What Matters

So I am going to forewarn you. This is not a pleasant post. This is not something light or easy. This is a part of my brain that is hard. I have debated posting this, but I'm trying this thing where I am real with people. So take this as is.

It's funny what happens when I just sit here thinking. It’s crazy how strange it is to just allow my thoughts to be. So often I find myself trying to control them, trying to tame them, even trying to forget them. But, how refreshing it is to take a deep breath and just release them- all the good, all the bad, all the ugly.

I was just telling one of my best friends how I find my brain to be one of the most dangerous parts about me. I feel like my mind is my own weapon against me. It is so easy for me to get stuck in all the thoughts that run through there on a daily basis, never seeming to cease.

So, *side tangent*, one time, in all my overanalyzing, I realized something incredible. Every girl I have ever talked to, save for a few shallow exceptions, have, at some point or another, overthought a situation. In fact, I always see girls worrying and gossiping and complaining about something.  We can never really seem to shut up. And then I took a look at all my guy friends, at all the men in my life. Sure, they worry and complain, but then there are those times when you see a guy gazing off into the distance with this blank look etched across his face. I’ve always been curious about what could possibly be going on above his eyes. So one time, when my curiosity got the best of me, I asked. And I got the ever so typical answer, “nothing”. But I pressed on, refusing to take the answer people say to hide what is actual going on inside their brain. And as I pushed, I continued to get the infuriating, one-word answer of “nothing”. Finally, after endlessly nagging, I got a firm and exasperated multiple word answer: “Sydney, I’m telling you that I really can’t tell you what I was thinking about because I don’t know. Truly I was thinking about absolutely nothing.”

I was stunned. He sounded so honest, but I couldn’t believe it. This is a concept that I can’t grasp. Perhaps it’s because I think about thinking about nothing- the concept that requires no thought.

To any girl reading this, can you honestly say that you can actively, or even subconsciously think about nothing, or rather just not think at all? If so, I envy you, because I have never experienced this sensation. It seems wonderful.

You see, my mind doesn’t work quite like that. Sure, I try to tune it all out, the noises, the constant stream of fears and worries and reality and depth. I try to focus on only the good, the thoughts that bring me happiness, the things I want to hear and believe and think about. But recently, a new, or perhaps repressed thought keeps bubbling up inside me.  The thought is a somewhat depressing thought. Honestly, I doubt you’ll want to think about. Because, that’s the point.  Really, we subconsciously trick ourselves. It’s ingrained in our human nature. You see, we can’t really face reality. We can’t handle it. So we fill our lives with distractions, labeling them as important. Whether it’s sports or school or money or drugs or alcohol or tv or stuff or anything, we use this as a distraction. Because, and I honestly believe this, without distractions, what are you left with? I have this theory, that we are left with facing ourselves, and a great majority of the time that scares us, because maybe we won’t like what we see. Maybe reality is far too depressing because, in many ways, it is beyond our comprehension.

So, I realize that I’m going all Holden Caulfield on you, and I’m not writing this to depress you. I writing the truth of my brain. I’m telling you that it isn’t all full of happiness and carefree thoughts. Is anyone’s? How often I try to pretend that I don’t have fears or worries or doubts, that I don’t understand so many things, that I’m not broken. But I am. I’m broken. I feel like everyday we follow Eve and bite into the apple. We have this thirst, this obsession with knowledge, with understanding and comprehending our world, ourselves, reality, humanity, life, God. And we can’t. Because at the end of the day, we are afraid to face the knowledge of trust. We are afraid to admit that we don’t know. We are afraid of the unknown, and that might be the only useful thing I really know.

So, I’m going to tell you about a recent experience that will forever remain with me. This may be one of the most difficult accounts I have and will ever write about.  It’s not pleasant. It may sound harsh at parts. You may disagree with my thoughts. But I’m not asking for anyone to agree with me. I’m just showing you me. I’m not holding back. All the good, all the bad, all the ugly.

My grandpa has been dying for over two years. And for over two years he has lived, if you can even call it that, in excruciating pain. He’s also lived undiagnosed. For the past couple of years, he has lived, drowning in the unknown. He has been facing something the majority of us refuse to ever think about. He has been suffering more than anyone I have ever seen. He has been broken down in everyway and is only left with the question of importance. What matters?

I love my grandpa. I’ll tell you a little bit about the grandpa I know. When I was born, I don’t think he liked me very much. Oh, yes, he loved me from the start, but I doubt that he liked me. He thinks babies are ugly. And, I mean, he has a point. But from the second I was born, he had already made the commitment to teach me the art of stubbornness. He flat out refused to call me by the legal name given to me by his daughter and son-in-law. To him, I have always been Lulu. It was apparently a character in some old comic, and I reminded him of her. He and my grandma are the only two people I have ever allowed to call me this. I think I can only remember two times that my grandpa called me ‘Sydney’ and I hated it. I am forever Lulu to him.

I have been sassy with my grandpa since I could talk. He gives me crap, and I dish it right back. Our banter was well known within our family. He is stubborn, close-minded man who was always watching some baseball game in one of his two favorite chairs. He was the king of naps and I would always come into the room to find him asleep with the remote resting across his forehead. He was grumpy and negative, but he has a laugh that fills my heart with joy. I would always, even as a teenager, come over and sit on lap and he would tease me about something and, somehow with him, I always had some witty response. If only I could do that with all the other people who tease me!

One time, I found out that my grandpa hated to dance. In fact, he refused to even dance with my mom at her wedding. I always told him that I thought I could get him to dance with me at mine. He said it wouldn’t happen, but I firmly believe in my persuasion abilities.

I have always been one of his favorites. I know it, and so does my family. I’m not gonna lie. I’m stupidly proud of that. Of course, he loves all my brothers and cousins, but I have always gotten along with him the best. I think it’s because he knows I won’t take crap. I’m just as stubborn as he is. I would like to think that I’m more open-minded, but somehow, I have a feeling that isn’t really true.

I have known him for eighteen years, as an overweight, stubborn, loving grandfather. He could make me smile and laugh and he could infuriate me. He was a man of many talents.

Last week, he went into impatient hospice. And no one truly knows what’s wrong. He’s been to so many doctors and had so many tests done. They have had theories but nothing conclusive. He probably weighs as much as me. His once deep voice is faint and hardly audiable. He looks so frail, so unlike the man I have known my whole life.  

I have been afraid of seeing him. Because I knew that when I did, it could be the last time. I have been afraid to remember him in this way- sick and weak and hurting so much.

Nearly a year ago, I talked to him on the phone. Now, like I said, he is a stubborn old man. I know he has his views on religion and Christianity and God. And, though I would never pretend to know a man’s heart, he has always struck me as the type to put God in a box. He’s a formality, taken out on Sunday’s and placed gently back inside the box, waiting for the next time he could be used again.

So, anyway, a year ago, my grandpa called me. And for some reason, he told me that he believed that God had forgotten him. And I didn’t know what to say. What do you tell a man, who has been physically suffering for so long without an answer, how do you tell him that God is there when clearly, he doesn’t seem like it? So, I’m sure I said something lame, something along the lines of  “I’m praying for you. You’re not forgotten.”

So, for the past year of my life, I have been very concerned for my beloved grandpa’s soul. I have asked people to pray that he would find God. I have asked that people wouldn’t just focus on praying for the end of his suffering, but on praying that through his suffering he could come to know Christ, personally. It may sound harsh, but I would much rather my grandpa suffer nearly unendurable pain on earth than spend eternity apart from God. I wanted him to be here as long as took for him to know his Savior. And he is very stubborn and negative, and I’m sure, like me, always has to learn things in the hardest of ways.  I believe that God listened to my prayer. He’s still alive.

About a week before my final exams, my mom called me. She told me that it probably wouldn’t be much longer now. He was going into hospice. He was going to die.

Now, this is not something I was really able to process. In fact, I kind of refused to. I know, very well, that death is a part of life. But I wanted his death to lead into True Life. And, I suppose I was feeling a bit selfish. I desperately wanted to see him before he left me.  But, I knew that once I saw him, I had to admit to myself what was happening.

I figured, he must be scared. I feel like I would be, facing the unknown, facing death, facing God. Maybe I’m just too young and naïve, or maybe I’m a coward, but I just figured it had to be frightening to know that you are about to leave this world. We all will one day. Heck, it could be any moment. But it seems like it would be different to know how quickly it was approaching.

When I got home from school, my grandma called and said that my grandpa really wanted to see me. So, the next day, my mom and I left for Defiance Ohio. I walked into his room and stared at what little was left of this man that I loved. And I could feel my heart breaking. My grandma was sitting in chair reading and he was just laying there. His skin was so loose from all of the weight he had lost. He cheek bones were more clearly defined than I had ever seen them. His eyes protruded a little more than usual. Everything about him was skinny and frail. And when he saw me, his face lit up, and in a voice that didn’t belong to him, he said, “Lulu here’s to take care of me”.  And everything, all the strength in me, seemed to just melt away. And I went over to him and grabbed his hand and kissed him and held onto him. I sat next to him, holding his hand for nearly two hours. Both of us refused to let go. And then, he just starting talking. And I listened to every word, trying to remember everything he said. He talked about everything- there’s really no better way to describe it. He seemed, so different.  There was this peace about him, like I had never seen before. He talked about how he just had to endured, how it was up to the grace of God, how he could bare this burden of pain. He wasn’t worried about himself at all. He was worried for those who would be left behind. He went through and talked about the pastor he wanted at the funeral and how my brothers would be pallbearers. He went through his grand kids and said how he would think about each of them. And then he started crying and looked at me and firmly grasped my hand and said “And then I thought of you. You’re special. You’re special”.

And, I wish I knew what he meant because I was sitting there, trying to be strong and falling apart at the seams. I had been a coward about seeing him, afraid to speak, afraid of so many things. And here he was saying that I was special. And I looked around and all of us, my mom and grandmother and grandpa and me, were crying.

He talked about our family, about how he was so glad my grandma would be financially ok, about which of my cousins he was worried for, about his kids, about everything. He said how he wished my little cousins would go to Sunday school. He talked about how he thinks he done good in his life. He said how he tried to help people.

After a little while, he looked at me and said with a smile, “I wouldn’t have danced with you at your wedding anyway.”

I suppose, I’ll never know, but I still think I could have made it happen. But in that moment, I realized he wouldn’t be there. That he would never see me graduate college, or get to threaten my boyfriend, or dance with me at my wedding. I realized he would never meet his great grand kids, or rather, they wouldn’t meet him. And for some reason, I hated that. I hated that he wouldn’t be there. It was selfish, but true.

After a bit, two of my grandparents’ friends came in to visit him. I don’t know them well, and honestly, didn’t care much that they were there. They came in and sat down, the woman next to my grandma on the couch in the corner and the man in a folding chair at the foot of my grandpa’s bed. My mom sat at his feet on his bed and I sat in a chair by his head, still grasping his hand. The couple asked how he was feeling, and went through what are apparently the normal formalities to talk about with a dying man. And then, I noticed they started to do something very interesting, something most humans do. They started incessantly talking. The room couldn’t be quiet for all of 7 seconds without one of their obnoxious voices penetrating the silence. And they talked about the most annoying things. They talked and joked about some friend they knew, talked about money and jobs and baseball.  They asked me about college and my major, and I lifelessly gave them the answers they didn’t really care about. They talked and talked and talked. It was all about filling the silence. But I wasn’t really listening. I was staring at my grandpa. I decided to focus my attention of trying to remember him. I looked at hand in mine and started comparing the two. They were similar. I remember looking and seeing how similar our hands were. I looked at his skin and remember thinking about how that skin had been through so many more years of life than mine had been. I started praying that Jesus would come be with him. I started praying that he would come hold my grandpa, ease his pain. My eyes traveled to his face. His eyes were closed. Everyone in the room assumed he was asleep. After all, he was on painkillers and all sorts of medicine that made him drowsy. But, I knew better. We was awake. Every now and then his hand would twitch and his thumb would rub soothing circles around the back of my hand. And suddenly, I realized that me and my grandpa were on the same wavelength. And as I was thinking this, the man’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Lowell, did you get a chance to catch the Indians game the other day?” And then my grandpa said something I found hilarious. “No, can’t say I’ve really been able to get into them.”

The whole situation was comical. Here was my grandpa, dying, being asked if he cared about some stupid, pointless, ridiculous baseball game. And all I could feel was the anger in my heart and the stupidity of it all. The stupidity of these people, of humanity, of this ‘reality’ that we cloak ourselves in. And it made me sick. Because this man, couldn’t deal with the room. He couldn’t deal with depression. He couldn’t deal with death. I realized that they talk to distract themselves. They were too afraid to think about the things my grandpa was thinking, I was thinking. And I realized that my grandpa had been closing his eyes trying to tune them out. He didn’t care about anything they were saying. Because it was so damn unimportant.

How often do we do this? I understand that we, emotionally, can’t always give ourselves over to these thoughts because they are literally too much for us to handle. We need distractions, or maybe we just trick ourselves into thinking that. And I just started thinking about how ridiculous we truly are. Sports and money and jobs and school and this little society we have constructed and labeled as “important” will one day fall away. How often have I spent nights ceaselessly worrying about getting through my classes and having enough money for gas and getting a job? How often have I worried about the outfit I’m going to wear and the shoes that would compliment it.  And it all means nothing. At the end of it all, I am going to look into the eyes of my God, and have to face him and myself. And everything else, none of it matters.

I know what people will say. You have to do the little things, go through the hoops, because that’s the world we live in. If you’re going to survive, there are things you have to do. And you know what, maybe they’re right. In order to survive, in order to support those you love, we have to fall in line and worry. And maybe that’s why I get so frustrated with the world. Because everything about my being and soul screams that this isn’t my home. Everything inside me tells me that I am not meant for this. The Everything in me is constantly reminding me that greater things are yet to come. And I believe that in this room, full of stupid distractions, my grandpa and me were thinking the same thing.

I continued to sit there, blocking out the dumb chatter, and continued looking at this man who I may never see alive again. His eyes remained closed, and his hand remained attached to mine. He seemed so peaceful. And then his eyes opened and he looked at me and asked “Are you hungry?” and I responded with the truth, “yes”.

“You should go get food. You should go.” He replied. And I knew what he was saying. I couldn’t sit there forever. We had to let each other go. And I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to leave him with people who didn’t understand, I didn’t want to leave him at all. It seemed stupid that I had to leave for some bodily function. But I knew he was right. And I felt like I should tell him a million different things. I felt like there was so much I needed to say. I wanted to tell him how much Jesus loved him. I wanted to tell him how Jesus would take care of him. I felt like I needed to say something to make sure it would all be ok. But as I looked at him, at this man, the only words I could form were “I love you”. And they sounded so muffled by my tears and I held his hand tighter and kissed him again and he just looked at me and said, “It will be alright.”

I let go of his hand. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I ran over to my grandma and she held me tightly and just kept repeating, “He loves you so much”.  And I ran back to him and kissed him again and then I left. I left the two people I didn’t care about, and my grandma and my grandpa. I walked back to my mom’s car and we drove to a Frisch’s Big Boy to eat food, to take care of that annoying bodily function, just like my grandpa had told me to do.

It was strange, saying goodbye, without really saying goodbye. It was strange being able to see what we normally try to ignore. Everything just seemed strange. I don’t really have any more words. I guess this is the last thought I have. We spend so much time trying to know things. We spend time trying to figure everything out. But I think, we make things so complex. God has never asked us to know everything. He has never said that we needed to. There is only one thing the Lord has commanded and that is just to love- love Him, love His children, love His Son. The rest is for God.