All You Need Is Love

This article is a reprint from a column I pen each month for the website of my high school class www.DanMccarty70.com.  While it has been over four decades since the 400+ of us exploded from the halls of Dan McCarthy High and into our lives, today over 250 of us still meet on a regular basis in cyberspace to remember, smile and stay in touch.  I hope you enjoy my Ramblings.

In the days of my youth, I never took the time to ponder the true meaning of the words from the Lennon-McCartney song, “All You Need Is Love,” a song written for the first live global TV link, “Our World,” simultaneously viewed in twenty-six countries by almost half a billion people. Over the last thirty days, I have.

My life seems to have been shoved into hyperdrive over that period. Only 730 hours ago, with high expectations, the Birthday Party team applied the final touches to what would become the most successful reunion/party since we closed our McCarty years, going on a half century ago. No sooner did I wake on that post-party Sunday morning, March 18, with what seemed a permanent smile tattooed on my face that my world turned upside down; my mother began her rapid journey from home to hospital to hospice to her new home. In a world with 7 billion people, the death of a single 81-year-old woman in Florida is not big news for most; to me, it was the biggest of my life.

I recently read John Grisham’s new novel Calico Joe, and I was taken by the chapter that described the funeral of the story’s villain, Warren Tracey, which began with only three present, all grudgingly. How sad, I thought, at the end of your life to have no one who cared that you were gone. In the Grisham yarn, three more who, by all accounts should not have attended Tracey’s Earthly sendoff, came bearing a gift—forgiveness.

I think that most approaching the end of their life ask themselves the same questions that humans have been asking for centuries as they prepare to make the journey from here to there—who will care, who will remember me, what difference did my short stay on this Earth make? In the case of my mother’s death, you, my extended family of classmates, showed me that Lennon and McCartney were right—all I needed was love—your love.

I knew that, since the launch of our website, I had become closer to many of my classmates of old. With some, I have rekindled friendships, some have blossomed into brand new friends, but I never imagined the number and depth of those friendships. I never considered the support you as a family could and would provide at a moment’s notice. The outpouring of love and support that flowed to my family through me was more than I can fully express with mere pen and paper. So many e-mails, calls, cards, and support were received that it became a job answering them all. I needed this job to occupy the long hours in a hospital and hospice room. Reading and answering them brought a bit of joy to so many joyless hours.

I saw in them,  hearts so full of love, while mine was breaking. Your efforts to provide what comfort you could in whatever way you could lifted my sagging spirit and enveloped me in a caring cocoon of friendship at precisely the time I needed it the most. Early, I began to copy and to paste your thoughts and assurances of prayer to a master list; at the time, I was unsure why. Today, I am so glad I did. I cannot read them without getting a lump in my throat and gratefulness in my heart.

I have removed your names to keep the your identity just between you and me, but your wonderful loving words and heartfelt support that meant so much to me are now posted on the yellow navigation bar to the left under "Thanks From Richard". The sheer volume amazes me, but the love and caring expressed in them is something I will cherish for a lifetime. I needed this special salve to help me begin my healing process.

On the day of my mom’s funeral, I looked up and saw two of my closest friends, Jim Lester and Doc McKinney, walking into the church. My heart leaped, and at the time, I was unsure why. But, to see two of my classmates there made me feel much less alone than common sense would have dictated. Their presence made me feel connected to all of you.

After greeting them, I said to Doc, “I am surprised to see you here.” For the rest of my life, I will remember his face and his answer. With a perplexed look on his face, my friend answered my statement with a one-word reply, why? That hit me like a ton of bricks as his simple, yet oh so powerful, reply entered my brain on its way to my heart. He added a follow-up sentence, something to the effect of “You are my friend, and I wanted to be here for you,” but that further explanation was not needed, not at all. Doc defined our friendship in a single word—why.

Giving the eulogy was an emotional time for me, but seeing Jim and Doc in that church gave me a sort of calm inner peace I really needed. Guys, I will always love you both and for many reasons, but none more than you showed that day as you willingly invested a day from your life to make sure a friend knew he was not alone and that you loved him.

When someone we are close to loses a loved one, it is difficult to know what to say. So many times, we choose to say nothing because the words are hard to find, and we don’t want to say something wrong. We lean toward the Latin phrase Primum non nocere, or “First, do no harm,” long ago adopted by the medical community as the foundation of its Hippocratic Oath. With the pain of loss fresh in my mind, let me say that just letting them know you care is all that need be said.

My good friend, Bobby Harrell, said it as well as I think it could have been said when he wrote to me, ironically, to say he did not really know what to say and, in the process, reduced to words all that I needed to hear at that time.

Richard
I fall into the camp of those who never know the right thing to say at times like these. Know that we love you and care about you. Know that some folks will say something or write something truly weird or inappropriate but that they mean well nonetheless and took the time to express it. Know that some folks won't write or call because they don't know what to say, but that absence of expression is not indicative of their feelings for you. You were fortunate to have had your mom in your life, and she was fortunate indeed to have had you in hers. The best of her lives on in the lives of those she knew and touched and influenced positively. She did a good job with Richard.
Love,
Bob and Tamara

Bull’s-eye, Bobby, and well put, buddy.  You may want to consider a second career as a writer, because I could not have said it any better.

Audrey Short talked to me repeatedly, helping me navigate the maze of Medicare, hospital, rehab, and assisted living rules, regulations, and options, which were so overwhelming to me that I initially just did not know where to turn. Her love, support, cheery disposition, and knowledge gave me a beacon of light in a very dark time. Audrey, I think you have given me the subject for my next book. I believe the gift you gave me should be passed along to others forced to reluctantly travel this long and winding road.

I will not try to mention by name all of you who sent e-mails, personal notes, and cards for fear of missing someone. What I will say is thank you for taking the time to let me know you are my friend. The ballast that you each gave when my world was capsizing was more appreciated than you will ever know.

It is still difficult for me to get my arms around the fact that we are six decades old. This past month has caused me to think about what is important to me—family, friends, and the footprint on this old world I will one day leave. It has caused me to think about you and the special place you occupy in my heart.

I guarantee you that on that warm summer day forty-two years ago on Coon Island, as we laughed and shared our dreams, hopes, and fears on our Senior Skip Day, I would have never in a thousand years thought that we, as a class, could share the bond we now share. I would have never believed that, at the drop of a hat, you would all come together to lend a helping hand, providing much-needed support to one of your own. I have now seen this twice in the past one hundred days: once when Joanne Carlton Humphries’ son Clay had his accident and, now, with my mother’s passing. Once could be explained away as a fluke, but not twice. Face it; you have all turned into a group of old softies. No more Mr. Tough Guy—that toothpaste will not go back in the tube.

So, now that your macho image is a thing of the past, I have an idea. Let us all commit that we will go the extra mile for one another. As much as I hate to say it, we are at the age that makes it possible for each of us to lose a parent or, God forbid, a spouse. When that day comes for one of our own, I pray that each of us will take a moment to remember this Rambling and give that classmate the same support and love you have given me. After all, they are family, and when it is family—All You Need Is Love.

Keepin’ the Spirit Alive,

Richard Parker