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Four Years Ago

March 21, 2021

32 of 40

Four years ago this day I felt fine and could not stand up. The world had lost its center. No dizziness, pain or, really, anything except any way to stay upright.

48.5 years ago my father could not stand either. It turns out that we are related. Veins, one in my head, and one that splits to his legs, were defective and broke. We were both about 61.

No tragedy. No therapy. No damage. I needed nothing. But I take pills. He needed surgery.

But 66 years ago, my cells that made my body were being created and assembled. About 111 years ago, my father was in the same place. Things went well, save in but one place for each of us. One tube inside us could not stand up to 60 years of use.

Those cells in the interior layer of one of mine, failed. Some malformation failed in my father. I pathetically work out, every day, for over an hour. My father smoked about a pack and a half of Kent cigarettes a day and drank 12 ounces of scotch each night.

We never really knew each other. Which was good for me, because he knew my siblings and it was not good for them.

The gifts we were given loom large. The losses that each life had, larger. But after A Year In Lent (that I am sure he also experienced in 1920) the gifts are larger because we could not have some of them. He was 11, and I doubt that he had had a smoke or a drink yet. But the damage of his youth had been made, as was mine.

Understanding is fully limited. We can define and move on. But sometimes it is not clear that we will move on. Like 4 and 48.5 years ago. And at some time there will be a time when we do not move on, here.

There is no sense in our imperfection. We know how our veins should carry oxygen to our cells, but sometimes they cannot. There is no option but hope. That was given to me, but not to my father. He knew that he got what he deserved. I know that I deserve nothing.

Easter is for every human, it is the hope of faith beyond us. It is real, or it is not. The truth is, Easter was given to us, we did and do not deserve it, or earn it, and I do not understand it.

Or why there is no more damage than there is.

After a hundred years

Nobody knows the Place

Agony that enacted there

Motionless as Peace

Weeds triumphant ranged

Strangers strolled and spelled

At the lone Orthography

Of the Elder Dead

Winds of Summer Fields

Recollect the way —

Instinct picking up the Key

Dropped by memory —

Emily Dickinson

2 Comments leave one →
  1. Andrea Bradford permalink
    March 23, 2021 10:44 am

    Another thoughtful post. Thank you, Duo.
    We refer to taking care of our health as going to the body shop, irritating and unavoidable part of life and inheritance.

    Savor the joys and lessons of Easter. -A

  2. April 24, 2021 3:10 pm

    Great post! I have familial hypercholesterolemia. Unlike my Dad, I cannot tolerate statins. I have been blessed because there are now alternative drugs to lower ultra-high cholesterol.

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