He's been through some really, really rotten shit since I last saw him.
Pain does all kinds of things to people. Although I don't feel like writing it all out here, I was connected to many things and people who were destroyed or damaged by 9-11, and those events shook me to the core. At the time I wrote something about how we have a choice about our response to pain.
Suffering can either harden you and make you narrow, scarred, and bitter, or it can soften you and open you up to a deeper connection with other people. You can't avoid suffering in life and you can't avoid being altered by it, but you do have a choice about how you respond, how you are transformed.
With Franklin, my dear dear Franklin, I am so moved to see him changed. It's moving because it's sad and beautiful at the same time. I am deeply sad about what he's gone through and I wish more than anything that it had never happened to him. But the change—it's like polishing a precious stone.
He seems more fully himself.
He always had a big, kind heart and a gentle soul, but now they are more evident: they almost literally shine out from him.
Like so many or maybe all of us, it seems to me that he used to "hide his lamp under a bushel," you might say (bible quote, sorry). In college, he seemed afraid to be as warm and kind as he is; he seemed to seek ways to protect himself, so that at one point, to my eternal regret, I became confused about which was "the real Frank"—the warmth and kindness or the armor.*
And yet, there are moments that are like touchstones, that I remember so clearly, when I really needed something and he was there for me. He really came through for me, in more than one crisis, with an inimitable insight and wisdom that cut right to the heart of the matter, bringing comfort and illumination. This used to take me by surprise because he usually seemed to prioritize being seen as entertaining and witty rather than wise and solid.
At times he also seemed to be overcome with self-loathing and despair of ever finding love or happiness, even though he was surrounded by people who cared about him. Although... now that I look back to those college days, I can see very clearly how lonely his position must have been...there were many ways in which he was an island unto himself. Back then I hadn't yet learned how to see other people, except as mirrors I used to judge whether I was okay. Not a very useful friend to anyone, I'm afraid; if I ever hit the mark, it was a blind shot in the dark.
Anyway, the lamp is no longer under the bushel.
Frank's eyes are warm and steady, his smile is open and warm, and he seems unafraid to be his ownself.
His goodness and kindness come through so clearly now, not hobbled by self-doubt anymore; it's funny, but I can also somehow feel the presence of his family in his life, and see how these good qualities are in a way channeling his parents, his sister, his grandmothers, his aunt Eva. I think this may seem new to me because he only came out to his parents late in college, so there may have been a barrier there much of the time I knew him.
He seems both gentler and stronger, and more solid on his own two feet.
He still seems a bit raw from the pain that is still not so long ago, but he also seems unafraid of this rawness.
He is so beautiful I can hardly stand it.
I wish I could give him another hug right now.
As you can see, it is this feeling that I'm having trouble expressing. I guess it's just plain old ordinary extraordinary love, which seems more and more precious as we get older and realize how few people "out there" we'll find to love so easily and comfortably.
Being with old old friends always makes me feel more complete, like there are more parts of me awake and alive. I think that's a bit how Loopy felt about being in Chicago.
Frank may not see himself the way I've written him here; he may not see his past self the same way either, but I decided to risk it since he did as much in posting about me. I have a unique perspective, not having seen him in so long. That means I may be missing some things and exaggerating others. But I don't think I have the "big picture" wrong—unless he hasn't changed a bit and I was more oblivious in college than I realized.
As I said, it was so deeply moving, satisfying, and beautiful to see you again, my dear friend. I hope we spend many more happy weekends together before one or both of us leave the region behind.
*I regret this ten times more when I realize that if I had not made this mistake, if we had been close all along, maybe there would have been something I could have done to help prevent everything from getting quite so bad... but probably not, I guess. I had another friend who went through something similar. A controlling spouse is very skilled in separating the best of friends. Still... this is a very strong, deep regret. I accept that maybe it couldn't have been otherwise, or maybe it doesn't matter now, but I am still heartbroken to think of my mistakes in the past. This makes me all the more grateful to Frank who appears to have completely forgiven (or at least decided to forget, which is much the same thing really).
2 comments:
Amy emailed me a comment about this post. She never posts comments, instead she emails me; I don't object to this practice, but in this case I think others (particularly Franklin) should hear what she said:
> That was a really nice blog bit
> about Franklin -- you do put
> things so beautifully, so I can
> just say "yeah, what she said".
I may have been oblivious in college, but I don't think our Ame-a-rina has been oblivious for ten seconds since she first opened her eyes on the world, so if she agrees with me, you just know it's gotta be true.
Sorry, Ang, still gay, still taken (at least last I heard).
I don't know Franklin personally, I'm just a fan of his blog. But your tribute to him is SO GORGEOUS. *sniff*
Post a Comment