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“Robert”: From the Other Side of the Valley

A response piece to: Into the Valley of Death and out the other Side

By Lee WyattPublished 3 years ago 5 min read
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Link to Richard Groves' piece in The Winston-Salem Journal

I recently returned to my beautiful home in San Francisco with my amazing and supportive girlfriend. We were attending the wedding of one of my “best friends.” A term I do not use lightly. Often times I find it difficult to use. So many variables to account for- time, quality, memories; and even these words do not seem enough to explain the kinship felt between this newly discovered brother. Pushing each other to create, and feel, and experience.

And the beautiful Bride, my realistic older sister. Never afraid to be brutally truthful and call me on my shit, of which there was a lot. But I, out of respect, could only reciprocate in kind. The tough love needed for an open and honest friendship. The kind where the only expectation is to do better… to get the things we want out of life. As she told me many times, the “good” things, that we both “deserve.”

I was introduced to many of the newlyweds family members, as one often is at these functions. One of these encounters was with the Groom’s Stepfather. We had once been in the same room together but shared no more than a common hello. In this instance though, he greeted me with the familiarity of an old friend - somewhat catching me off guard. He happened to be a writer, among other things. Something I, with the help of these friends, aspire to be. He showed an interest in my writing and questioned me on the content and subject matter. In turn sharing with me, his interest in learning other peoples’ stories.

Later in the evening, the Groom mentioned to me that his Stepfather had written a piece for the paper he writes for. On what I believed to be one of my stories. It truly excited me to think that someone had thought enough of my writing to do an article on it. He sent me the link and with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning I opened it… In reading the title though, I found I could proceed no further. The Groom later explaining to me he may have worded his description wrong. It did not involve any of the stories I had written, but was in fact, about a part of my own, very personal story. Being one of the darkest parts at that.

You see, my good friend, the Groom, needed a baptism in order to marry his beautiful Bride within the walls of her church. He had always done things his own way, and this would be no different. So back in his native home, along the banks of his childhood river, his wonderful mother read a statement he had prepared - explaining when he felt the closest to whatever we perceive to be God.

In his first encounter with loss. Being young and innocent and searching for reason in it all. In learning nothing ever is truly gone.

Also with age, coming to feel a connectedness with everything through nature. Sometimes the unexplainable calm that can come to one; in those cold, confusing times… with the arrival of a warm, sunny breeze. The suns radiance somehow making things okay again. To dig ones hands into the earth to build something with nature, to share its beauty with others. Sharing in creation.

And then there is music. Those surreal out of body moments when nothing is planned. An invisible compass directed by the purest of emotions. The bond and love felt when he would compose a song with his beloved brother. Neither speaking a word, but a mutual respect and understanding that something bigger than them both is taking place here. Some sacred thing… magic, almost holy in its magnitude.

The last example he would cite through his mothers voice; which for one reason or another made it all the more powerful… and making it difficult for me to bare witness. She spoke of a very dark time in my life. I had burnt all bridges, had no job, no home, and what seemed at the time to be at the bottom of a valley I thought I had already crossed. At times really considering if this living thing was all it was cracked up to be. Struggling with opioid dependence for the better part of a decade had left me defeated. All the fight was gone and all that remained was a shell of a person. My friend would not allow this. He and his fiancé, at the time of course, took me into their home. He told me to “try harder,” and if I do make mistakes, this is human, and pushed me to keep moving forward. Putting the confidence in me that I could not place in myself. The forgiveness I hadn’t asked for but very much needed. Through this selfless love, learning it is okay - to need help. It is okay, to ask for it. No one is meant to deal with this mad world alone.

In seeing this story, my story, have such a profound effect on one so close to me. That in some way, “my” tale had become “ours,” and through its telling had impacted another enough to place some value and importance on it. So much so, to tell it to others, in their own way.

To me, this is a part of what God, the Universe, or whatever you want to call it, is. These common shared human experiences, told through words, music, and art. Is that not what the religious texts are? Our common fears and hopes, our hardships and our victories.

If I have learned anything through all of this, it is that “God” is “Love.” Cliché as it may be; nonetheless a true statement. Honest and open, deep and powerful, sincere and self-sacrificing love.

Being true to that, does not always make life easy… But, it does in fact, make it worth living.

humanity
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About the Creator

Lee Wyatt

I like to create... with words, whether it be in song or story form.

From PA > CA and everywhere outside and in-between.

Contact: [email protected]

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