Vintage: I Saw What I Saw

While you're wondering what happened to me, and I'm doing my best to do anything but blog, I'm going to share this vintage piece I wrote ages ago, after an experience in the October of 2007.  It is merely about perspective.  Don't read too much into it.  Or you'll be like me.  We don't want that.  From this point on, it is exactly how I wrote it then.  It has been left untouched.

Disclaimer: For those seeking my usual satire or humor, please note that this is of a more serious tone.  Although it may still be insightful and worthy of your time, it most likely will not be of the jocund variety.  Also, I began writing this on Tuesday, so time is no longer accurate or relevant.

  

I see a lot of things.  Some of the things I see are hallucinations.  That happens, especially when you're as wacky as I am.  And some of what I see is real. Like the homeless looking guy I caught a glimpse of last month. He was riding a bike, with a computer balanced on the handlebars.  At night.  With no reflectors.  And I was enamored by this, naturally.  Was I imagining it?  No, I swear to you I wasn't.  I told myself I'd write about that moment for everyone's benefit, but of course, I never did.  But I didn't want to forget because some things I see are worth mentioning, are worth sharing, are worth remembering.

Yesterday, I was coming back from a week long road trip, driving through Missouri, returning from visiting other states, taking in the beauty of the autumn colors surrounding me.  It was breathtaking.  During this wonder, I received a phone call.  As typical for me, I retrieved my phone in time to miss the call. I won't bore you with details of unnecessary proportions, like how an hour prior to this, it was determined I should call this person to ask about how they were doing and if they'd heard about how someone else was doing.  And I also won't mention to you how this person was calling because of how the other person was doing.  All I will divulge is that my voyage to home from the exquisite trees of Missouri sojourned at a hospital, a destination not on the vacation itinerary, but somewhere I needed to be nonetheless.

In the insanity that ensued during this time, it wasn't all that insane.  It was actually almost peaceful, surreal, considering what was happening, considering what everyone was waiting for.  And as I proceeded down the sparkling clean, bleach scoured corridor, I was for one of the rarest occasions in my life, even perhaps the only time, not at all curious about what I'd see.  I didn't have my usual millions of questions.  My menacing mind wasn't juggling scenarios.  Maybe I was frightened, but above all, I was just numb; really, really numb.  And not curious in the slightest.

Once we entered that room, I found myself looking in as a bystander.  Somewhere down that hallway, I misplaced my relative status.  I forgot who I was. I forgot who was in that bed.  I forgot why I was there.  All I knew was sadness had engulfed the entire space of the room, sadness so great it swallowed every emotion, encumbered every thought of anyone in a two mile radius.  But I was still just numb.  And then I became reflective.  And while the despair sucked tears from every eye, I was immune.  Well, not fully impervious, but after years of being me, I do have certain immunities.  But it wasn't that.  I was captivated.

I don't know how to explain what happened in a comprehensible manner.   There in the hospital bed was someone cherished and respected, someone well loved by all those around him, and all that was left was his irreplaceable shadow.  His skin was a shade of yellow I couldn't recall and later I realized it was because of the jaundice.  I had forgotten about that minor detail.  Cancer had eaten away at him, but it never made it to his dignity, to his spirit.  And although I regretted seeing him in such a way, and I was in a state of obscurity due to his condition, he strangely enough wasn't my focus.  He's not the story I will reveal for years to come and the vision I'll hold onto for the rest of my life.

You're going to find me crazy, you probably do anyway, but I was transfixed by something else, someone else in that hospital room that day.  Beside the shadow was his heart, stiffened in a chair.  The true heart outside of his chest, she was a stunning marvel, going through a process few people could ever identify with. I don't know how to clearly explain my infatuation with the woman in the chair, the peril of strength she always is; in such a weakened state, she seemed even stronger than ever because of that. 

In front of me and all my confusion, was one of the loveliest sights I have ever witnessed.  I couldn't take my eyes off of her.  She was lost in a trance, her droopy eyes, lost in her thoughts, mislaid in the moment, dying as only a life can do.  I think I could have waved a hand in front of her face, and she wouldn't have ever noticed.  And finally I was curious.  Was she lost in thought?  Or was she sick of thinking?  Her circumstance was unfair and unfathomable.  And that only had me rapt more.

Her russet eyes were made of glass and there was a reflection of lights and darkness off of them.  Her expression was frozen in time and will forever be embedded in my brain, and this will disturb you, but if I could've gotten away with taking a photo, I would've done it.  But the snapshot is framed in a special region inside my head, an area reserved for things most people would never grasp, but I treasure them anyway.  She was morose, in the worst pain of her life, so what was wrong with me to find it besotting?  I can't answer that for you.  I can't answer that for me.  But I was caught in such intrigue. And I unintentionally impolitely stared at her.  She never knew.  She had no idea.

I wasn't being uncouth, I assure you; at least not deliberately.  I was taking in a realm of emotion that few people could ever be exposed to.  I wanted to present to her my heart to replace her breaking one.  I admired her poise, her loyalty.  But never once did I envy it.  Never once did I wish to be her.  She had transformed into one of the greatest pieces of art and I was respectfully admiring it.  Never had I seen such unconditional love until that moment.  She defined it. 

I only heard the woman speak once during this.  The doctors had stopped some medication because there was nothing else they could do.  They asked her if she wanted some alone time, and she answered, "I think I do."  The room of people resumed later bringing me with them and I examined her, exploring her sole expression all over again.  And as motionless as she had been, she suddenly jumped with a vengeance, in her weakened condition asked a nurse to remove the blood congregating around the tube in his mouth.  I had been completely unaware of the vivid red, caused by the massive internal bleeding. And standing before me in a position I wasn't familiar with, she broke down for the first time I had seen.  She mentioned losing him and every single head in that room united in thought that the prospect of the blood reminded her all over again what was happening to him, to her, to their son.  And she continued.  She gasped.  And she repeated her concern.  Adamantly.  And as we kept overhearing, "I'm losing him, he's gone," suddenly the invasive machine's countdown started, and within seconds her prediction, her knowledge had been right all along.  And I couldn't get over the fact that not only was she the most inspiring display I've ever seen, she was the most phenomenal.  I had heard of this occurring, but until this instant it had only been an unexplored myth.  But there really is such a connection so deep between two people and it is possible to be that entwined that one person can know.  They know.  Because she knew.

I will be haunted by that for eternity.  I will relish that for the rest of my life.  I will always ponder how.  But sometimes in life, there is no rhyme or reason, it just is.  And it just was.  For the first time, I heard the sound of a heart breaking.  And although I never want to see or hear something as powerful ever again, I have to appreciate the moment shared with me.  And as I felt like such an outsider and being so intrusive into such personal territory, it was an experience like nothing I'd ever observed and I'm a better person for it.  In me it will stay.

Within moments, the strongest woman in the world became a widow.   And through all of her sobs, she confessed she knew how sick he was and that this was a better passage for him, much better than any alternative to the situation.  And after a continuance of weeping, she suddenly looked up and towards the window and pointed the room to the sun.  There had been no sun that day, and then there it was, coming out long enough to set, coming out long enough to allow the woman to know its presence.  And as the faces looked up, a huge flock of birds flew across the horizon, looking picturesque and something only an incredibly gifted writer could have written, something unfortunately I cannot adequately describe to you.

And as enlightening as the sunset when there was no sun at all, and magically depressing as it all should have been to me, I still hold onto the image of the woman.  In all her vulnerability, she was beautiful, the most beautiful I have ever seen her.  I don't expect you to understand.  It was like in a photograph or a painting.  And it was beautiful.  Human emotion is beautiful.  Even the tears.  Even the despondency.  Life is beautiful.  And maybe death can be too. Because I saw what I saw, and what I saw, that was beautiful.