Against my better
judgment I returned my aunts phone call on Tuesday a half hour before I taught
my night class. She was crying the sort of unintelligible cry that can only be
understood by a family member. All I could make out, “Grandpap, has a malignant
brain tumor”. I had no idea how to process this information. I should have
cried. I should have reacted but I sat quietly thinking of my to do list before
class. It was a numbing thought to not think about what was at the front of my
mind but I pushed it down inside of me like a professional. I can’t cry. They haven’t filled out their
evals.
I watched their
speeches and played energetic host to my much anticipated extra-credit Jeopardy
match. I went home in a vegetative state. No words just thoughts caught in
butterfly nets that I could not grasp, share, describe, or even fully imagine. I
compiled a list of pros and cons to staying in town or leaving. Itemization
only problemetized my dilemma. Bailey (2003) argued that individuals should
live in the present. The emphasis being on feeling, contextualizing, and
actively living in the moment. The past few days have been a blur I wish I
could erase. It seems impossible to live in the moment when the moment is bad.
What advice can be given to one that wants nothing more than to move beyond the
now. I want to know if my grandfather will make it through surgery. I want to
know if I will have a job to help pay off my grad school loans. I want to know
where I will be living in two months. To put it bluntly; I want nothing more
than to not be in the now.
The neurologist asked
him the year. He replied “2007”. In 2007, I had gone AWOL from my family. I had
not spoken to my mother, or any member of my extended family, in two years. Of all the years to be trapped in Grandpap.
However, a
reexamination of the Bailey (2003) articulated, “Presence is a state of mind
that is calm, quiet, and not caught up in habitual thought” (p. 39). Although I
had been familiar with the concept of being in the moment, I had never considered
that a prerequisite for being in the moment meant to free myself from the
trappings of habitual thinking. Habitual thinking is inherent to day to day
interactions; interactions laden with the linguistic processing. It seems
impossible to live in the moment when the language of the present serves as a
vehicle for what is about to happen. Breaking the mold of interaction is a
burden I wish lift over my head like weightlifter. I imagine my words heavy
being carried by day laborers from my mind into students’ brains through their
ears resting in a place that will take more effort for them to extract than it
took for me to imagine. I wonder: Is this
how one lives in the present?
“I noticed our
persuasive speeches aren’t graded yet”, an over anxious student interrupts.
My
grandfather fucking is dying!. I scream in my head.
I calmly respond, “You know my mind has been all over the place recently”. I
apologize. “I will post those shortly”.
Describing how one can
live in the moment with insufficient language is a contradiction reminiscent of
relational dialectics. Baxter and Montgomery (1996) described relational
dialectics as an attempt to bridge the gap between the theoretical world and
the lived world. My grasping for words to live in the now seems more and less
tangible the more I try. I know I should communicate to others, but all I seem
to do is sit at home reading graphic novels. Escape seems so much easier even
if I know it is but a momentary delay. My entire mode of human interaction is a
futile practice of perpetual “I know better but…”s. I wish I knew how to
realistically practice my expensive education but in so many ways I feel
comfort in being misunderstood. I would much rather be perceived as aloof than
weak so I have mastered the art of living down to my expectations; a theoretical
race to the bottom of emotional intelligence. I literally haven’t been to work
this week despite my best efforts.
Martin Buber
established the language to talk about my conundrum. I seem to want to be in
the present yet I cannot articulate how. I am trapped in my conventions. Buber
(1958) articulated human interactions into different frames: I and It, I and
You, I and Thou. These frames are how we process our interactions. The intimacy
of conversation is dependent on the relation of the I to the other. The depth
of the conversation is also contingent on the relation. I and It is functional
language. Although this is often referred to as exposition of non-living
things, human beings still treat each other as theoretical “its” in
contemporary society. When my students ask me about grades when I am suffering
I feel like an it. Buber (1958) qualified most human interaction as I and You.
This is the language of the immediate now. Human beings do have expressed needs
that are communicated to and through each other. It is easy fall into this mode
of communication because it is the language of pragmatic function. This is the
language of human relation. However this communication is limited. Humans
rarely divulge into the area of trust to be able to meaningfully change each
other. This mode of communication is reserved for the Thou. Buber (1958) stated
that I and Thou communication is often reserved for interactions in the mind
from an individual to God. The Thou is thus a communication of faith, trust,
and hope. It seems as if all of my Thou conversations are in my head.
Interactions with my grandfather both imagined and real. It is hard for me to
present when my thoughts, prayers, and desires are lost somewhere between here
and a hospital pre-op room in Pittsburgh.
The tumor has resided
in him for months and thrived in the denial of my aunts as they refused to see
his deterioration. His tumor is on his frontal cortex. He is losing his ability
to process words. He hears words and knows that he once knew what they meant.
“What does obese mean?” he asked my mother. “Fat. It means fat Dad”, my mother
responds callously although I imagine a single tear falling down her cheek as she witnesses her father's mental capacities fail him. Always holding it together.
If she communicates in the Thou she will lose all composure. I wonder if she
realizes she might not have much more time to do so. My mother and I. My mother
and he. My grandfather and Him. My mother and Him. Even me and Him. I wonder if
I could transmit my thoughts to my grandfather’s mind like I can to my students
are they too heavy? Too far? Too many? My mother described the most recent
memory of Pap in a lucid state.
“What’s the kid up to?”
He always calls me kid.
“She graduates with her Master’s next week,
Dad”
“Already?”
“I know Dad. Alyssa’s
all grown up.”
She described him as
nodding knowingly.
I sit on the other end
of the phone wondering if I even know what being grown up means. As a child I
imagined being a grown up meant talking about grown up things after my bed
time. Now, I imagine it has something to do with turning in paperwork and
paying bills. However, I wish it was more like listening to my grandfather talk
about anything just one more time. I strain to remember the last words we ever shared and I regret to say I can't find them as if at one point I might have known what they were and am unable to recall. I imagine my synapses as a tangled web my of academic self stretched to the edges of a sad lonely granddaughter thousands of miles away. I cannot help but see the connections.
References
Bailey,
J. (2003). Slowing down to the speed of love: How to create a deeper, more
fulfilling
relationship in a hurried
world. Chicago, IL: Contemporary Press.
Baxter,
L. A., Montgomery B. M. (1996). Relating: Dialogues and dialectics. New York,
NY:
Guilford Press.
Buber, M.
(1958). I and thou. London: Continuum.
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