My brain is an interesting place for sure. I've been considering what it is to either react or respond and what within my brain chooses one or the other of those two choices.
It was very enlightening when I first read somewhere that if I speak to another person such that I illicit a response the conversation will be different than if I speak in such a way that I illicit a reaction.
That knowledge right there gave me wonderful freedom in knowing how to effectively promote a useful conversation.
For example, someone could say to me; "Why did you plant that bizarre, twisty shaped
shrub in your garden?" Or they could say; "Hmm, that is certainly an interesting choice of bush to put in front of your house."
In my brain the first comment heads me right to a reaction. "What do you mean "bizarre?" Why are you picking on me? You obviously have bad taste if you don't see this choice of shrub as being a good choice." And on and on it would go. My ego is activated and I defend and react and attack in return.
With the second comment I am invited into a conversation. I don't have to tamp down and restrain my injured ego, I can just explain what and how I was thinking when I choose that shrub and that spot.
This has a lot to do with the human brain's gift of fight or flight. How do you think that is so? And why?
Tony used to work on my cars for me and apologize for what he had to charge me. He was full of helpful advice regarding taking care of my automobiles. He had clear and uninhibited opinions about many things including my son's cars and how he took care of them and drove them.
He was ribald and loved to laugh at his own jokes. He was constantly aware of who was driving by and would know who they were and if they had been good to him or not. And if they were out to get him.
He recently told me that when he was a young teenager because his step-dad and mother were disabled he would often be kept home from school to drive them to medical appointments or whatever. And that his step-dad was abusive and he would take measures to avoid being hit even while he was driving.
Anyway, whatever, now he is no more. At least here. He was working on clearing land near his house and his backhoe wouldn't start and then I suppose unexpectedly it did and ran over him. At something like 36 years of age his life here is done. Complete. Over.
Now his wife is without a husband and his son and daughter have no dad. Now for them I imagine there will struggle and memories and faded pictures.
And I am in this surreal world where I drive by his house or drop off some flowers for his wife and I avoid the torn up patch of ground where I suppose the accident happened. The backhoe thankfully is gone.
Something has ruptured. The world feels different. I look out my window towards the direction of his house and tears well up. I'm not entirely sure why but I think it has to do with unfinished business and what seems like the futility of life. One cantankerous backhoe and death shows up eager and vengeful.
Anyway, there will be a memorial service and a burial and life will go on.
For some reason I don't even consider "where" Tony is now. I choose to have a certain belief regarding God and so I don't worry about Tony. His life with in some ways was always a struggle is over and he is in love. I don't know where, I don't know how, well actually I do have a clue, but I'm sure he is well taken care of.
So here I sit with no answers really. The sun is shining, the rest of the household will get up and life on the surface will go on. But I tell you something was ruptured and will never be the same. For me at least there is a golden remedy that fills the cracks but the cracks of life are always there even though the event of the breaking may fade.
Rest in peace, Anthony Clark.
