I’m getting all philosophical again, but I wonder now why I didn’t let myself be like this when I was alive? To get lost in something other than reality. To let myself float away from time to time, to be carried into another layer of reality that we are too busy to normally see.
I never played the violin myself, but I can appreciate the hours of practice per day that it takes to be as good as my grandson. The discipline required, the shoulder and finger cramps he used to complain about, the missing out on normal teenage life because of a need to practice, the additional stress of music exams on top of the exams he had to sit for school. I really admire my grandson for that. I never had that strength and while I took comfort in the repetition of daily tasks, as they provided me with a routine, it had nothing to do with bettering myself, or perfecting a skill, that kept me locked in a repetitive pattern.
Justin must have received some comfort or enjoyment from the daily practicing of scales and the playing of complicated pieces written by even more complicated minds. We only do the things that bring us rewards in life. But I think from a young age he was able to tap into a knowledge that seems to have escaped most people; the fact that we all must have long-term goals to strive for if we are not to give up. It’s all about instant gratification these days, and the idea of striving for a goal that may be years off in the future is inconceivable to a large number of the population. The internet has brought that about. I think the more modern style of parenting hasn’t helped either.
One thing I will say about my son and his parenting style was that he never gave in to Justin’s demands for things. Never gave in to toddler tantrums in the supermarket because Justin had spotted a toy he wanted and he wanted it now! Benjamin would always acknowledge Justin’s desire, but would not give in to his immediate need. Depending on which was closer, Christmas or his birthday, he would tell Justin that he would put the item on the present list and that Justin would receive it then. Of course, this usually wasn’t the case as Justin would have moved on to another item that he wanted, and the previous item would be forgotten, but he was able to teach Justin that it is OK to want things, but that we can’t always have everything we want straight away. He also ensured that Justin felt listened to, and understood, as he would acknowledge Justin’s feelings and interests instead of pushing them away or ignoring them.
As I look at Justin now, I see that this has paid off. Justin understands the need to strive for something in the future, to look forward to it, and that just because he can’t have it now doesn’t mean he can’t have it. It’s not just about work ethic and understanding the rewards of hard work, but more about the fact that we can all have anything we want in life, but some things take longer to come to us than others, and that is OK.
The lesson I have learned from my teenage grandson is that without a goal it is too easy to give up. When things get tough, or you don’t feel like putting in the work needed to achieve your goal, without a big picture or even a role model to look up to, it is too easy to throw in the towel and walk away.
Justin went through a few moments like that throughout the years, but he would put on a CD of his favourite violinist, or watch a DVD of him in concert, and his desire would be restored again, the knowledge that if his favourite hero could do it, he could do it too.
I remember taking Justin to see his hero live when he was performing with the London Symphony Orchestra. We both donned a jacket and tie and caught the train into London. Justin was only twelve years old, and I felt so proud as I thought about his peers most likely at home playing video games while Justin was off to enjoy a life-altering cultural experience. Not that there’s anything wrong with video games, but the maturity and perseverance that Justin showed was truly commendable.
I see three reasons for someone being able to pursue a goal and not letting that little voice in their heads stop them from succeeding; firstly, they believe in themselves and their ability to achieve the goal. Secondly, the goal has a proper role to play in their life. For Justin, I knew that he wanted to be First Violinist of a world-famous orchestra, and that goal kept him going. Thirdly, one must derive a sense of pleasure or a sense of satisfaction from the goal and the work needed to achieve the goal. Otherwise one simply wouldn’t pursue the goal (of their own volition that is).
Justin told me on that trip into London that when he plays the violin he goes into a trance and he feels like he has been transported somewhere else. He is taken away from his daily worries, and he is filled with joy. He is right in the moment, and he can only feel happiness there, and no negative emotions, in his meditative state. He came to me a few months after the concert we shared together, as he was upset and needed someone to talk to. He said he had tried to talk to his father, to explain how he feels when he plays, but that my son just could not understand what was so important to Justin. His response was that Justin needed to focus on something more serious and that he didn’t want him to be another struggling musician, who couldn’t pay the bills and was waiting tables just to survive. I know that Benjamin said this to Justin out of love and concern for him, but Justin never managed to see it that way and he said to me that he didn’t know what he would do if he couldn’t play his beloved violin.
I am brought out of my reverie by the sound of my son’s voice calling up into the air. ‘Justin, I hope you’ve finished your homework! You have an exam tomorrow!’ Justin jumps with fright as he is brought crashing back down to reality.
‘Yes Dad,’ he grumbles. My grandson puts his violin down on the bed, a look of heaviness on his face. He scribbles something on the music score in pencil, moves his music stand to the side and heads toward his desk. The moment is broken. That wonderful veil between the worlds has been firmly closed, expectation taking its place.
My son is just like me. Always driven by what is ‘right,’ by the practical necessities of life. He supported Justin playing the violin when he was younger as he believed it would strengthen his mind, teach him discipline and lead him towards an understanding of commitment to a solid future. It was meant to be a tool not a passion, but from the moment those ten-year-old hands picked up the instrument and scratched the bow across the strings something changed in Justin. The sound was atrocious! Like a cat being strangled. But slowly and surely the cat began to sing, and the nightingale escaped from its throat, a thing of true beauty emerging.
But beauty doesn’t pay the bills, it doesn’t pass maths exams, or English tests, and so it has been slowly pushed down, a tool no longer serving its purpose.
I don’t blame my son. This is how I was raised, and how I raised him. But the sins of the father become the sins of the son. I want to speak to my son. To tell him what a mistake he is making! But I can’t. I know this and yet for the first time since I left my body, I feel an urge to make a difference. Why didn’t I see this before it was too late? I stand up and cross the room to look over my grandson’s shoulder. Calculus is spread out before his eyes while his ears still hear musical notes. I kiss the top of his head, taking a moment to whisper in his ear. ‘Never give up your dream. Find a way to be true to yourself. Do what you love. Be brave. The world needs you to be brave. Your soul is crying out for you to make a difference. I see that now. Hear it! Listen to it and do as it says! You, just as you are, with all your hopes and dreams and passions are what the world needs. Not another child seeing the world through his parent’s eyes. See the world for what you believe it to be and it will become that. Never stop playing. Never stop feeling. Just be you.’
As I head towards his bedroom door, I take a last glance around his room. Posters of rock bands and pretty girls are placed next to famous classical musicians on his walls. I leave Justin encased by the light from his desk lamp, focusing on the books laid out before him. I hope he has heard me.
I walk out of the room and down the stairs. I see my son in the kitchen preparing dinner. He will eat alone tonight. He will be sitting across the table from his child but neither will talk. I see such contrast between
my son and my daughter. Such different personalities born out of the same place. How can two such different people be created from the same environment? I suppose it came from our placing different expectations on them during their childhood. He is a loving father and he wants the best for Justin. But we need to stop occasionally and connect and learn about the people we live with, the children we have created. We laugh when they are little as they recount their dreams of being princes or princesses, firefighters or police officers, dragon slayers or astronauts, and yet the imagination and passion we praise and encourage so much when they are little, we push away as they start to grow, not knowing how to develop dreams alongside growing bodies.
I put more pressure on my son than I did on my daughter. It was partly the era they were raised in, but it was partly the beliefs I picked up from my parents. A girl can grow into a mother, a wife, a homemaker, and yet a son needs to provide. How can he provide if he doesn’t follow a traditional path? Is there a way to explore this, to encourage this branching out from expectation and towards something perhaps more rewarding? Certain cultures nowadays encourage the father to play a much more permanent role in the upbringing of their children. Paternity leave is taken with a sense of pride and worn as a badge of honour. Children grow up with an equal participation from both parents, learning so much more about the world through a double set of eyes than just one. Why can’t the woman provide while the man stays at home and raises the children? Why can’t they share these duties? I see society now as being slow to catch up. It’s a shame really as so much could be gained from this new way of looking at things.
My son became a different person when I insisted he give up his sculpting. He seemed to lose a part of himself, but I was too busy, too ‘right’ to notice at the time. His behaviour changed, and I put it down to teenage angst but maybe he had needed that creative outlet, or perhaps it was a stronger part of his identity than I had realised. I ask myself now what I would have done with this realisation. Not much I suppose. Perhaps I didn’t want to see, as I justified my decisions easily and effortlessly. But he lost touch with part of himself which I now see had a larger effect than I saw at the time. I don’t want to over-think things, but I wonder if it affected his ability to be a father and a husband? He was not able to connect with his wife in the way she needed, in an emotional way. And I see that now with his son. He is out of touch. Disconnected. Wanting what’s best for him but not knowing how to give it. Not knowing what it is that he needs to give.
I sit with my son and watch him cook. He never used to cook but the breakup of his marriage has led to new discoveries, some not so sought after. You never know what you’ve got till you lose it, or so they say. He had a good woman and he let her slip away. He was so focused on his career, and the visions of what lay ahead for his family, that he forgot to be with them in the very moment in which they needed him. He talked about building foundations for the future, making financial investments, working hard to get the promotions he needed in order to grow with the family’s needs, to provide the right schooling for their son, the right house, the right environment, the right things. But what are things when there is no-one to share them with? Sure, my grandson could boast to his friends about the latest gadget that his father had brought back from one of his many business trips but it was a shallow joy, a put-on joy meant for other people.
My son never talked about it much, but I could see the strain his long hours in the office were putting on his marriage. He thought he was doing the right thing by his family, working for their security, but while my son’s intentions kept him firmly in the future, his wife’s needs were planted firmly in the present. What good is a future without the right present? The foundations need to be well built before you can progress.
My wife and I may not have always seen eye to eye, and not being the romantic type I wasn’t always able to fulfil her emotional needs. But we shared a vision; a vision for our marriage, a vision for our family and a vision for our life, and this is what carried us through the hard times. We knew we were on the same page even if it didn’t always feel like it. We could talk things through when need be, and we shared the same values.
I can’t say that about my son and his ex-wife. I believe they probably started out that way, but life has a funny way of getting in the middle, and as careers and having a child and mismatching visions for the future took over, they weren’t able to cope. Their marriage was not strong enough and they joined the ever-growing pool of statistics.
One thing I will give them credit for is that they never fought in front of Justin. They would wait until he was in bed or he was at school or at a friend’s house before letting their emotions loose. But children aren’t stupid. Justin could feel what was going on even if he couldn’t see it.
He came to me one day and announced that he thought his parents were getting a divorce. Nothing had been said so it came as quite a shock to us. I immediately picked up the phone and asked my son to come over. I said it was urgent. When my son arrived we had a quiet talk in the kitchen, just the two of us, and there he confessed that yes indeed, he and his wife had agreed to separate. We then agreed that it was best to sit down and try to explain to Justin what was going on. We spoke to Justin like a man, forgetting he was only a child of nine years old.
He cried, my wife cried, but my son and I remained stoic. One staring at the floor, the other the wall. But there it was, unleashed, and it needed addressing. ‘I want to go home,’ my grandson said. So he was packed up in the car and off they drove. ‘Home’ would take on new meaning for my grandson over the next few months.
We can’t blame ourselves when things go wrong. It is too easy to weigh ourselves down with guilt and pain and sorrow. Feelings need to be processed, time is needed to heal, and then the show must go on. Just like forgiveness, acceptance doesn’t need to mean that you wanted something to happen or that you are OK with it. Acceptance is a crucial step in any difficult situation, because even if you want to change something, you need to first acknowledge that it exists. Acknowledgement and acceptance, I suppose I should say. The two seem to go together.
But my son and his then-wife handled things well and explained to Justin that the divorce was not his fault, that there was nothing he could have done to save the marriage and that sometimes these things just happen. I’m not sure if the last phrase gave him much comfort, but the first two certainly did. He saw a counselor and had time off school to process everything that was crumbling down around him. He learned strategies to help him pick the pieces up one by one and he realised, upon returning to school, that he was not the only one in this sinking boat. He realised that perhaps the boat wasn’t sinking after all but was taking him towards the next stage of his life. A life split between two ‘homes,’ time split between two parents. Things started to look up for my grandson but then my son went back to his old ways and poor Justin was left behind.
We tend to return to habits and familiarity when uncertainty knocks on our door, and this is what my son chose to do. He too had felt adrift after the divorce, as if he lost a bit of himself with the sinking ship. He worked even harder, the long hours keeping him apart from Justin. Justin matured a lot shortly after the divorce, as he learned to look after himself emotionally as well as physically. He found solace in his music, he found escape, and he breathed it in like a fine perfume. But a child needs a childhood and too much pressure was placed on Justin’s shoulders. I really hope they can work things out.
I stand up from the kitchen table feeling all of my seventy-eight years. I know there is nothing I can do here now, and that it is time to go, but I don’t want to leave. I want to help my son somehow, I want to comfort him as I know he is hurting, as much, if not more than my grandson.
‘I love you,’ I tell my son, those words not often escaping from my mouth when I was alive. ‘I see that you are doing your best, and I am proud of you, but you need to accept the situation now, and you need to see the damage that is being done to Justin. F
ind a way to re-connect with him, as you are both hurting and need to be there for each other. You have such an incredible son. Be proud of him! Show him that you are proud of him and of his passion and of his perseverance. See him for who he truly is. Accept him and love him as he is. Allow him to be. But don’t forget to accept and love yourself. Be kind to yourself and be kind to Justin. Find a way to be there for him.’
I turn and head out of the kitchen feeling weighed down by sorrow, but I know things will work out. I have to believe it. They will both find their feet again and will find their rhythm. I just hope my son and my grandson felt my words.
I walk out of the house, on to the street and turn towards the main road. A cool breeze touches my face and helps to lift my spirits. A stroll in the fresh evening air will do me good I decide. With each step I take I breathe in deeply, feeling the sorrow slowly leave me with every bit of air that escapes my lungs. I see lights coming on in lounge room windows and cars wearily pulling into driveways after a long day. Birds are settling into their nests for the night, another long day of seeking, hunting and providing tucked neatly under their wings.
I turn the corner, passing a young woman walking an enormous dog, and the dog looks at me and sniffs the air. He pulls on the lead and plops his bottom down on the pavement, refusing to budge. He continues to look at me while his owner begs and pleads with him to get moving. ‘Come on Axel!’ she says. ‘I want to go home! It’s cold!’ but Axel remains unmoved. I suppose he can sense me. Dogs do have a sixth sense, of that I’m certain. She pulls a dog biscuit out of her pocket and waves it in front of Axel’s face. The distraction works and he chomps down the biscuit while happily trotting towards the next tree against which he will cock his leg. Dogs are such simple creatures and yet I think we could learn a lot from their happy abandon and relentless loyalty.
A Lifetime of Goodbyes Page 10
