On Friendship and Loss

A friend of mine died a few years ago. Sarah was young—only thirty-seven. Cancer. It was a real bummer, as they say. As I say, when I’m trying to deflect and act tough and appear in complete control of thorny issues that snag supposedly weaker souls.

But it really was a bummer. The news was especially difficult to digest because it came as such a surprise. Her illness and her decline occurred very quickly—at least, much more so than most of us are used to seeing in this advanced age of medicine. Her friends had known she was ill. But we’d all known people with cancer before, and we’d seen folks beat the Big C, no problem. Surely some had watched their loved one lose battles, too, but not before fighting for months or even years.

But that wasn’t Sarah’s story. My friend was the outlier, the far end of the graph, the measuring point which other patients might use to feel better about their own situations. She got sick, and she died. And because it happened so fast, to someone so young, in an age when the word “cancer” no longer assaults our senses with the spectre of inevitable doom, Sarah’s death caught us off-guard. We had only recently learned she was sick. At least it seemed recent, but of course it’s hard to tell when there’s so much going on. And there’s always so much going on. It didn’t feel like that long since we had all been hanging in the yard listening to the ball game. And besides, we had only recently talked to her best friend, who had seen her the previous week. Or was it the week before that? No matter, we were sure that if anything drastic happened we’d know. So we neatly filed her cancer in the back of our minds with all the other illnesses and problems and situations and prayer concerns about which we promised ourselves we’d stay updated. And we resolved to check in every so often. There was time.

As the end approached, most of us had no inclination of how dire Sarah’s situation was. We interacted with her on Facebook. We emailed. We texted. She seemed fine. Her normal, thoughtful, sarcastic self. And it’s obvious to me now that Sarah wanted it that way. Everyone has a right to face illness or death in his or her own way, and she chose privacy, at least with regard to her medical issues. So we saw and heard very little about the disease. There was a curious email exchange with my wife during which Sarah used the phrase “bed-ridden,” but that was probably a temporary thing, we thought. She must be in for treatment or something. She meant she wasn’t allowed up that day—doctor’s orders, and all that. Nah, she’d be fine. Next summer we’ll grill out, we thought, and she’ll kick back and tell us all about it.

But that wasn’t to be. Sarah died, before any of us even had a chance to consider it possible. The night before she passed, oblivious to the seriousness of her condition, I sent her a text message: “Hey pal, just thinkin about u. Hope ur feelin ok. Can’t wait to see u & listen to Cubs this summer.” There was no reply, which was okay. After we got the bad news the following day, I felt awkward about the message I had sent, and worried whether or not she had read it. I was embarrassed and guilty for thumb-typing so casually and cluelessly to a person in her final hours. Here she lay dying, and I’m talking about the summer, completely out of touch. Some friend. I hoped to God she had not seen it. At the same time, I was embarrassed and guilty for not knowing the end was near, for not having sent more messages, for not telling her enough that we were thinking about her. That we loved her. That we wanted to be with her, even if it was only to listen to the radio together. I hoped to God she had seen it.

It took a while, maybe a year or so, for me to realize the truth: It doesn’t matter whether Sarah read that text message or not. It doesn’t matter because Sarah lived her life in such a way as to inspire people to send her messages like that. Messages about life and sports and fun, and spending time together. Messages that said “thinking about you,” because people did. My text may have been the last she saw. But if it wasn’t, I’m quite sure the last message was one of love, support, of assurances that she was important. Because a lot of people liked her.

The benefits of friendship flow two ways simultaneously, and not because I’ll scratch your back while you’re scratching mine. It’s because scratching your back benefits me as well as you. Doing for others, supporting your friend, sending a message to cheer someone’s soul—it gives one purpose, validates one's place in this world. It feels good to be loved. But it feels great to love.

So it matters not whether Sarah saw my text. Whatever, she knew how I felt, how we all felt. What matters is that I sent it—that I wanted to send it. That I had someone I worried about and loved and missed. That I had someone I wanted to spend more time with, and who knew that. That we had a friendship. 

On Conservatism and the Common Man

Everyday conservatives are not represented in today’s politics. We progressives should remember that. 

Look to the leadership of the more conservative of our two major political parties, or more broadly to the array of political figures who embrace the label “conservative,” and you'll see a variety of perspective and philosophy. But none who represent the real conservatives we know. 

Our media give us plenty of so-called “conservative” politicians and pundits. There are the corporate giants and economic elites, concerned only with their vast wealth and how to increase it, who think of average folks as parasites or fools. There are the reactionaries, deeply prejudiced and terrified of change, who simply want to turn back the clock. We have theocrats, who seek to impose their specific fundamentalist beliefs by force of civil law. And we have bloodthirsty neocons, who drove us to a costly and pointless war and would do so again. The libertarians recognize and reject these follies but create their own, advocating for no taxes and no laws, a selfish and impractical anarchy. And of course, we see the poor tea-partiers, defiantly anti-intellectual, who know enough to be angry but not enough to realize they’re fighting for the very people causing their anger.  

So which of these leadership types represents your average self-identified conservative? Your neighbor. Your dad. Your sister-in-law. Your friend from church. I bet none of them do. Sure, you may have a loony uncle who forwards you racist emails, and from time to time your neighbor might echo verbatim some statement from a politician whom we can easily classify into one of the above molds. But most of the conservatives in your life don't fit an extreme caricature, and aren't well-served by any of these so-called “conservative” leaders. By lifelong habit or natural inclination, typical conservatives don’t feel drawn to the more progressive party, but no one in the conservative party stands for them either. 

They don't want to bomb anyone. They don't support prejudice or injustice. They respect science and professional expertise. They support everyone's right to worship as he or she wishes. They know we need laws, and they're glad somebody's checking the food they eat. Like everyone else, they were angry with the Wall Street giants who crashed our economy through greed and negligence then asked to be bailed out by the very public they had been trying to cheat. 

No, the conservatives in your life are not like the ones on TV. Your friends and family are not cartoonish, hateful monsters, and they’re nothing like the parade of politicians who claim to represent them. They are simply conservative. They know that in any walk of life, most new ideas are faulty, and it takes a careful process to sift out the good ones. So they are reticent to pursue any newfangled idea some liberal proposes. They believe it's much easier to tear something down than to build something up, so they're naturally averse to changing a system or an institution unless there's good reason to believe the New Thing will be better. Lots of people may have worked for a long time to build the Old Thing. And there is usually an aspect of the Old Thing they consider sacred. They might be willing to adapt, but not at the expense of everything hard-earned. Not at the risk of their basic way of life.

Average everyday conservatives have a healthy skepticism of cooperative projects—of which government is the ultimate example. The larger the group, the more room for incompetence and corruption, and the easier it is to lose track of accountability. When a person who works hard, wants to take care of his loved ones, and values his peace and security is made to feel like his income, his children’s future, or his safety is at risk, he bristles. That’s natural. He is understandably wary of change, and it is unfair and inaccurate to ascribe his reluctance to greed or prejudice. His motivation is much more human, and quite universal. 

So to progressives, to liberals and activists, to those who work passionately to eradicate injustice and grow frustrated with stubborn conservative opposition, to all those on the left who are bewildered at the modern crop of right-wing political figures, and who struggle to see eye to eye with their conservative friends and family, I say this: give 'em a break. Take a minute to listen to the conservatives in your life and consider not only their views, which you may have studied and with which you undoubtedly disagree, but their perspective. Look at the situation through their eyes, holding dear the things they want to preserve and protect. And understand how unrepresented they feel in our present public debate. 

That’s where we find common ground. That’s how we move forward together. 

On Community

Robert Putnam and others have written much on how disconnected we modern Americans have become from our neighbors and colleagues, even from our friends and families. We join fewer social clubs, lodges, recreation leagues, and congregations than our grandparents did. We vote less. We volunteer less. We spend less time with our extended families. We know fewer of the people living right next to us, and we're not as close with the ones we know. 

This is in some ways a natural result of changes in our politics, economics, technology, and transportation. We live in an age of expanded opportunities for women, racial minorities, the disabled, low-income children, and others. No one is tethered for life to one town, one employer, one pre-set life path. We can live anywhere, marry any person, aspire to any career  we want. And it's easier than ever to travel home or stay in touch. Our loved ones, our news, our entertainment--it's all merely a click away. We don't need to rely on community. Everything's at our fingertips.

And that's all fine. That's progress. But I believe in the midst of that excitement and opportunity we're losing some of the social capital that forms our support structure and strengthens our common bonds.

I believe we can rebuild and restore that sense of community, without losing the great progress we've made as a society. I say keep your blog. Move across the country. Buy your gifts online. Stream your movies at home. But also take the time to shake hands across the fence. Volunteer to help those in need. Join a club of people who share your interests and share some laughs face-to-face. If you're a spiritual person, find a faith community and worship together. Put a little effort into learning about the lives being lived around you. You'll be better off, trust me. I know I am. 

On Advocacy

My grandfather believed the value of a man's life could only be measured by his contributions toward his fellow man--that we are here to take care of one another, and that we are all in this together. I believe that, too. My heroes are the ones who have looked around at their society and their world and asked themselves:

Who is pain? Who's not getting a fair shake? Is someone suffering because of the way we do things, through no fault of their own?

Are the laws we have fair? Are they just? Are they ethical?

How can we do better? 

What am I doing to help? 

I try to hold myself to that standard too, knowing I'll do better some days than others. Sometimes the work might look like what people call progressivism, or liberalism, or activism. I'm not big on isms, so I just call it trying to make a difference and sleep well at night.