No magic words

To me words are everything. No writer no storyteller would tell you different. The right word, the right combination of words can mean everything. There are thousands of examples of this. Who cannot think of a great statesman and the quotes that are connected to him or her? Kennedy’s “Ask not what this country can do for you. As what you can do for your country” Churchill’s “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.” Regan’s “Mr. Gorbachev tear down this wall!” just words, right? Just words; in a way that Jesus, Moses and Mohammed were just ordinary guys. Words have a power to move us, to soothe us, to excite us, to change us forever. We may not be world leaders on the order of these but there are times when I wish I could have a speechwriter standing by to choose just the right words for me.
I have never really been scared to show my emotions. I am not a big believer in the old fashioned idea that a man should hide his emotions. Not that one should lose control in a crisis. I have been a store manager and I have been a firefighter and am now Fire Chief. I know better than to flinch when the going gets tough. That’s different. But there is a time to let people know how you feel. To let them know that you care and that they are not alone. Easier said than done sometimes, though.
I left home twenty five years ago and in that time I have never ended a conversation with my parents that I do not tell them that I love them. I never even gave it a second thought until one day a friend I will call Ryan who was in the room when I was talking on the phone to my Dad some years ago (sadly Dad has left us). “Good Bye Dad.”: I said cheerily “I love you, I’ll talk to you soon.” As I hung up Ryan looked at me “I have never told my Father that.” He said rather matter-of-factly. “What?” I replied “Good Bye?” “No fool, that I love him.” He replied wryly. I was floored. “Never?” I replied incredulously.“Ever?” “Nope, never ever!” he replied firmly. “What about your Mom?” “Not her neither.” He added. “But you do love them right?” “Well of course I do!” he added testily. “Then why not say it?” “Why, they know. They never said it either.” I was aghast.
Now my Mom is not the mushy type, not on the outside anyways, but she always tells me she loves me. I on the other hand am a big mush ball. My Dad was too. But none of us has had a problem with saying “I love you.” But the idea that Ryan had never told his folks he loved them gnawed at me. Some time ago I had sat down with my Father and told him I was proud of him. It is not something a son often does, I suppose. Especially at that time of their life. A time when the generation gap often distances men. There had never been a distance between us. We did lots of things together. “I wouldn’t know what to say.” Ryan told me when I again brought the subject up. “Just say I love you. What could be simpler?” I said. “I don’t know it just isn’t like us.” Was his reply.
Not long after this conversation occurred the small town we lived in suffered an unspeakable tragedy. In the entire long history of that community only five people had graduated high school and all of them had lived outside the community for many years prior to graduating. We were, in a few weeks time about to celebrate the graduation of a young woman who, although she was then attending school in a nearby town, still lived in our little town. We would have celebrated, but instead a mere two weeks before graduation got news of her tragic death in a car accident. Her father, a man only a few years older than I was, had the task of organizing and paying for a funeral when he should have been helping pick a prom dress. At the funeral, which was packed with townspeople and classmates, I wound up standing near the hearse when the body was brought out. The father turned to me and I extended my hand; our eyes locked and I fumbled for words but none came. A tear burned hot on my cheek and I felt that he was consoling me. Words had failed me and I felt awful. I had wanted to have the perfect words. Words that would sum up how I felt; how I shared his loss. How we all had lost a remarkable young lady with her life stretching out before her like the trans-Canada highway. I would later join the Community Education Council and would fight to bring grade twelve to our local community. Too late for her, though.
Wisdom comes with age, if you are lucky. If I have one pearl of wisdom to pass on to younger people; it is this’ life is short. Too short. Too short to carry anything as unbelievably heavy as a grudge. Tell those you love that you love them. Nobody, not even the children of the stars has ever written in their whiny autobiographies that their parents scarred them for life by telling them that they loved them. And hey, here’s an idea; when you are in the middle of an argument and I mean right; smack-dab in the middle. With someone who is close to you, and lets face it those are the people we really hold all that pent-up angst for. Let fly with it. Say it. Those three words that will drop like a bombshell. Say it plain and so matter-of-factly that they can’t think it is just a cheap way of winning an argument. “I love you.” I bet that argument will go by the wayside mighty quick. Sometimes in life it pays to call it a draw.
I lost my Dad a few years ago. It was a long way home, and the whole thing was a long sleepless blur. A blend of loss and grief and self pity. When the funeral was over, in the basement of the church where I had gone to Sunday school friends and neighbors poured out stories and love and grief and support. Not a writer or wordsmith among them. No statesmen, no speech writers. I never heard a word from any of them that did not make me feel better. No Hallmark sayings. Just good old fashioned words. Ordinary words from extraordinary friends. There would still be many dark days ahead. Grief is a process. But I was on my way. The blur was beginning to come into focus. I later heard a man being interviewed about a terrible plane crash where he lost his only brother. He spoke of how friends where scared to speak to him after his loss; scared they would not know what to say. The answer he said is simple; say something. “There are…” he said “no magic words…” Just words. Say what you feel. I am a firm believer that no one gets tired of hearing that you care.