The underlying truth is that we must all understand and acknowledge how intricately connected we are. And yes, there is a lot of work on the road ahead- good work.
Dave Lott
15 November 2020
SEEING PAST THE ARMOR THROUGH OUR GRIEF
When I drove up for the first time to the home of a dying patient this past week familiar thoughts surrounded me. As is my practice I asked for some inspiration in knowing what to say amidst hopes that the meaning of a caring presence would be enough no matter what words I could muster. This time, though, those thoughts were momentarily overshadowed by the presence of a large American flag alongside one declaring Trump 2020 in the front yard. And my mind wandered to images of the bumper stickers on my car for “Black Lives Matter”, for a “Green New Deal”, and an end to mass incarceration among others.
In the driveway I was greeted by a man in his 50s with a long, white beard and hair pulled into a ponytail, worn blue jeans and boots, standing in front of his motorcycles in the carport. Discernment took hold as my awareness of the stereotypes he presented had to be acknowledged then pushed aside. He was not a Trump true believer, a cultist, he was the worried husband of a dying woman.
He looked at me and all of my protective gear with a leery eye and just stared for what seemed like minutes but in reality was just a few seconds until I said “you must be (the patient’s) husband”. Again, in what seemed like a lifetime, he acknowledged that he was and soon it became obvious that he did not remember me calling him the day before to set up my visit. With several dogs barking ferociously he eventually moved towards the side door for us to go in.
Inside, his wife was in her hospital bed, turned to her side resting in a silence that betrayed her ongoing pain that the nurse would soon address in her visit. The conversation with the husband never strayed from talking about his wife and how he was coping except when the subject of his bikes and dogs were mentioned as I tried to put him at ease. He was off from work that day to care for her. He said his work was supportive but that he would not be getting paid if he didn’t work and he had to make that sacrifice. At another time, it would have been natural for me to shift into a conversation about the lack of paid family leave and how that would make all of our lives easier but it wasn’t the time or place.
Soon, his brother with whom he also lived, arrived from the grocery and after the brother unloaded a few bags from his car, we began to talk. It wasn’t long before the state of the world came up and the brother decried the recent elections repeating the Trump-primed allegations that everything was rigged, that dead people were voting and the whole plethora of falsehoods emanating from the liar-in-chief and his enablers. This soon led to his getting exercised, proclaiming multiple times that “it’s only Jesus, God and the holy spirit, not Allah or Buddha, that’s all there is, Jesus , God and the holy spirit”. Apparently the deification of Trump in his mind did not conflict with the allegiance he professed to his faith.
But this was not the time nor the place for me to engage in anything other than listening to what allowed him to cope with whatever he needed to go through at the time. I shifted gears back onto the family as he spoke of their father who was ill and far away in Massachusetts and as he told that story he became tearful; clearly his sister in law’s imminent death was inseparable from his sadness and worries about his elderly father far away.
Within a short time the hospice nurse arrived and provided education to the husband about medication changes and issues with the pain pump. After she left, familiar topics for a family facing the death of a love one came up – did they want her resuscitated when her heart and breathing stopped, were there any final arrangements and with whom and all those things no one wants to discuss. And then we talked about other family that would be coming to town to see her including the patient’s daughter she had given away for adoption earlier in her life who would be arriving soon. After exploring what support the husband might need from me it was time to leave.
As I was leaving, my thoughts returned to a memory of another patient of mine years ago whose son was visiting days after getting out of prison where he had been incarcerated for ten years for a brutal assault during which he had beaten another man so severely that internal organs were ruptured. His arms and shirtless torso were filled with the tattooed body armor of white supremacist words and symbols. He is not someone in other circumstances I would be around. But I was there as a witness while his outer toughness wilted and he fell over the comatose body of his dying father, sobbing over what I imagined were his regrets of ten years lost without him. I wondered if he would ever realize how much he had in common with those he hated so much that both his mind and body had been altered in irreparable ways.
Still every death has the potential to transform us in some way. Our lives are forever changed when a loved family member dies. Perhaps for one of these men, through the pain and need for healing, they would learn to understand the humanity of those beyond their circle of friends and family.
Most of the time I struggle, with good reason, to see the humanity of those Three Percenters, Proud Boys and other brutally racist Trumpists who have dehumanized, threatened and injured friends and other people I know who are working for a more just world. Right now, lives are at stake and have to be defended without hesitation.
I think ultimately that the real hope for personal transformation will only come from a new world that is rooted in and celebrates the humanity and beauty of each of us. I have to believe that one day, we will all be able to take off the armor of tattoos, flags and ideology and learn to walk amongst each other with wonder and appreciation instead of fear. But there is still so much work to do.