The Pinnacles That Mark And Measure Our Lives
We recently attended the 50th anniversary celebration of Willie and Armell Deal. It was a beautiful pinnacle of both celebration and reflection as family and friends reconginzed their half-century together. There's just something in us that wants to formally acknowledge such times. And with good reason. They're important.
But down beneath those joyful, public pinnacles may be others that are more personal and private. We don't say much about them because of the pain involved. Take graduation, for example.
Graduation is a momentous occasion, typically a happy time when parents and children mutually celebrate a significant achievement. For the graduate, it may be an initial step from safe shores into uncharted waters. For parents, it affords opportunity and responsibility to loosen the reins a little bit more.
From time to time, we'll hear something like this to us: "Things won't be the same when Jane leaves for college. You probably don't understand how hard it is to have a child leave home; your son still lives with you."
Though it's true that our son still lives at home, we can empathize with the difficulty of separation. It's just that graduation brings to mind a different set of pinnacles that have marked the progression of our lives in other ways.
The week our retarded daughter would have entered her senior year in high school (had she been "normal)," she had an accident too awful to mention. Infection set in. The month she would have graduated from high school, she was moved to the residence unit where the most health-fragile live. Those who go there seldom leave. And the year she would have graduated from college, she died.
I mention this simply to illustrate how a pinnacle of joy for one person may cast long shadows for another. And while we should be quick to rejoice with those who rejoice, we would do well to learn to weep with those who weep. Those who have mastered this healing art quickly endear themselves.
Each year or about the anniversary of our daughter's death, for example, "Miss Esther" Kirchner-Mitchell faithfully sends us a note to let us know that she still has fond memories. It means a lot to us to know that she hasn't forgotten--and still cares.
If we can learn to do likewise, perhaps we'll discover that all pinnacles--whether they bring joy are sadness--are important. The way they mark and measure our lives makes us who we are.
Copyright 2000 James McAlister
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