Double rainbows at Vernal Falls, Yosemite National Park
Sometimes life is like a hologram, where the truths and feelings within are concretely and symbolically repeated through our external experiences. Not haphazardly or uselessly, but consciously, as if the sentient universe is conspiring to help us find our way back home, where awareness and love are one.
Today's update shares just such an experience when I traveled to California for my son's college commencement. It is my personal story of finding my way home after nine years of estrangement.
The Trip
Finding my way back home
Fog shrouded my view as I drove down a narrow mountain road in Yosemite National Park. In the darkness, the faintly lined road snaked back and forth. The automatic headlights of the rental SUV kept confusedly switching from high beams to low beams in an effort to pierce the fog. To my right lay the invisible abyss.
I had already gone on a long, strenuous hike to Vernal Falls and Nevada Falls with my family (son, daughter, and son's friend) and, as evening approached, needed to get some gas. My car had 30 miles of gas left, barely enough to get us to the only gas station in Yosemite. I thought to myself that if I were back in the suburbs, a radius of 30 miles would've encircled ten different stations; but here in the Park, there's only Crane Flat gas station. After nearly an hour of navigating up the mountain, we arrived at the deserted station. Fortunately, the pumps worked.
It has not been an easy trip. I've come to California for my son's college commencement and a short vacation in Yosemite National Park. It began with the airline canceling one leg of my flight on the day of the trip. Then, they lost my carryon bag with all of my clothes for the commencement which was scheduled for the next day. The bag was eventually found and returned, but it led to a lot of wasted time: driving to a different airport to catch another flight, shopping in a rush for needed clothes, and returning to the Oakland airport to retrieve my luggage. The airline, however, gave me three $100.00 vouchers with the hopes of pacifying me and buying my silence (that's why I'm not mentioning their name).
At the beginning of the trip, my daughter asked me what I thought about her finger. It was inflamed, swollen, and had a green crescent around her nail.
"Ack!" I say, covering my mouth with my hand. "What is that green thing? Is that gangrene? I mean, is that why people call it gangrene because it turns green?"
I apologized for my reaction, explained that I was a psychiatrist and useless with finger abscesses, but added that perhaps she should put some antibiotic cream on it and lance the abscess to let out the infection. Inwardly, I was hoping that she wouldn't lose her finger. Fortunately, the abscess naturally drained by itself the next day, and her finger started healing on its own.
For several hours, we slowly drove through the fog, straining at every turn, my body leaning over the steering wheel to see the road, tears dripping from my right eye from trying to see. At 10 pm, we finally arrived at the cottage, silent and exhausted.
The next day, the strain of the hike, fog, and stress reached an unbearable crescendo. My daughter, son and I began to talk, after nine years, about the estrangement within our family. It began in 2010 with the separation--and a divorce that dragged out over two years--followed afterward by two harrowing years where my son was caught between households. I had tried to protect him from being hurt from the process, but it was impossible.
For hours, our conversation wound around and around, like the twisting, foggy road I navigated the night before. Angry words and feelings that had been held inside, that needed to be released, were finally expressed. Always, the dark abyss of impending doom to our fragile relationships hung close by. After five hours, we stopped at an impasse, believing there was nothing more to be said, nothing more to be done. We could not save our bond with my son after all. The divorce had destroyed everything.
Then, a miracle happened.
My son's friend wanted us to talk together. She had been sitting alone downstairs as we tried to salvage our family relationships. At first, I didn't want to talk anymore, but my son persisted and encouraged us to meet with her. Once again we sat down, this time with his beloved friend in our midst.
She began by sharing how lucky we were as a family, that we could talk and not yell at each other. She could see how we were frustrated with each other but really loved each other anyway. I began to share with her what happened nine years ago and how the estrangement began. She said that it didn't matter what the reasons were that created the estrangement, what mattered now is to accept that we had hurt each other, despite our love for each other, and to apologize for the hurt we caused.
When she said that, my defenses initially went up. I thought, "I had just apologized to my son and it didn't work. This mess wasn't my fault!" It was my ego trying to keep my heart from feeling the shame and pain of my own mistakes. But my son rose from the sofa, came over, and wrapped his arms around me in a forgiving hug. My heart opened and accepted the grief and horror of having hurt my son, and I was able to sincerely apologize through my sobs and his tears. Afterward, we had a long talk that cleared away any misunderstandings about his friend that had kept us estranged as well.
From beginning to end, eight hours had passed, and we needed to leave Yosemite before the fog set in again the next morning. Everyone got up to go to their individual rooms to pack, but before we went our separate ways, my son, with a big handsome grin, opens his arms wide and says, "Group hug!"
All four of us gathered together in a circle and gave each other a long group hug, swaying back and forth a little and chuckling. We used to have group hugs--before the separation and divorce.
Driving back to Berkeley, California, from Yosemite, the roads were clear. Before we went to bed, we had another group hug, our third that day in a string of group hugs.
The strange flow of love, like water in a river, can be blocked by unspoken hurt and anger. When we can remove that dam, with a sincere apology, love flows once more. My son now can feel my love, and I feel loved by him. We can begin to mend our relationship, knowing that we are loved and lovable in spite of our mistakes.
Back at home, I start to organize papers that I had left scattered on counters, tables, and desks before going away on this trip, throwing away some and filing away others. I find, among the mess, the three $100.00 airline vouchers that will allow me to fly free over the next year.
Sometimes, despite all the difficulties along the way, our journey gifts us with something valuable, something that can take us to new places and grand adventures. I wonder about the possibilities and look forward to my next trip.