I was recently treated to a chat with an old buddy. By "chat" I mean the modern method of communication - a video call (Zoom is a brand, not a noun). And by "old buddy" I mean a fellow who has shared, graced and improved my life for about 60 years. Like any of us with six decades and a pound or two too many under our belt, he has had to endure more than his reasonable allotment of trials and tribulations. We also have a unique life experience in common; we both have traversed the trauma of the loss of a father in our pre-teen years. And if you have been paying attention carefully to this blog (no, this will NOT be on the quiz), this dear friend and I both have this fate in common with yet another childhood chum from our youth in the Land of 10,000 Lakes. Is there something in the water up there - one might rightfully query?! I think it's merely yet morbidly coincidental.
But as I was listening to Buddy #1 catch me up on his life over the past few months since we've last connected, I was struck by the overwhelming collection of physiological and emotional challenges that he has withstood during the past half year. But what affected me even more, was the attitude that prevailed during his retelling of each ordeal . . . how he has found the strength and fortitude to come out on the other side of each occasion with peace and resolve. Not defeat or acquiescence, but acceptance and resilience toward the bombs of life that keep exploding around him and his family. He wasn't bitter or angry, he was putting each event behind him and looking toward the future.
And as I was reflecting on how Buddy #2 has also lived his life of 3-score and 5, I am reminded that he too possesses the same perspective toward the challenges and forced-changes that have found him. So I asked myself, (self, I said), could there be some kind of bizarre correlation with children of lost parents and their coping mechanisms for dealing with the grief and grueling that inevitably confronts us all? Admittedly, the research is highly anecdotal and the thesis is built on n=3, but it is hard to ignore.
Perhaps the fortitude that we exhibit is really a wall of denial that was built around our overwhelming emotions at a very young age. Or maybe it's a barometer for life that can weather greater storms. This doesn't make us better or stronger or tougher than anyone else - it's just another aspect of the baggage that we schlep along with us and bring to each encounter.
PS: I have been inundated by a flood of feedback from a majority of loyal readers (ok it was two people; which mathematically nearly does constitute a majority of my readers) who take exception to all caps - in texting parlance it is equivalent to shouting. So I'm trying out a new font.
