Musings on Adversity

60: (July 2018)

I recently heard a radio interview in which the father of a Pakistani family spoke of adversity as one big adventure to conquer. The family lives in very difficult and dangerous conditions, yet he exuded cheerfulness. What a gift. To be able to be so positive, so upbeat, in spite of tremendous upheaval and danger is quite striking.

I wondered what the source of the man’s courage was, which in turn sparked courage in his growing children, who were also interviewed. I marveled at their strength. It made me ponder the little challenges in my own life, so extremely puny in comparison to what they are dealing with. Hearing this brief radio interview inspired me to face my own challenges with a little more pluck and spunk.

Such is the effect of being exposed to a truly charismatic person who can stimulate change by having an extraordinary attitude. That’s an amazing thing, really – to inspire change in a total stranger just by being so positive, so enthusiastic about life, so unafraid.

Life doesn’t let you get by without some scars, some worse than others. Broken marriages, grave illnesses, accidents, deaths, loss of dreams, loss of hopes. You don’t get to be 60 without dealing with significant pain of one sort or another. The math just catches up with you.

Yet the heart does seem to get stronger with age, in a sense. When I was younger, so many things seemed to cut me to the quick. I suffered wounds more easily. Over the decades, the heart learns to deal with the usual ups and downs of life with a little more ease. It flexes more readily.

That fleeting radio interview will remind me that the attitude I choose to embrace if and when adversity strikes again can be a game changer. Life can be viewed as an adventure, with roadblocks and challenges placed along the way to be tackled with gusto, nerve, and a sense of humor. Meanwhile, I will hold that Pakistani man and his family in my heart, with thanks for their inspiration.

40: (July 1998)

I was seven when I met her, and we became great friends right away. We used to climb a hill in the school playground during recess. The top of the hill held our favorite place. It was a large, flat stump rooted next to a big shade tree. We would sit together on that stump day after day, dreaming dreams, feeling the warmth of friendship.

Thirty-three years later, she sits day after day by her 11-year-old son’s bedside, hoping he will awaken from a coma. One minute he was digging a sand fort on the beach, the next he was covered by a sudden sand slide, leaving him in a slumber that stretches lazily through time.

I find myself wanting to zap us back to the tree stump so that this accident will be erased. I want to take away my friend’s pain. But that would mean taking away the beauty that is and has been her child’s life. She will not want to go. So she will stay, day by day, grounded by the incredible depth of love that is possible to have for a child and suffering through the anguish that is sometimes captured by love.

A lot of time has sneaked past us since the tree stump days. When did we become grown-ups? We never had such worries back then. We never imagined such horrors were possible, and we never thought bad things would happen to us. We were fortunate to enjoy the unspoiled innocence of happy childhoods.

Yet suffering is an inevitable part of life, and as we have aged, we have not been exempt from pain. My friend’s suffering is severe right now, but she does not try to evade it. She works her way through it, hour by hour, day by day. May the layers of love that she is penetrating as she continues to give of herself to her child fortify her through the difficulties of life’s journey. And as she embraces the life of her child, may she drink deeply from the well of love that makes life possible and the journeying worthwhile.

60-40:

My friend was indeed dealt a very hard hand. But her son did awaken from the coma. He suffered some brain damage and is seriously physically disabled, but he is very much alive. As for my friend, she went on to become a nurse, not only caring for her son, but for others. I am humbled by her strength and by her capacity to unremittingly give so much of herself.

Fortitude is defined as “courage in pain or adversity.” Sometimes I think it takes courage simply to go on at all. To stay with it, to endure. But then, to be able to laugh again, to be able to love so abundantly – like the Pakistani family and my friend! Well, that’s fortitude on steroids. And we are all the better for it.