But I knew the principle reason for it, and it was that very reason that had me back in California. The reconciliation meeting with Grace was within days of happening and while I was constantly reassuring myself I was ready, part of me, that small boy within me, still resisted the facing up with her again.
Pulling my blue Honda Accord to a stop at curb side out in front of 21 Sheer Oak Drive, I stepped out into the steamy summer late evening and noticed right away that Frank was relaxing quietly to himself in the front yard tree swing. Joining him as he surprised me with a fresh glass of tart lemonade, we both drifted effortlessly back and forth for a time without words and just enjoyed the surrounding warmth of the scene. Tapping into the beautiful feeling of the moment, Frank came at me with a question I was not expecting.
“Have you ever been religious Peter”?
“As a child I was under the strict guidance to attend, but no I cannot say that I am. How about you Frank”?
Already shaking his head in disagreement, Frank lumbered his heavy frame into a position that was facing me more head on.
“I used to go to church but…at some point I was feeling the restrictions, the captivity within those four walls”.
Wondering his out stretched arm over the tranquil scene in front of us, Frank for a moment remained without words.
“This is my church and is this not just so beautiful? Besides, religions have been fighting wars forever…fighting for the minds and souls of all peoples. And people just keep letting it happen”.
“Letting what happen, Frank”?
“Letting their minds be conquered over their hearts, when it’s their hearts that should be leading their minds. Which is it that you see happening? It seems we have such little say in the matter”.
“In what way do we have such little say”?
“This story of this life, it’s scripted before we ever get here”.
“By whom is it scripted? Who do you think is writing the script Frank”?
“By you, by me, and everyone who is taking part in this theater called life”.
“Why is it than that we do not know the script? I mean I have not read anything that I am aware of that has told me where and what to do or be”.
“Subtle sign Peter boy…your heart has to be aware and open. You are on your way Peter, but this mystery can takes years, and it does, believe me it does”.
“But if there is not enough time in one’s life span…I mean people are just left looking for bits of script to tie all this mystery together, in hopes of understanding this all before we die”?
I was having fun with the conversation at hand and I could see by the slight smile on Franks face that he too was enjoying our time. After a nice long sip from his glass, Frank continued on addressing his belief on the fascinating topic.
“Peter boy, you have just indirectly asked the biggest question that has been begging for an answer throughout all of time”.
“Which is”?
“Which is…do we really die? That beautiful church down the road, the one that asks for money so you can go to heaven and be happy ever after, yes well that church has known the truth for as long as it has been preaching to the masses”.
Looking to me and meeting my eyes for the first time, Frank’s face, while not to serious, had replaced its jovial look with one of a more stern appearance.
“You can personally find and know the truth you know…and you will Peter, you will”.
I had spent the last decade in Denver working with outpatients with various mental disorders, most of which stemmed from early child hood abuse and abandonment. It was no coincidence that I favored such a work environment, I was one of them. I could relate to them because I suffered from the same deep cutting rejection one feels after a life time of never knowing who one’s true parents really were.
For years I examined those patients and I felt the more I understood them, the better my chances were at understanding myself. During ten years of applying various techniques, all the aim and efforts were attempts at releasing these people from their perceptions of self-inadequacies and despair.
I knew I was being a hypocrite for the reason that while most my patients would have no chance of finding out any information about the vital aspects of their past, they still were encouraged to move on. I on the other hand had for years the means to do so, but the feeling of resentment had always kept me from facing my past and a meeting with Grace.
But that was imminently to change. Now with her help in the relocation process of finding for me both a place to stay and work in my field, it was time, after twenty years without contact, to again reacquaint ourselves with one another. The goal in doing so was to have her divulge the truth about the history my parents, and with that, finally make our mends and begin the healing process between us.
Eight o’clock on Saturday morning arrived early. The yard maintenance crew was suddenly at every corner of the house, racing around in a near frantic pace, cutting, trimming, and clearing away all unwanted growth. Crawling out of bed, I stood for a time at the windows edge looking out at the work in progress. I noticed right away Frank standing in the middle of the work force appearing oblivious to all the circling noise and activity going on around him. He seemed adrift in deep contemplation and was wearing those listening eyes of worry. The same eyes that had shown themselves time and again in the short time I had known him. With a sudden snap of his head, Frank was back in the present and began directing his hired crew to areas needing more attention.
Smiling for moment at the sight, I could feel the thinning patience of the workers. Franks demanding and meticulous care of his property made it the most visually appealing but also the least liked by those involved in the up keep of it.
I was becoming now familiar with Franks over bearing presence and repetitious questioning especially pertaining to various details about my life. I found myself sympathizing with the workers below. I reasoned that Frank’s behavior was due to the fact that he was not only lonely, but was also succumbing to minor signs of senility. He seemed sharp and in the moment most of the time, but then else where a moment later. Witnessing the morning activities out side my window was no different, standing stationary like an attentive child listening to a parent, he stood motionless with his head slightly down till something apparently popped him back to the present. A characteristic that was eerily strange but harmless all the same.