A Backward Glance

8/12/2015

The Lay of the Land

By Lyn Messersmith

A Backward Glance

            The congregation didn’t half fill the little church of my childhood because most folks who knew the deceased have gone on ahead of him. Still, the pastor had her work cut out in getting us to sit down and shut up so the memorial service could begin. Most of us had grown up knowing the inside of one another’s homes, the foibles of various sets of parents and grandparents, the names of a few dozen pets, which family cars were apt not to start on cold mornings,, and who wouldn’t eat oatmeal but craved green olives. A bunch of wild haired hoodlums; we played ball by our own rules, climbed every tree that would support our weight, learned to work, dance, and stand up to bullies. The miles and years have come between, so we had a lot of catching up to do.

            Likely none of us imagined that Larry would be the one to unite us in this way, as we reveled in memories, brushed aside an occasional tear, and indulged in chuckles and belly laughs; shared stories of what we’ve survived, and how we managed to come through it all in one piece.  We’ve come together off and on over the years, for our parents’ milestone celebrations, and later to bury them, but this seemed different; I suppose because Larry was of our generation, and it’s sobering to look around and wonder who won’t be back for the next gathering of clans.

If Larry had been in our midst, he’d have been smiling. He’d have sat to one side and observed, wouldn’t have said much, entering into conversations when invited, but mostly content to be with friends, family, and neighbors. He was just one of the neighborhood kids, as we were growing up. Part of our games, along for the ride, and glad to be. His lifelong challenges are part of our collective stories; they helped to shape our perceptions of the world, as well as the manner in which we’ve responded to our own limitations, and those of others.

 Over time, as we watched his family play the hand they were dealt with grace and good cheer, the siblings, cousins, and playmates caught some of that. Self-pity and mean spirited behavior weren’t tolerated by the adults who had charge of us. We were expected to do our best, according to our abilities, and to treat everyone the same.

I looked around the church and realized we’ve become our parents: the kind of people who sign up for the long haul, look out for one another, and meet life on life’s terms. That has played out in so many ways; everything from starting a business, raising grandchildren, and caring for siblings, parents, or spouses as they became more dependent, or simply deciding to take the road less traveled and discover what lies around the bend.

            All but a couple of the folks present at that service were on the shady side of fifty; most of us quite a bit farther along. None of our lives have turned out as we imagined they would, but when asked how we’re holding up against adversity, we’ll tell you it’s going to be just fine, and we mean it. 

With every passing day I’m more aware of how blessed we were to be born to the parents we had, in the community where we lived, in the era when we grew to maturity. We had everything money can’t buy, and just enough of the things it can. We had Larry to teach us no one is really all that different, and we had one another. In our hearts, we still do.