Zach is not alright and he may never be alright. Can I live with that?
About every six weeks, Zach loses all sense of meaning or reasons to exist, so he leaves the planet via vodka or whiskey. A bender that renders him a stammering stumbling oozing mess of humanity that lasts sometimes up to a month.
He’s on one of those now. Trying like hell to kill himself by diving into a liquor infested pool.
He was so appreciative to see me yesterday afternoon and gladly plopped himself down on the curb near his encampment to hang with me. It was cold but we faced the warm afternoon sun.
He slurred Psalms and philosophy from memory and spouted vernacular that went way over my head.
That's Zach. Poet. Philosopher. Diplomat. Kind and thoughtful thirty-five year old friend who currently smells of vomit and vodka.
An old soul to say the least.
We sat there.
What do I say?
I want to fix it.
Why?
Because this is uncertain and unknown and I hate not feeling in control of outcomes.
We sat there meandering around the idea and desire of suicide.
He grabbed my arm desperately begging me to kill him right then and there. I awkwardly laugh at his request.
Hand still gripping my arm he warned me that it was time to scream. "Go for it."
Fuuuuuccckkkk!!! Times four.
Then we both settled down a bit, remaining there in the chilled air and warm sun holding hands as if we were 3 or 93.
Other than his jaw making an occasional disturbing grinding noise, we sat there in the silence of East Colfax.
My seminary training didn’t prepare me for these moments. Theory… academics… book smarts… mostly all out the fast moving car window. This is not fixable.
We rested our heads on the curb behind us.
This is not fixable. I cannot dominate or subdue this moment.
I am not in control.
Driving home last night I thought about my attachment to feeling like things are alright. For everything to be fine. To feel in control. Like a white Christian cisgendered male does.
Zach is not alright. So many people, so many situations are not alright. And justice certainly needs to be brought to the table. But the question for me is this, can I sit in the chilly sun of uncertainty with Zach in the reality that things are not alright. Can I live with that?
Can I face my own addictions to certainty, control, and alrightness to the point where I can sit with him, scream with him… let him be accompanied in his current state of humanity without needing to fix him?
Where’s the hope in that?
It’s there. No, it’s there. There were moments of laughter and making light of death. Hope was in the clasping of our frozen hands. Hope was in embodiment and relationship.
Stop trying to colonize, dominate, and subdue the moment. Relax into the terror of being out of control. And just sit there in friendship.
Zach.
(Photo by Katy Owens, @katyyyowens)
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