A father sits in exam room one with his dog that he has brought to me for routine annual care. He delayed this visit a little while, because of the recent suicide of his daughter. I believe that I know this man well. I believe that he is genuine and that he does not attempt to be or pretend he is someone other than himself. I believe he is a soul and not a beast. I have always enjoyed conversation with him regardless of the topic. I only know vagaries of what has happened with his daughter and I am curious about the event and his well being, but I do not prompt. This is not about me. Eventually, he mentions her name and he tells me the story. And the compelling light and warmth which shines from this soul knows and admits that a tiny part of “the story” is his story, but it is overwhelmingly obvious to me, that he knows…he just damn well knows, and he gets it, that this is about his daughter. Even now, after her death, this is her story and he does not bastardize it…this is her story. We speak of love and its mixture with pain and confusion… and about some frustration concerning the madness of it all. We speak of truths about life and death and suffering and the ending of that suffering; words that most fear to utter or acknowledge in the most minute manner. We speak of the judgment of souls by beasts who have no perception, nor understanding, nor real compassion for anyone, including themselves. We speak of finding peace…we speak of one soul aiding another in the most important process of life…to escape suffering and to find peace. We speak of “tough love”, not the charade, and the heavy lifting required doing such. We note how often everyone else will turn their back on you and leave you alone with the chore of such a thing. We speak of how the beasts will label you the lunatic as they drool at the thought of lashing your efforts with cruel insults and how they perpetuate the misery of a tormented soul as they harmonize the melody of me, me, me. Souls see flight and freedom within the heavens, past the insanity of righteous indignation, yet the beasts prefer a blinding, myopic universe, touting the same indignation as a binding, natural law of God. And I wonder when the law of God become an implement of suffering…when the law of God became a tool for the beasts to subjugate…when did the law of God, supposedly become better understood and implemented by the beasts, than the souls… when… when…. when? I know this father, this soul, understands these things. I know he is my brethren. I know he is a soul with wings. He tells me that he has not been able to have this conversation with anyone else, because they can’t handle the subject matter or they don’t really get it. He says that he knows that I understand, that I do get it, and that he knows, that I am okay with such a conversation. I feel honored by this statement and that he chose to share the story of his daughter with me. He is a brother in arms and his presence in this world, helps hold the world right side up.
To be continued…