looked at opportunities for real change in our world.

He’s gone, long gone from this Earth, taken from us by AIDS, back in the 1980s, back when hatred and bigotry against gays was at its height.  Yet, he’ll always be a part of me, his courage always something I can tap into, when I need to take a stand, when I need to speak my mind, and make a difference in the world.

Yesterday, I felt the people in my state take a step forward, taking on a serious discussion about our lives, about equal opportunity, and civil rights, about families and happiness, about who we were becoming, we Oregonians.  We’re on uncharted ground here, pushed into this new world by some people willing to take a stand, willing to speak out and sue their state to bring about change.  We’ve got a federal judge willing to look at the law as a means to achieve justice, to think about equal protection and civil rights in a way that moves us forward.  We’ve got his words to think about now, to push us forward, to think about who we want to be. 

Yesterday was another Brown v Board of Education day, and fifty years from now, a lot of us will think that where we were the day before, when this kind of discrimination was legal, when it was part of our state Constitution, was so archaic, so old school thinking.  

Yesterday, I heard my friend again, his voice clear and strong, speaking about his commitment to be someone who was willing to work for change, someone who was willing to be comfortable with who he was, and who he wanted to be.  Yesterday,  I felt him close by as we Oregonians realized that our state had changed, and we had taken a step ahead in how we looked at ourselves, how we looked at families and relationships, how we looked at our laws, and how we really felt about equality and human dignity, how we felt about ourselves.  

I heard his voice, and felt his energy, deep in my soul, as I drove down the freeway, listening to the radio, adding my own voice to the cheers of the newlyweds walking out of the courthouse.  We cheered together, we Oregonians, cheering for freedom and liberty, cheering for each other.

Neal Lemery 5/20/2014

Coronary Care

Coronary Care

Being 

present

with my friend, 

wheeling into heart surgery

so close to dying, yet that loving 

heart now

reborn,

oxygen and blood 

and life flowing

strong

again,

in every beat.

Hearing his voice

stronger now,

tears joyfully on my face, his

healing already begun--

his heart attack self home

the next day

after the surgeon

is inside his heart,

opening up arteries

with new science.

Life

more precious now

richer in blood and oxygen--

Spirit soaring--

nothing taken for granted

everything previous

everything so

alive.

Neal Lemery

9/6/2012

The Friendship Bracelet

“The ultimate lesson all of us have to learn is unconditional love, which includes not only others but ourselves as well.”
--- Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

Every time I visit my young man in prison, he teaches me something new.

Last week, he brought out several strands of yarn, which he had already braided into the beginnings of a friendship bracelet. He explained that he had chosen the red, white, and blue yarn for me, because he knew I was patriotic.

Carefully, he measured my wrist with the yarn, and set off to resume his braiding and tying. As we talked about his week, and his struggles with his family, and conflict with another guy in his unit, his fingers deftly braided and knotted.

He’d been thinking about our relationship, and how he had struggled with accepting a good male role model in his life, and being able to talk about his feelings and emotions with someone who’s supporting him in all that struggle. He’s figured out he can let his guard down around me, and with himself, as he names his feelings and thoughts, and now has the tools to sort through the garbage in his basement, and find some order and contentment.

He’s been wrestling with his anger, and how it has come to the surface at unexpected moments, in unexpected ways. A few days ago, he cried and wept most of the day, his emotions raw and fiery. He couldn’t shut and lock up the door to his basement, and life was messy, with conflicting emotions, feelings, and doubts.

“Who am I?” he wondered, in the midst of his tears and heartache.

The day led him into a walkabout, and the question changed to “what am I?”

The tears washed away some of the grime, and a lot of the feelings of shame and guilt, and he could see, finally, how he had grown, how he had gained the tools to sort through the garbage in the basement, and start filling up the dumpster. He gained some perspective, and could see how he’d changed.

His frenzy of braiding and knotting picked up, as he told me of his journey, his walkabout, and what he had been learning.

A staff member came by, and sat with us for a while. He’d been there for my pal, the day he cried a lot, and had helped him find his way, and sort through all the conflicting flotsam and jetsam that had cluttered up his thinking.

“We only offer tools for your toolbox here,” he said. “It is up to you to pick the right tool, and build your own house.”

My buddy nodded, a tear rolling down his cheek. He took a deep breath and let it out, his shoulders easing a bit, as a smile lit up his face.

Yes, he can see that, the wisdom of the man’s two sentences.

“Yes, my tool box has some nice tools now. And, I know how to use them.”

He didn’t speak, but we could see those words in his face, his fingers still moving in the rhythm of the braiding and knot tying. He was growing up, and he was taking care of business.

He finished my bracelet in silence. The minutes passed, and we both sat there, just taking in what had been said, and taking time to recognize where he’d been and how far he’d come, in these last eight months.

We don’t often have much silence in our visits. Twenty years of not being listened to, not being respected, and not being valued had built up a giant reservoir of experiences, and feelings, and comments. And, the eight months of sitting at this table was all about listening to him find the space where he could grow, finally, and speak his mind.

Oh, and anger. It was the elephant in the room today, and he had been able to see that, and call the elephant what it really was. Being able to speak its name was a big step for him, and he’d been able to do just that, and start becoming free.

The bracelet was finished now, and he tied it around my wrist.

“There, I finally gave you something back, for all that you’ve given me,” he said, a big grin splashed across his face.