The Awakening by me Prologue I stood there on my balcony, witnessing the violence and rioting in the streets below. I watched as young men in the throes of passionate hatred gripped one another and shed the blood of those who might have been their friends in a variety of other settings. What drove them to view one another with such hatred? It was materialism and mistrust. Each viewed the other as a competitor in an all-or-nothing battle. They divided over petty differences that drove a wedge between every one of them, though they had more in common than they’d admit. As the fighting continued, memories of my youth flooded my mind. I used to be like them. I was so self-absorbed that my entire universe extended no further than me. I could not appreciate the miracles of nature around me or grasp the kindness of others. I was incapable of appreciating the suffering all around me let alone pain in other parts of the world. None of that mattered. The only thing I cared about was the preservation and augmentation of my success. I lived that way for decades. My life was thoroughly entrenched in material gain and pleasure. I wasnt interested in family. For that reason, I strictly avoided serious relationships with women. I viewed them as objects of pleasure and took great pains to distance myself from them when they mentioned commitment. My immediate family was an inconvenience to me. I reluctantly went to reunions only after one of my siblings put the pressure on and shamed me for being aloof. I despised family functions, because they interrupted my plans. They were never convenient. Holidays were a pain in the ass. My idea of a good holiday was to spend it alone or with an attractive woman. Such was the case in my fortieth year. I received the usual call at 3:20 PM, the Saturday before Thanksgiving, a holiday I loathed above all others. On the other end of the line was my sister, Mary. I expected her to put the pressure on about coming home. I was ready for an argument, but her message was different this time. Her voice broke as she announced that our parents were killed the night before by a drunk driver. I barely heard anything Mary said afterward. Instead of listening and communicating, I mumbled and nodded my head in agreement about the funeral. After a few minutes, Mary hung up and I sat down stunned. Until now, I had taken my parents for granted. I assumed they would live long lives. Dad was 62 and mom was 60. Now they were gone forever. I wasnt prepared for the sudden deprivation of their love. I hadnt really known I needed it until then, but it was suddenly gone and I felt an aching emptiness for the first time in my life. Suddenly, my confidence was shaken. I didnt know if I believed what I had just heard. Life without my parents? What would that be like? Part 1: Implosion Plans We met at mom and dad’s house on Sunday. When I arrived, all my siblings had been there for hours. Mary met me at the door and threw her arms around me. I returned the embrace numbly. She led me to the great room, where everyone else had gathered. My brothers, Daniel and Gerald, were accompanied by their families. My other sister, Ellen was there with her husband. The conversations were low key and reflective. One minute, everyone shared a funny memory about our parents and laughed. Then, someone talked about the accident and weeping ensued. Our parents were lovely people. I didn’t like family gatherings, but that was no reflection on them. They were the best kind of parents one could have. They were strict when we were children, but they loved us and gave us lasting memories. When we were grown up, they became our friends. I didn’t understand why then, but I didn’t appreciate that love to its fullest. I took it for granted and assumed it would always be there. I never imagined it would be ripped away from me by someone I didn’t know. For years, I ignored their invitations to family events and resented the imposition. My parents knew I had issues, but their love for me never failed. My siblings weren’t so understanding. They resented my behavior and accused me of callous disrespect. I half expected them to ask what I why I bothered to show up, but they all took turns thanking me for coming. Their kindness threw me off guard. I didn’t know how to respond to it, and I found myself wishing they had behaved according to my expectations. I sat silently while they talked. We had a memorial service and a funeral to plan. We had a meeting downtown at the law firm of Gibson, Thomas and Collins on Tuesday. We’d bury our parents on Friday. The realization that all of these plans would unfold in less than a week was more than I could handle. I wanted to leave, but that wouldn’t have been good form. We didn’t have to worry about burial expenses. Our parents had already taken care of that years ago. They didn’t have the finest things in life, but they had enough, they thought ahead and were happy. As they grew older, they set money aside for us. They wanted to leave each of us with a little help to work toward our dreams. I was too selfish to appreciate how much they sacrificed, but I knew I missed them. I drove home in a state between denial and rage. I wanted to believe my parents were still alive, but I knew they weren’t. I thought of the drunk driver who hit them. Who was he? I wanted to meet him in a dark alley and return the favor. As I drove through the darkened streets, I saw my parent’s faces a thousand times. Memories of my childhood came racing forward and presented themselves as if they had just happened. I wept as I drove, but I wouldn’t have known it if my tears hadn’t made it hard to see. I got home, went straight to bed and fell asleep immediately. I didn’t dream about anything. Perhaps that was a blessing. I needed to close my eyes and fall completely unconscious. I desperately had to forget everything that ever happened to me and take refuge in a state of nonexistence for a few hours. The week ahead would be hard enough. The alarm went off at 6:00 AM. It was time for work, and I got up as if nothing had changed since Friday. I was ready to go into the office and dive into my projects. By the time I finished breakfast, however, I knew I couldn’t go back to work this week. I was already dressed in my professional attire when I called the office and let my boss know what happened. He told me to take two weeks off, and not to think about work in the meantime. Until that moment, I had never thought of my boss as a kind person. I wanted to go in the following week, but he said I needed the extra time to gather my thoughts and reflect. I suspected he was right, but I had no idea how accurate his insights were. They were prescient. I exchanged my work clothes for some jeans, a sweat shirt and my sneakers. Tomorrow, I’d meet with my siblings at Gibson, Thomas and Collins. On Wednesday, we’d have a memorial service for my parents. On Thursday, we’d have Thanksgiving and remember our parents. On Friday, we’d say goodbye to them at the cemetery. Today was my last peaceful day before descending into what I considered hell. I loved my parents, but why did I have to say goodbye to them with everyone else? Why couldn’t I do it by myself? I didn’t like my siblings, and I knew they didn’t like me. The fact that they were nice to me on Sunday was just the thing to do on these occasions. If I dropped dead today, they wouldn’t miss me at all. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. Instead of mourning for my lost parents, I found myself gnashing my teeth at my brothers and sisters. All of them thought they were so much better than me, the middle misfit. They had all taken turns scolding me over the years for my “selfish behavior.” To hell with them! Now that mom and dad were gone, why did I ever have to see my brothers and sisters again? I began to formulate my own plan. I’d say goodbye to mom and dad, but not with those people. They had always seen me as an embarrassment to the family. Id memorialize my parents in my own way and visit their grave in my own time — not with their other children. They’d never see me again. Flight My successful career as a sales manager gave me options that most people can only imagine. I could work anywhere. My reputation proceeded me around the country and I was also known in international markets. I had cushy checking and savings accounts, and I had stock options. While I was never satisfied with the amount of money I had, it was more than enough to take me anywhere I wanted to go. By Monday afternoon, I had written a letter of resignation to my boss. I informed him that I would send for my possessions later. I had also booked a reservation to fly out to Seattle, and secured a lease on an apartment. I’d have a moving company ship my things out in two weeks. I went to an auto dealer that afternoon and sold my car. By 11:30 PM, I was on a red-eye flight from Tampa, Florida to Seattle, Washington. I made up my mind never to live in Florida again. I had a layover the next morning in Phoenix, Arizona. The flight from there to Seattle was delayed, so I had plenty of time to realize just how little I wanted to stay in that dessert. Even in November, it was hotter than Florida. Thankfully, I never had to set foot outside the airport, but when I heard what the temperature was and saw the shimmering tarmac, I knew I didn’t want to stick around. I arrived in Seattle at 2:30 PM on Tuesday. By now, the family had met at Gibson, Thomas and Collins. They probably also knew I wasn’t interested in meeting with them or in finding out anything. I didn’t realize it then, but the last will and testament of my parents included messages and blessings for all of us. It didn’t occur to me then that skipping that event showed the ultimate disdain for my parents. I’d find that out only after a long list of tumultuous events led to my reconciliation with the family. I began my new life in a high-rise apartment downtown. It gave me a nice view of Puget Sound. Before the day was out, I made the pitch to a start-up company called TechPlus. I gave them my resume and said I’d send references upon request. They were interested, and I suspected I’d have them eating out of my hand before long. I resolved in my mind to transform that company into a huge success story and cash in later. My goal was to make the majority of my income capital gains. Within five years, I wanted to leave my status as a payroll worker for the executive ranks, reaping the rewards of my talent. Being a sales manager was nice enough, but that certainly wasn’t going to be a satisfactory place to park my career. I had to make an aggressive move and this start-up was just the place to make it. Wednesday came around, and I realized that I had missed the memorial service. I sat alone in my new apartment, looked out over Puget Sound and reflected on my parents and the good memories they left to me. I tried to tune my brothers and sisters out of those memories, but that was impossible. In fact every good memory I had with my parents as inextricably linked to my siblings. As if it mattered, I spoke out loud to my parents, saying that I missed them and would always remember them. Thursday was a crappy day: Thanksgiving. The Farmer’s Market was closed as were most of the stores and restaurants downtown. I cursed bitterly in the streets. A few fellow pedestrians heard me, looked at me perplexed and probably thought I was a street person out of his mind. At that moment, I was! I cursed at my brothers and sisters. One by one, I uttered profanities, expletives and curses around their names as I recounted the angry moments I had experienced with each of them. As I carried on, I found a bar and decided to drink away Thanksgiving. I made a joke of toasting the turkey that escaped my gullet. Everyone in the bar thought I was insanely funny and laughed wildly. I reveled in the positive attention and got sillier every time I tipped my elbow. By 3:00 AM, I was thoroughly wasted. I stumbled out of the bar to find my way back to my apartment. I was so plastered, however, that I forgot where I lived. I ended up asking perfect strangers where I lived. They recommended I go to the police and find out. After what seemed like an hour, I found a bench and fell asleep. I woke up to the pounding of bitter cold rain on my face. In November, Seattle can go from pleasantly warm to bitter cold in hours. I awoke to something between the two extremes. It wasn’t freezing, but it was cold enough to get hypothermia if you were wet and exposed to the elements. When I attempted to get up and walk, I realized I had a raging hangover. I didn’t know where I was. How far had I wandered from home? I had no idea. Even though I felt like a dead man, I remembered the street address of my apartment, and I stopped a stranger to ask how far I was from it. He told me I was about two or three miles away. I thanked him and went on my way. I didn’t think two or three miles was too far to walk, but every step I took pounded my head as well as the pavement. I walked two or three blocks before the nausea hit me hard, and then I hailed a cab. He had me home in less than ten minutes. My apartment building was a welcoming sight, but when I stepped into my pad, I realized I had slept through my parents’ funeral in a stupor: more disrespect! That realization stained my soul with shame. To be continued…
Posted on: Sun, 10 Nov 2013 19:59:51 +0000
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