There's not always more

I used to play a lot of hockey. I loved it. The speed of the game, the camaraderie of the players. We would get ice time whenever we could which meant games were often not until 10:30PM on a weeknight. Next day at work was always tough but it didn't matter, it was all way worth it to play this incredible game.
I don't play anymore...don't even own skates. Of course not that many in their 60's do play hockey but, in this case, that's not the point. You see, what kind of fascinates me was that there was a game I played that was the last game I was to play. On that particular night, when I left the ice, walked down the rubber mat toward the locker room, I was doing it all for the last time. And the poignancy of that fact is the subject of this blog.

I'm not sure if I even have a point to make here. But I want to explore this subject a bit. There's just something about the way that life has these "last times" built in that I find....I find....I'm not sure of the word. Haunting? Yes, that's at least a piece of it. I used the word poignant above...not an often used term but yes, that describes a piece of it too.

Oh, don't get me wrong. Please don't do that! This is not merely morbid thinking about how all things eventually come to an end. No, although I have been cited for negative thinking in the past, this, to me, isn't that. Actually, what intrigues me most has more to do with the grace of not knowing at the time, or in advance, of these "last time" moments. I have already mentioned the example of how one night I played what is likely to be my last game of hockey. Perhaps a few other examples would be helpful to better establish exactly what moments I am referring to.....

For 7 or 8 yrs we, my daughters and I, were invited each summer up to a friends cabin for the weekend. Situated on Cormorant Lake, my California friend and his family would come to their cabin and we would join them towards the end of their visit. My daughters were the 'big girls' as Alley was 5 yrs younger. Our time was spent doing lake things, usually a project or two, but mostly just being on 'lake time'....that state of blissful, no agenda, lavish consumption of summer minutes that can be enjoyed without thought of productivity, advancement and a million miles away from multi-tasking.

But one weekend, as we waved our goodbyes from the car as we slowly exited down the long driveway through the woods, we had no idea that we had just done this for the last time. Circumstances changed, the cabin needed to be sold, my friends marriage hit hard times. The great bean dish that Stell made each year had been eaten by us for the last time. We had not even an inkling that this was the last hurrah.

And then there was Jim, a guy who reported to me at work but who grew into a friend as we shared time on the road together. Dinners with his wife and boy. Meaningful chats that went into the wee hours grieving with them over a child lost, laughing together about the craziness of life, teasing each other, offering mutual support and advice. One trip, I headed off to the airport and, unbeknownst to me, I had just spent my last time with this family who had grown so close. A job change for him completely changed the dynamics and the 1500 miles between us brought our former times to an end.

Still, this really isn't about the pain of losing good things. What intrigues me is the grace of life that is intermingled within these 'last times'. To me, that grace is comprised of not knowing at the time or in advance that we are experiencing this for the last time. How somehow merciful. For if we did, that 'last time' would never be experienced in it's normal state. We would be overcome with the ever-present overtones of "Oh my, this is our last time together", or "This will be the last time I ever do this fulfilling thing". And in the advance knowledge of such an awareness, the 'last time' would be unnaturally burdened with the dreadful anticipation of the end.

Of course there is a flip side to this (called the B side in the old days of the record business). Along with the things, sports, people that we love to be involved with comes a more difficult side of life. Too often we face life circumstances that are grueling, seemingly intractable situations in which we cry out for relief. What about those? Perhaps an example or two....

Some brilliant person once said that the various unpleasantness's we must often endure in the way we make our living is why they call it work. Nothing seems quite as difficult as a bad relationship with a fellow employee, you know, one of those 'toxic' work situations that has you waking up at 3AM on Sunday night in dread of another week of dysfunctionalism. You try everything from direct confrontation, ignoring, redefinition, reframe whatever...none of it works and the quality of that portion of your life is laced with misery.

But then, one day, it is over. Perhaps this person is reassigned, maybe they move but the fact is they are gone and the problem is gloriously gone! Oh the relief. You stand amazed that you had no idea the solution was so at hand. Blind-sided for sure but when it's by a good thing is it still OK to call it being blind-sided? I know, who cares...it's over and life can go on with less angst.

Perhaps smaller in scope and impact is the situation when you are in a dispute with a company over an invoice detail. You may have been charged for something you didn't receive, something that didn't work as described...yada, yada, yada. Endless hours can end up being invested in seeking resolution to such discrepancies. Phone calls, emails and even, oh my, letters sent in the quicksand slow mail. Oh the pain of pushing through the auto attendant voicemail hurdles on the phone and the "discussions" with people who are mistakenly called customer service. They may have just as well been recruited by the Gestapo!

But then, one day, it is over. One side or the other finally gives in and the matter is solved, resolved, forgiven...who cares? This chapter is concluded and life no longer need include this thing that was starting to feel like a built-in, this-shall-never-pass-honest-to-goodness thorn in the flesh.

So this is a rather longish post to the ol' Santiago blog, one that I have written in bits and pieces over a 3-4 week period. It seems only reasonable to ask..."What's the point here Sport? Is there a conclusion, a clever wrap-up to all of this?" Eee gads, I'm not exactly sure. You see, this all started because I am struck by the poignancy of the 'not knowing' in advance of the end of both good and bad things in our life. And also of how it really has to be this way for life to be 'normal' in the way we have grown accustomed to and expect to continue in.

I mean, if we really could see in advance that this indeed would be the last time we would see a loved one, the last time we would do something we have loved doing we would be racked by negative anticipation. As I believe I may have already said but here I go again, our 'last time' would not be a normal occurrence at all but would be marked by the awareness of each fast approaching loss. Or, our struggle with difficult things in our lives would not be as authentically engaged in if we could see in advance the actual resolution and it's timing. The guy who had been working so hard to balance life with insufficient finances would not be engaged by such struggle if he knew he was about to win the lottery. The picnic would not be the happy, care-free day in the sun if we knew it was the last time we would be with Uncle Hank.

No, there's not always more and that is both good and bad. I guess for me the point is simply to observe this, look it over like a rock picked up on the beach of life, neither obsess over it nor ignore it. In all of this I see the utter grace that is offered to us by the One who encourages us to simply trust him for our walk through the war zone of life. If we could see, for even just a moment, the crazy-scariness of the ride that we are belted into called life we would never approach Valley Fair in quite the same way. I am thankful for this grace but I am also happy to have waded into this particular pool of consideration. Perhaps not as satisfying as I anticipated it might have been but worthwhile enough. Judges award a '7' in this Dance With the Stars world we find ourselves ensconced within.

Goodnight Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are!
Time to run the Get in Gear 10k....might it be the last?