Slán, Aunt Lucille

My wife's Aunt Lucille died last night. She was 63; she'd been in a nursing home for a few months, on a decline that worldy logic would say should have happened a long time ago.

"Worldly logic" had very little to do with Lucille.

Lucille was my father-in-law's youngest sister. Like him, she was born in a rural Georgia town which, despite the high level of improbably against it, has the same name as my last name. Cosmic coincidence, or a sign of fate? Who knows? She was the last child, and born well past the point where it was advisable (at that time) for women to bear children. The chances of certain genetic abnormalities are much higher, and in those days, they had no kind of screening to have known in advance that there was anything "wrong". "Wrong" can be a relative term (especially when you're talking about relatives). Not everything that seems like a mistake is; sometimes, it's our attitudes and mindsets that are out of tune with the melody that an individual's life "plays".

Lucille, you see, was born with Down's Syndrome. She had the classic characteristics, both physically and mentally. Most children born back then with Down's Syndrome didn't live past perhaps twenty years of age, and this is what the family was told to expect. She seems to have beaten the prognosis by well over forty years. "Why, that's exceptional!" you might say. Indeed, but still not the most exceptional thing about her, nor that she lived a pretty good life and was a very happy person. That latter quality was the most irrepressive quality about her. Having married into the family and being from nowhere near the place (New England being in some ways another planet), I only met her within the last twenty-five years. I've only seen her when we've visited up there, which is always a unique and interesting experience, not the least of which is that I sometimes have trouble with the language spoken there. The family is quite the collection of singular personalities. Naturally, I know only some details and can speak only from my own experience.

Lucille was what they called "developmentally disabled" or other technical terms for what the word "retarded" meant when I was young. I grew to hate that word, because people imbued it with ignorance, negativity, hate, and possibly the worst, indifference. I have no idea what Lucille's effective IQ was, but she was quite functional in many ways. Certainly, she needed assistance in caring for herself, and there were a lot of things she couldn't do.

So?

There were a lot of things she could do. Socially, she was quite functional. Not only could she speak well, she was quite chatty and loved talking to people. Whatever she was talking about, she was very intent on and fascinated with. She was a really good listener, in her way. She had a way of making you forget that you might have just "lost her"; then again, she might not have been listening to merely the subject. Such was one of her gifts. She could do simple things, and actually loved to do things with her hands and was very creative. She lived at a sort of "school"/group home. She received very good care there, was surrounded by people to interact with, even had a "job", as the center would contract with local companies to do simple tasks like stuffing envelopes, packaging things, and I forget what else. When it was time for a visit to end & go back, she was perfectly happy to do so, and the family could rest easy, knowing she was happy & in good hands. In any case, she was never far away and was around most of the times I've been there. She was bubbly, loving, and a constant bright spot. I looked forward to seeing her.

Perhaps that's too much preamble, but whenever someone leaves this world, it prompts me to think about them and what part of them I will carry with me. In fact, some of the things I will remember about Lucille are things that she could not do. Things that some people do and take for granted, and more or less expect others to do.

Lucille was not "stupid", but there were certain notable things that she just didn't know how to do. Like lying. Lucille had no concept of dishonesty, I think; perhaps it takes "a higher mind" to conceive of it. She was utterly guileless, and didn't have an agenda. She didn't know how not to like people; perhaps that's not going far enough, and she didn't know how not to love people. She seemed to take to everyone, and wanted to be friends. That's just not "normal", is it? "Normal" can be terribly over-rated.

She didn't know how not to know God and feel his presence. She didn't know how not to feel God's love and be a channel of it to other people. And she didn't appear to know how anyone could not know the same. If she did notice, I wonder if it puzzled her how someone could miss something that was so plainly obvious to her? In any case, she absolutely had no idea how to behave any differently about it. Most "smarter" people "know better".

"Knowing" and "knowing better" are also very relative terms. "The World", on the whole, regards itself as being much more on the ball about "knowing better" than a child-like woman from the Georgia countryside. Well, what does the world know?

Inevitably, the first thing I think of at the mention of her name (and always will be) would be saying Grace before eating. In a deeply Christian Southern family, it's something that isn't overlooked, as most of the "normal" world does. If Lucille was there, nobody else could lead the prayer; that was her special province. It had to be done her way, not that anyone could possibly mind. We had to all join hands and stand in a circle. Then she would sing (sort of) "Into My Heart", sweetly, simply and with sincerity. And then we could eat; all that needed to be said had been said. Well, there was one famous exception, on an occasion of a dinner at her sister's house. They had a very large cat named Leon, and Leon had an attitude, presence and voice that made it clear that he was always the one present who was most important. He approached the circle that evening, sat down, and clearly decided that he was ready to eat and punctuated the song with a loud and declarative "MEOW!" Sheer, warm hysteria. And the quintessential "Lucille moment": Love, laughter, a circle of loved ones, tasty aromas in the air begging to be chased, and the momentary suspension of time, in a far prettier world than the one I spend most of my life in. All enclosed and held in the palm of God's love. Perhaps the length of her days is best explained by that; a wondrous gift of "Lucille moments" spanning far more years than anyone could have guesses. What a perfect example of our cup running over.

So, at this moment in time, I'm thankful for God's gift of Lucille to the world, and for helping our paths to cross. I hope that some of her has rubbed off on me. However "smart" and "educated" I may think I am, I hope that some day, I won't know some of the things that Lucille never knew. Because in her way, she was one of the wisest people I've ever met. See you again soon, Lucille; in the meantime, your "Grace" will always be with us. Thanks.

*********************************************************

Life, Art, the Earth, and Everything

All of these things are major problems.

Some may say that the statement is a vast oversimplification. "It's just not that easy!" they decry. OK, I admit it; it's not that easy. Nevertheless, we spend many of our waking hours trying to do just that: Simplify our lives and convince ourselves that we do, in fact, have some control over our lives and our little piece of the world.

This, of course, is sheer folly. The government seems bent on ruining our Lives, denying Art, destroying the Earth and taking the fun out of Everything. Where they leave off, corporations pick up. If there's anything left over, then the vast conspiracy that exists purely to drive me out of my mind will dog me to my grave. Probably, they won't even leave me alone then. Beware of what you sign. To give them due credit, I'd say they're doing a pretty good job; I live on the teetering edge of reality. They're trying to coerce me into dealing with reality, whereas I want nothing to do with it.

So, whose interpretation of reality can we look to in order to cope with this insanity? Just reading the newspaper in the morning is enough to make one want to jump off a cliff. Nevermind if one is not anywhere near a cliff; it's all so depressing that if necessary, one would go out and build a cliff, because jumping off of a cliff is a fairly definitive statement. If you happened to have built the cliff out of necessity, it really says that you'll stand up so firmly for your own principles, you'll jump off them to prove it. Also, many other people will be grateful for the cliff.

Therefore, it's necessary to have some way of looking at the world so you can stand it. Just closing your eyes isn't going to cut it. If you have your eyes constantly closed, people will steal your watch, muscle in front of you in the line at Starbuck's, and get your cat pregnant. This, then, is the purpose of The Eye Wit. I'll provide you with my particular view and interpretation of the world, and help guide you, the reader, to a more managable way not only of seeing reality, but having some idea as to what you should do about reality. Admittedly, The Eye Wit might be suspect and skewed; however, where it is, I guarantee you that it will be definitively suspect and skewed.

Come on. Trust me. Fight your inner voices who are telling you that it's a bad idea. Who do you want to listen to, all those voices that are constantly nagging at you about everything (including the fact that you ignored your mother's advice and failed to put on clean underwear this morning in case you get in an accident)? Or, would you prefer a single voice that that views the world through the filters of being an artist, a skeptic, a critical thinker and an inveterate smartass?

The choice seems easy. I know that I'm going to follow my advice. I hope that you will do the same, and enjoy a few moments of relief from "Life", as it's mostly drab and wretched. Well, it could be worse. And that's what really disturbs me.