Coming of Age

I spent the first two days of this week in Denver. Monday I sat with my friend for her fifth chemo treatment--it was the first dose of the second round of drugs, Taxol, and so was a long one (roughly 5 1/2 hours from start to finish). Tuesday we just hung around, walked in the Botanical Gardens, and watched a movie. She thinks having breast cancer is just a ploy to spend quality time with her friends and family, and I think she might be right. Nonetheless, it was the first time in a long time that I had her all to myself and I enjoyed it immensely. It also let me feel like more of a participant in the support and healing process, instead of someone 1,300 miles away who basically can't do a lot, other than send meals and care packages (not that those are meaningless; it all adds up!)

In any case, as we sat in the cancer treatment center, I mentioned that the phrase "coming of age" had been running around in my head a lot lately, and she asked me to elaborate. I couldn't quite gel my thoughts then, but think I might be closer to that now, so I'll try again here.

As children, many of our parents instilled a sense of excitement and importance into life, especially for major events. When it was Christmas time, there was a huge buildup to it, with advent calendars, visits to the mall, Santa, and so on. Christmas morning, there was a huge to-do with stockings, presents, etc. They gave us lots of support as we headed to school for the first time, walking us to the bus, making our lunches. When our team went to the state tournament, they were on the sidelines, cheering us on. And at high school graduation, there were parties, presents, dinners, and lots of congratulations. In short, they made us feel like we were on top of the world; like each milestone in our life was the most important thing the world had ever known.

When we went off to college, we began the process of separation from our parents. We lived on our own, cooked for ourselves, balanced a checkbook (well, had a checkbook in any case), and did lots of things that didn't involve our parents. We had to get ourselves to class, find the discipline to do our homework and study for exams, and maybe work a little on the side too. Not to mention our busy social lives.

After graduation from college, I for one thought I had come of age; that the separation and the transition into adulthood was complete. I couldn't have been more wrong. You see, it turns out (at least in my case) that the world that our parents created for us really only stays in existence if we choose to keep it that way. As I've gotten older, I've seen so many events that are far bigger or traumatic or joyful or whatever, and many times, no one even notices.

Some examples:
My friends here recently had a baby girl. With the exception of their friends and family, not a soul on the planet knows this. For them, it was a much more profound experience than graduating from high school.

I once worked on an older man who collapsed in the driveway while getting into the car with his kids and grandkids to go to dinner. He died three days later. On the way home from the call, someone cut off our fire engine, in an obvious rush to get somewhere. They were totally clueless that another family had just entered a period of deep mourning.

My last surviving grandparent, my mom's mom, died on February 10, 2004. She was surrounded by family. We held her hand as she drew her last breath, the nurse confirmed that her heart had stopped beating, and she was taken away. I left, went to calculus class, and went home. In spite of the miracle that I had just witnessed, it was just another day for everyone else.

And so on.

You can imagine that going to chemo with my friend was what prompted this whole line of thought. I have always heard of people getting chemo, and it seemed almost mystical. Surely the world stops for that, and everyone takes notice, right??? Or at least there must be a team of about a hundred doctors and nurses waiting on you hand and foot? But here we were, in just another doctor's office, having just another appointment, with another procedure performed by another nurse, except that it lasted a lot longer, and my friend's chair was one hell of a lot nicer than any chair in any doctor's office I've ever been to (although I told her I'd keep my hard-as-a-rock-and-not-so-comfortable chair, thank you very much). And when the treatment was over, we just walked out and drove home. The clerk at Einstein's didn't offer us a free bagel, the news man didn't mention her on the evening news. It was just another day in the world.

After the car accident (from my previous post, The Brotherhood), we had a stress debriefing. One of the questions the leader asked was, "What is one thing you learned from this scene?" For me, the answer was immediately there: "People die." Meaning, not every emergency scene has a good outcome, and no one (except the family and friends of that person) ever knows. Even when there is a good outcome, it can be a very traumatic event, i.e. a nasty car accident, an allergic reaction, whatever. It happens quietly in a back room or on the street or in bed, but there is no magic or lightning or a billboard that says, "WORLD: TAKE NOTICE. SOMETHING BIG JUST HAPPENED HERE. THESE PEOPLE NEED YOU."

It would be really easy to get very cynical about all this, but pleasantly, it has led me in a totally different direction.

When K and I got married, we had about 70 people in attendance. At one point during the dinner that followed, I remember looking around and thinking to myself, "All of these people are gathered here in our honor." It was a warming and humbling thought.

As I have sat in Seattle during my friend's breast cancer fight, I have been repeatedly overwhelmed with the group of people surrounding her. She and her family have had three dinners a week covered for months, oil changed, house cleaned, shrubs pruned, kids babysat, someone accompanying her to every appointment, and over 400 hours (that's right, TEN WEEKS) of vacation time donated to her by her co-workers. And that's just to name some of it. If that doesn't restore your faith in things, I don't know what will. I have had the same thought: "All of these people are assembled here in her honor."

So how does all this tie in to the Coming of Age theme? Well, I originally thought that this phrase meant independence from my parents. Later it became the realization that life is life, good and bad, and the world just keeps marching on. Most recently I see that the magic and excitement and support of childhood can be kept alive in adulthood; it's a matter of the people you surround yourself with. It's not that world doesn't care; it's that they don't know, and if you have a great group of friends, your world does care.

One of the most visible displays of this I've ever seen was at the funeral of my host mother in Germany. She was buried in her home town, a town of 500 people, at her church's small cemetery. There were over 500 people in attendance, and they lined the walkway into the cemetery, and spilled out onto the street. Not one of them left until the service was over and the family had departed, and most of them packed into a tiny hall for coffee and cake afterwards. This really reminded me of the adage, "You can tell the most about a man by how many people show up to his funeral." But I think my latest discoveries about coming of age warrant updating that old adage. Instead, perhaps it should say, "You can tell the most about a man by how many people show up for his times of celebration and his times of need."

Clearly, my friend has built an amazing network around the world, and they are still standing tall with her, and I have no doubt they'll continue to do so until the need is no longer there. This is a direct reflection of herself in the faces and deeds of her friends.

Another piece of the Coming of Age theme that came up this week was the subject of becoming a parent. My friend's dad once told her, "You know you've become a father when there's one piece of chocolate left, and you really want it. One of your girls asks for it, and you give it to them, even though they don't even really want it at all." I thought that just about summed it up. I think it gets straight to the biggest realization of all about growing up: that with kids, the focus shifts away from me, and onto the kids. I am no longer the center of attention, and I have to put my own (internal) selfish little kid aside (though I might do that kicking and screaming...). I now get to create all that magic and excitement for my own kids, and help them transition gradually and gracefully (or maybe not) into the sometimes harsh place we call the world. And hopefully they will one day realize that, although no one else may notice their major life events, I will, K will, and plenty of others will too. The magic is there for the taking, and there are still plenty of people out there who think that their wedding, superbowl party, chemo, or whatever are the most important thing in the world, even though the world at large isn't even aware these things are happening.

I imagine this whole Coming of Age thing is another one of those endless rides; wisdom gained in bits and pieces through the years. But it is reassuring to see some of these things now, to feel the comfort of the generations and millennia behind, to know the sun will come up again tomorrow, and to know that I'll put Cheerios on the highchair tray yet one more time.