The turns of life

This is the other sample column I submitted to the News Tribune last year, along with this one.  When I wasn't selected, but came close.  So, I get to offer it now:

 Life can turn on the smallest things.

             An older woman I loved and admired died because she wouldn’t let go of a bottle of peaches.

             It was a little more complicated than that, of course.  She was bringing up the peaches from the basement, lost her footing, and fell down the stairs, breaking her arm.  In such a moment there really isn’t conscious time to think, ”Let go of the peaches, grab the rail, and worry about cleaning it up after you don’t fall.”  Broken glass, slippery fruit and syrup are their own hazard, of course, but she ended up with those anyway.  Maybe the let-go-and-grab action would not have been successful, there is no way to know.  But she clutched the jar, tried to get control through her feet alone, and went down.

            It could have been much worse than a broken arm; family and friends were all relieved that it was not worse.  But as the weeks went by and the break didn’t heal, the unsuspected disaster began to reveal itself.

            Many years earlier “Joan” had had kidney cancer and beat it.  She had survived so long with no signs of recurrence that it was no longer a worry.  But a seed from that long-ago tumor had entered the bone of her arm and become encapsulated, and thus dormant.  It might have stayed for many more years and never come to threaten her, but it made that spot in that bone a little bit weaker, and so that was where the bone broke when she fell.  Once fractured, the protective shell around that tiny malignant seed was gone, and it began its vicious work, sending its silent guerrilla cells to other parts of her body.  Several months later, we were gathered with her family at her graveside, sorrowing over the loss of years she might have had, grateful for good memories and for faith.

            Life is full of unpredictable turns, the moments in which everything is altered.  Some are universally recognized and acknowledged as benchmarks: think Katrina, or Haiti.  Some are unseen to the rest of the world, but mark the time before and after to us forever, like “cancer” or “crash.”  Sometimes there is fault, but sometimes there is no fault, just chance.  What do we do?

            Ultimately that is the question which matters, though it’s not necessarily the first question asked.  Human nature being what it is, the first question is usually “’why?’ or “why me?’  Which one of us has been granted blanket immunity from the universe?  It is hard to find that we are not under some kind of individual warranty against trauma.

            When trouble comes, and we can all be assured that it will come, the only useful question is what to do now. Perhaps this is the only question that can truly find an answer.  Solidly into middle age now, I can better offer a calm ear to listen, a true empathy to pain, and an assurance that this too shall be survived, all is not lost.  How can I say that?  Because I have survived so many things, and watched how much grief, for me and for others, has passed into experience;  into acceptance; with a little luck, maybe into wisdom.  All we can do is care for each other.     

We can do so much good in the world, and should.  It does not need to be dramatic, it does not need to be public.  Be the empathetic listener, be the person to show up at the door with an offer to watch children, take on chores, or some other concrete assistance.   All of us need connection, a sense that we are not left alone.  Offer that heart, that connection, and help another person endure whatever is hard for them today.

Life can turn on the smallest things; but so can hope and help.