I am so very excited to see Jim, but I find myself experiencing a touch of trepidation mixed with my euphoria, creating a heady, confusing mix which leaves me slightly baffled as to how I should relate to him – knowing full well that it should be fine, will be fine, already is fine.
But. There’s something very deep going on here. This is a man who is, dare I say it, on the Hero’s journey; gone to the brink of death and been brought back. He is returning to life in all its banality and complexity after spending time in a state of liminality – the “in between.”
Anthropologically speaking, humans have traditionally created and followed rites of passage designed to shepherd initiates from one stage of life to another. There is typically a rite of separation, the liminal phase, and then rites of reintegration/aggregation.
Jim’s “rite of separation” was unexpected, unwelcome, and brutal.
Out of medical necessity, the liminal phase was quickly ushered in, without much pomp and circumstance. He underwent surgical procedures and experienced bodily changes, making him a changed man. He was separated from his home and almost all that he knew. He experienced that “interval of social timelessness which, as reckoned by the clock, may have a duration of a few moments or extend for months . . . [t]he general characteristic of such rites of marginality is that the initiate is kept physically apart from ordinary people…” The initiate is subjected to prescriptions and proscriptions of food, activity and role. (Leach, 77).
This certainly was the case for Jim in his extended stay at Shock Trauma and the Shepherd Center. This twilight zone of changes and adjustments, this threshold between existential states, of one foot in the past and one foot in the future; the mourning of the loss of the “old normal” and adapting to what would be the “new normal.”
This is the dark and private time that we, the friends and family, could not, and cannot be, privy to. As much as we wanted to help carry their burden, we could only do so much. This is the time that makes Jim’s, and Karen’s, journey, all the more mysterious, and puts them in the unlikely role of ambassadors of the catastrophic. So far they have handled this with the aplomb with which I have always known them to handle stress, which undoubtedly will continue.
Which brings us to tomorrow’s festivity – the “rite of aggregation” – the golf tournament and fundraiser. Where the initiate is “brought back into . . . society and aggregated to his new role” (Leach, 78). Questions leap to my mind, as I’m sure they have for many of you. Just how different will he be? Will I know what to say? Will I stumble over my words and say things like, “Come walk with me!” or some such? Will I try to be over-helpful? Not helpful enough? Will I act like he’s overtly fragile and annoy him? Such would assuredly lead to a well-articulated quip and bring me right back to earth. Zing!
Tomorrow is very important. It raises money and awareness to be sure, but it also serves a more mythic purpose. In works of performance art and rituals, ultimately, things occur which we as humans crave: recognition and explanation provided on a level beyond words, and connection with our fellows. “The performers and the listeners are the same people. We engage in rituals in order to transmit collective messages to ourselves” (Leach, 45).
Just as we gather for Jim, we gather to dip into, as Jess put it in the previous post, that “well” where hope springs eternal. We look at Jim, and we look at one another, and ultimately into a mirror: to see a community of people coming together, to celebrate life.
Resources:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liminality
Leach, E. (1976). “Culture and Communication: The logic by which symbols are connected.” Cambridge University Press.
Nicely written. xx
Great post thanks.
Jackie – you expressed the feelings so well. I had a difficult time pin-pointing all of what I was feeling and it would be even more complex for you because you are closer to Jim than I am.
Though all of what you wrote is great, I particularly like this part:
“This is the dark and private time that we, the friends and family, could not, and cannot be, privy to. As much as we wanted to help carry their burden, we could only do so much. This is the time that makes Jim’s, and Karen’s, journey, all the more mysterious, and puts them in the unlikely role of ambassadors of the catastrophic.”
For me, further removed from the situation than close friends and family, on a circle a bit further out – I feel this way, but as though I can’t even say it or write it – it is *that* private. Thanks for putting words to my feelings. Thank you for this blog which helps those of us on the “sidelines” understand our feelings a bit better and, I think, helps us become better friends and helpers.
Hugs.