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Warning: This is a downer. Proceed
with caution, if at all.
In John Irving's great old novel
The World According to Garp, there's a creepy moment at
the end of a particular chapter when you realize that a character
has died. You realize this not because the author tells you but
because nothing, in fact, has been said of this character thoughout
the chapter. His death has been announced by his absence.
That's what I've been doing over
the past few days, trying to feel an absence; but I haven't been
having much luck - and I know why.
Terry Pfender was buried today out
in Pittsburgh. He was a Carmelite priest, a year older than me,
almost a classmate. He was ordained in 1977, the same year that
I would have been ordained, if I'd been ordained. I met him first
at the start my sophomore year in college, when I was just back
from the novitiate. He was part of a spirited class made up of
some very strong characters, hardly a wallflower among them.
Terry seemed to be their gentle center - bright, funny, candid,
and kind.
In recent years he had been doing
collegiate campus ministry and had a good run in our vocations
office. Our paths didn't cross very often.
He was one of those guys who when
you talked with him always gave you the impression that you were
the most important thing going right then. When I sat beside
him a few years ago at some ceremonial dinner, that's exactly
how he made me feel - even though we'd been relative strangers
for many years.
Terry spent the better part of this
past year dancing with the cancer that finally had its way with
him on New Year's Eve.
Now, I am about to acknowledge something
that I am quite rightfully ashamed of. Throughout these months
of his terminal illness, Terry never heard from me - not a phone
call, not a letter, not a stinking Hallmark card. Here was a
guy, for whom I have the greatest respect and would be proud
to count among my friends, on his deathbed, and what does he
get from me? Silence. Distance. This is crummy behavior, to put
it mildly. And though there are lots of explanations and rationalizations,
I can't seem to locate any adequate excuses. Never could.
You see, this is not the first time
I've stiffed a friend at the end. I won't go into the grim details
here, just take my word for it. This is a serious character flaw,
symptomatic of deeper garbage. It's a function of my passivity,
which is a function of my fear and shame, which perpetuates itself.
It's infantile behavior.
I mentioned up above that I've been
trying to feel an absence, Terry's absence, but it hasn't been
working because I've never been present. Maybe at some point
long ago I learned or decided that it's best not to get too close
to people because they will disappoint you; they will go away;
they will die. So something is always held back. Even creeps
have their reasons.
Sure, I'm a broken guy in need of
repair, but this mechanical metaphor don't work so well because
flesh and bone and human brain are way more complicated - lucky
me, lucky us. There's no quick fix, just - with some grace -
a slow turning. If you're worried about how I'm feeling right
now, don't. I'm doing OK; this is a chronic not an acute business.
And if I've smashed a few illusions - well, that's what they're
for.
Hey, Terry - help me out with this,
man.
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