The Eyes Have It

Mourning is nuanced with complex delicacy.  It teaches us the wisdom of remaining patient, open, loving and vulnerable. 

Reflection and remembering are requisite to mourning, which is painful because when one remembers, one must also revisit.  No easy task when one’s heart has been harpooned.

But the subtleties of sorrow allow one to sense the light when it is still dark.  I am often sad and joyful simultaneously. 

Relationships are living entities that death does not impact.  That brings peace and empowerment. 

I am learning.  I used to not know a lot of things.  I have learned so much of late.  But then knowledge without understanding is impotent.  Sometimes I wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then.

I do know it is possible to function and foster healing even though maimed. 

I am taking my time.  I can see more clearly if I pace myself.

Of course, having clarity of sight doesn’t always translate to clarity of thought.  Oh no.  So I rely on routine to impose order on chaos.

Every morning I arise at an hour populated by insomniacs, the carelessly disturbed and the severely foolish.  I ingest a handful of medications which include vitamin supplements, sugar pills, placebos, and any candy remnants stuck to the floor from the soles of the grandchildren’s flip-flops.

On several occasions, I have been sorely tempted to toss back a few buckyballs to jumpstart my center of gravity and realign my internal magnetic field.  But then I feared it might impair my ability to move in any direction but due north.  So I abandoned the idea.

Then, if I’m not arrested for wanton vagrancy, I return to the nest to digest the latest headlines.  I think I’ve developed dyslexia, however, because I have noticed that lately I’ve become alphabetically incorrect.

For instance, in order to seem current on breaking news, I told the girls I thought the sanctions imposed on Penn State by the NAACP were just and proper.  In unison, they said, “Uh, you mean NCAA.” 

Well, isn’t that what I just said?  They assured me no. 

I decided to change the subject and talk about the GOP and the up-coming RNA convention.

With barely concealed mirth, they exchanged their “Mom’s-becoming-preposterous” looks and amended the letters to RNC.  Hmmmm.  Apparently RNA and DNA do not refer to the genetic make-up of the Republican and Democratic parties.  Oh, such a babble of voices.  Talk about politically challenged!

In festering and futile frustration, I hurled empty and vacuous threats to call NCIS, the NBA, PETA and the UVULA to report them for flagrant nuisancy and elder-mocking…a sin if not a crime. 

I chuckled to see them flummoxed by UVULA.  It was a source of immense gratification to know that if my son-in-law, a doctor, had not given a brief lesson in anatomy, they’d have still thought UVULA was a university in Los Angeles!

Recently, our family received a letter from the Moran Eye Center informing us that because of Dennis’ donation, two people who were previously blind, now had the gift of sight.  They thanked us for our generosity.

We wept with gratitude.

I personally wanted to find out just who it was that that received this gift and could now see.  I simply wanted to know.  And maybe look into his eyes again.

Of course, I understand that would be a breach of medical protocol and a violation of the HIPPA policy.  I get that.

But I reconsidered.  I don’t need names.  I don’t need specifics.  I know Dennis’ eyes so well, I could pick them out of a crowd of strangers.

They see with such clarity. They don’t just look at things, they see through them.  They are blue and full of knowledge as well as faith.  They have the gift of Second Sight.  No blurry vision.

They are kind, patient, wise, courageous and loving.  They witness the world with wonder and reverence.  They savor beauty with fascination, but do not flinch at adversity.  They will not blink when staring down the unspeakable.

But the true litmus test will come when I relate to a total stranger the fact that I just told our daughters UVULA was a university in Los Angeles.  If the eyes crinkle up in glee, identification is confirmed.

Thornton Wilder says that “What is essential does not die, but clarifies.”

Oh yeah.  I’ll know those eyes when I see them again.