Explanation Fixation

“Only real love waits while we journey through grief.” Excerpt from The Winter Vault by Anne Michaels, Canadian poet and novelist (b 1958)

The four of them stood on the curb talking with their friend seated in his truck, the darkness gathering around them. The after prom party at their neighbor’s had been so packed with people they had chosen to wait out front till the crowd thinned. The music and the noise from the party masked the low rumble of the approaching black SUV and the electronic hum as the darkened passenger’s side window slid down. Erick heard four hard popping sounds and felt a puff of air pass his right temple. Then the screams started. Erick turned toward the sound and caught sight of one of his friends, blood pouring down his face. A bullet had creased his skull literally scoring a trail across the top of his head. Blood flowed profusely from the ugly scalp wound.

Realizing the wound was superficial; Erick felt a momentary sense of relief as he glanced around trying to locate his other two friends. Where was Mikey? Then he saw him. Michael McGuire lay on his back, a pool of blood gathering on the pavement underneath his head. Erick knelt next to him, but he was unresponsive. A cell phone flipped open, 9-1-1, but when the operator answered she put them on hold. Frustrated the boys loaded Mikey and their wounded chum into their friend’s truck and headed for the hospital. The ambulance would arrive on the scene 28 minutes later.

Erick cradled Mikey in his arms during the ride. At one point he sensed something more than blood draining from him. It was a kind of warm energy passing out of him. In that moment, he sensed Michael’s spirit leave him. They arrived at the hospital. Mikey was placed on a gurney and rushed to the emergency care unit, Erick still at his side. An ER nurse stopped him at the double doors to the unit with a traffic cop-like “palm out” sign and a grim half smile.

Stricken and stunned Mikey’s family arrived at the hospital. Friends gathered; wept together, prayed together, waited together. When it came, the news was bad. The bullet had severed the brain stem. He was on life support. There was nothing to be down. The painful decision was made to disconnect Michael from the machines which were keeping him alive. But then, a discussion ensued; a difficult discussion; a prayerful discussion. The family asked the doctor to meet with them. The life support would not be disconnected immediately. The family, with the support and encouragement of close friends, had elected to donate Michael’s organs.

He remained on life support for two more days while the transplant team was assembled and vital organs removed. His liver was divided between two babies. His heart, lungs and kidneys would extend the lives of five others. There would be life after death. Finally, five days after his clinical death Michael McGuire was disconnected from life support and his body sent to the morgue where a forensic pathologist would remove the bullet still lodged in his brain stem; evidence of his murder.

We live in a world which demands explanation. We approach life with a “News at 11” kind of mentality. All must be revealed. The truth will out. Whether it be from the broadcast media, on the internet or shouted from tabloid headlines in the check out line we assume somewhere within our digitized, media spun world all will be explained; the real truth will come out, whether it be a grave political gaff, the marital infidelity of a celebrity or an environmental disaster.

When we encounter the death of a good young man however, there is no explanation and we go wanting. The what, where, when and how are very specific, but we can find no satisfactory WHY. In our search for “the truth” however, we don’t need factual explanations, we need prayerful contemplation. In the rush of emotional pain it is easy to confuse the senseless, with the meaningless. Often we hear the media describe loss of life as “senseless and meaningless.” There are many deaths which make no sense, which are beyond explanation, but no death is meaningless.

Michael’s death was senseless, even tragic, but the circumstances surrounding it bear tremendous meaning. Whether it was Erick’s sense of his spirit leaving him as he cradled him in his arms, to the many who kept vigil through the night, to the family’s decision to donate Michael’s organs; all of these acts possess a special meaning and deserve our attention and contemplation.

As stewards it is meaning which makes a difference and hence we search for it. We contemplate the events in our lives harvesting the gifts of meaning. Facts are superficial, cold, sterile and vary by the commentator and in each telling of the tale. Meaning is deeply personal and ultimately enriching. Explanations are quick fixes. Meaning takes time to manifest itself; to come to fruition. Afterwards, we move forward in life with a deeper sense of awareness.

The death of a loved one can never be adequately explained. It can only be faced, felt, experienced, survived and contemplated. Death is scary, inexplicable, fearful and, even when it is expected, unexpected. And yet, there is no greater evidence of life than death.

Dear God: Guide me to search daily for meaning in my life.

“The great challenge in living your wounds through instead of thinking them through is this: it is better to cry than to worry. It is better to feel your wounds more deeply than to understand them. Better to let them enter into your silence than to talk about them. The choice is whether you are taking your wounds to your head or to your heart.” Excerpt from The Inner Voice of Love by Henri Nouwen, Dutch-born Catholic priest and writer (1932-1996)

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
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