June 12, 2008
Remembering Harold (AKA Fred, AKA Sonny Boy)
Harold would have been 74 today. I have recently been written off by a special friend, which reminds me of Harold. He wrote me off, a few times. I am thankful we got past those misunderstandings.
I have decided to add this to my john-at-large blogspot. While the blog is devoted to travel, it seems right, to include this piece on the journey of friendship. Plus, Harold was a traveler. Most of my photos of/with Harold are 35 mm. Perhaps I’ll get around to converting them to digitals pics so I can include them on the blog.
As a merchant seaman, Harold saw many corners of the world. He was proud of his conversational skills in several languages. Hitchhiking across Turkey especially caught my fancy. I had thoughts of a detour returning from the long weekend to Show Low, Arizona for Dustin’s wedding last month. I once asked Harold for his most favorite place on earth. To my surprise, he answered: “The Grand Canyon”. Perhaps next trip to visit Dustin and Danielle in Phoenix, I’ll make it to Harold’s #1.
Back to broken friendship: I was proud of getting past those Harold write-offs. It’s easy to blame the dismissive “friend”. After all I’ve done for him, what right does he have to reject me?! Do I prefer the solace of feeling wronged over fighting to preserve the friendship? What would Jesus do?
Perhaps time will be healing. Without answers to my questions today, let me end with a couple of notes I wrote following Harold’s unexpected death.
Harold and I made a day trip to Oregon on December 18, 2004. He helped me load up my father-in-law's table saw. We enjoyed lunch with my mother. We agreed it was a good thing, that he had come with me. He almost didn't, as he had not been feeling all that great, physically or emotionally. We agreed to get out again, soon. But, a week later his sister, Donna, called. He died Christmas night or early the next morning, apparently from a stroke. He had been battling prostate cancer and other medical complications for a few years.
My note to his sister a week after his death, accompanying belongings I sent to her:
Dear Donna,
I joke about the enjoyment I derive from jumping up and down in dumpsters. The difference, from overflowing to half full is demonstrable and unequivocal, unlike most of our interventions in the helping professions. We may want to believe we've gotten through to a client and helped him or her make life changes. Alas, it's human nature to fall back in to the grooves of old habits.
But, I also feel good about my career as a psychiatric social worker--getting paid for being an engaging, helpful person.
Working with Fred was immensely rewarding. While I was accused of lacking professional boundaries, becoming his friend always felt right. I take pride in never being written off by him. Well, there were a few times he tried to dismiss me--as insincere, uncaring and self-centered (maybe not in those exact words). But I didn't let his transitory contempt keep me away and he soon forgave me and welcomed my calls and visits. Not always, but usually I felt I brightened his day. We laughed time and again about some of our special outings. Like the day he helped me get in some firewood. I dropped him at a bus stop, as the schedule indicated he could catch buses home. Alas, one bus didn't come and he couldn't make his connections. There was something in his gait along the highway's shoulder, after dark, making his way toward his mobile home in East Tumwater, that prompted a Good Samaritan to stop and give him a lift the last 15 miles. He would have made it on his own, walking. He did from our Wednesday evening patient-family education class, about a 20-mile jaunt in the night. He bolted before class was over, after being repeatedly snubbed by CEO, Dr. Dennis. It was one of his favorite topics--how the brain is constructed and works. He politely waited while Dr. Dennis allowed other class members to monopolize for several minutes. He stood up, but still didn't get recognized. So, fed up with all of us, he split.
I have my vulnerable times when I feel disrespected and want to retreat and lick my wounds. Helping Fred move away from "Poor me" has been nurturing to myself as well.
And then there were the "superb" times, when life was good, Fred's eyes sparkled and his wit was ever present. His generosity was boundless.
The quantity of cards in these boxes attest to the many friends that enjoyed
Sonny Boy's companionship. He will be missed.
Matt,
I spoke with your Uncle Fred on his return to Washington State from his fortuitous last visit with his mother. One of his warmest memories of that first trip to Michigan in many years was the connection he made with you, his great nephew.
When I realized I had failed to pack this cap with the other things I sent your grandmother, I decided to save it for a birthday gift. I’m sure you’ve been told many things about Uncle Fred, in addition to times spent with him. Life was often hard for him, with many misunderstandings, including a less than honorable discharge after taking a blow in the side of the head in service of his country in Korea.
When I left my first job at the state hospital (to go off to graduate school, years before I met Uncle Fred there), I made a “last will and testament”, playfully offering co-workers and patients my perspectives. My wish for you, Matt, is that, with this Korea Veteran cap, you inherit your Uncle Fred’s thirst for knowledge and his thoughtfulness toward other living beings (people and animals).
John Lowry
April 5, 2005
