I have been thinking about the “driver/pedestrian problem” for about ten years now. Most likely, you've never heard about this issue because I think I coined the phrase. Consider this paradox: although we are frequently in both roles as driver and pedestrian, when we are in one position, e.g. driver, it seems almost impossible to have much empathy toward the individual in the other position, e.g. pedestrian. We are all in both positions regularly. Okay, maybe this isn’t a problem for you, but it is for me.
This was not a problem my father had. He was aware of both the father and son roles he occupied. He was also aware that he was both handicapped by his hearing loss, and privileged as head of a company with the help of family connections. As a boss, he passed through the factory daily, identifying with the workers and their role as caretakers of their own families.
Today is the anniversary of my father’s death, which is sad, but sweet. So it is not only moving between roles but also moving between dualities of emotion. The reality of his death mixed with my curiosity of how much wax to put in the yahrzeit (anniversary) candle to make it burn for twenty-four hours. Interesting. Sad? Bittersweet? Fortunate. Remembering and then recognizing how much I’ve forgotten. Memories don’t have to be cognitive. I can sense my Dad, remembering the touch of his hand, his hug, and the deep blue of his eyes that would pierce my heart when I did something wrong.
So, I miss my dad and I have my dad with me. He is gone and he is here. Toward the end of his life, I asked what his idea of the afterlife was. He reflected for a minute before saying, “I’m going to serve on God’s Board of Directors because it is obvious that God needs some help.” I asked whether I could count on Dad to be around for special occasions. He said “yes.” Dad had dementia, but, at that moment, his mind was clear.
Tomorrow, I’ll attend the wedding of a friend’s child. The glass will be smashed to recall that even in joy there is still sorrow. We’ve just gone through graduation week and I see my friends’ tears as their youngest are passing on to another stage of life, and the adults, too, willy-nilly, must move on to their next phase. With love, comes the anxiety and, then, the reality of separation.
I love complexity. I love contrasting tones. I love the fact that we have to wrestle with opposites and come to terms with the fact that it is just part of this wonderful life. I love that we can accept that both positive and negative are true and present, and then choose where to invest ourselves. So, I can be aware of my fears - separation, suffering and death. Accepting the fears, I can find my courage bit by bit to put my energy into what is here now.
My goal in my day-to-day work is to teach kids not to be afraid of difficult feelings because emotions are part of the bitter and the sweet, which we must taste to fully experience life. If we shield ourselves from pain, we also deaden pleasure. Why would we believe life should be without suffering and how would we build resillience?
The sister relationship Meryll and I have also represents a duality. We are very different in how we think, how we write and what peaks our attention and interest. This was an advantage when writing about two women with contrasting personalities and methods of operating. Duality helped us explore different ends of a spectrum to consider points of view that might otherwise have passed unnoticed. It helped us to illuminate our blind spots and reach a fuller understanding. I, as the writer, am thinking of you, the reader, hoping that these words may resonate with you.
