Salvaging the Hopeless Life (Talk Me Off the Ledge…)

With my older and slightly younger sister, a few years ago back in Baltimore.

I was still waiting for an answer to my question when he finally responded, “Well, I guess… 3… 2… 1…, if you have any words to talk me off the ledge… well… whooh, whooh, 3… 2… 1…, now is the time”. The counting down must be some sort of severe anxiety technique he previously learned during therapy after another alcoholic or suicidal episode but in short order, I knew this 2am phone call to me was real and probably, his newest rock bottom…

“Ok”, I slowly began talking with my best loving but semi-loud and stern voice, but I had to pause and wait for one more of his counting down spells. I proposed, “Do you think it is possible, you can maybe get past this hard piece of life you’ve been living for the last three years, and maybe, just maybe, have some better days ahead of you, do you think it’s even slightly or remotely possible, or are you entirely done with this life?”.

“I don’t know”, he said, which is what I expected his words to be before I even asked the question. I continued, “Well, maybe since you did not say it is impossible, and maybe your continued life is not beyond hope, and you did not say there is no chance of saving it or changing it, then maybe a better life is possible, at least for now, so I will take your I don’t know as a possibly optimistic maybe.”

It was almost one month ago, late May 2021, I had written in my book for six straight hours that day, plus spent another six hours cutting down trees and dragging big tree limbs around my BirdHouseNorth wooded wonderland. I had not eaten enough food or drank enough water for all the effort I was exerting, my months-long headache and borderline migraine was playing a Rock-‘Em-Sock-‘Em-Robots game with my already bruised brain, my cortisol levels were still outrageously high after my time with Uncle Ralph in Jackson Hole, and I had operated all day on only four hours sleep from the night before, no mid-day nap.

Then pitching my best shot of keeping my hopeless friend alive that night, I finally spoke, “You should come here, to the cabin, as soon as possible, to get away, to clear your head. We will hike the trails, we will chop firewood, we will go mountainbiking, we will cook healthy food, we will do all this together, and we will work on your unsettled life, we will work on your new life plan together, and work on it for as long as it takes; I will take care of you. There is no internet here, no TV, no cell service, none of that shit, just gobs of music, books for reading, notebooks for writing, seven acres of proprietary woods, and lots of wonderful critters. You should come here; you should come to the cabin.”

In an extremely somber and almost pathetic sobbing voice, he eked out, “I would love that, I would absolutely love that, and I would love to spend the time with you.”

Overwhelmed by his honesty and bravery, now letting my tears flow, I shouted slightly above my own sobbing voice while trying to choke back my emotions and finalize our “let’s-stay-alive-for-now” plan with my buddy from Colorado.

“Ok, I love you too”, were the last words I heard from him through the shitty little landline phone at my cabin that night.

With zero desire to turn back a hand or two of time

I want to do precisely what I do, and do what I do not

To be who I am, to be whoever I become.

To help, share and love, with the minutes afforded me

For others to learn and grow, as they wish

For others to live, and share still, as they choose.

My time, my exclusive life stamp, what I make it

What I make it, while allowed, in these here minutes

To live out loud, then say goodbye to all, with peace.

Peace that I did what I did, that I did what I could

I await not death; he scares me none

For I know him, I have met him.

I may be ready, someday, somewhat soon or later still

Maybe not, when he then claws at my shoulder

His scratches, infectious bleeding, scares me none.

But not to live fully with intention, sans clear purpose

Not to live mindfully, thinkingly, in these here minutes

Not to live as noted, scares all entire fucks out of me.

For almost 17 months now, I have mostly focused on writing a book. After taking four months off to care for my uncle, I am back into my writing, writing directly to my two kids Lauren and Travis, hoping the first edition for two to be done by Thanksgiving, planned to be printed, bound, and wrapped under the tree this Christmas.

My blog radio silence lately, not because of complacency laziness or forgetfulness, but rather priority. Besides the abovementioned suicidal friend from Colorado, Lauren graduated high school two weeks ago and I lingered for her party last weekend. I plan one more week here in Madison before flying north to write until the end of August. I have been trying to shake this concussion I picked up in Wyoming, while attempting to regain some lost fitness, and I have a couple podcast episodes awaiting me to edit and publish.

The talk me off the ledge guy, my friend, he survived that night. Yesterday afternoon, he was still alive. Today, I am not sure. His list of tomorrows, seemingly precarious. But today, he will do his best, by his measure, and so will I, in all ways I can possibly help him. But alas, only the individual can save themselves. I cannot save another life, not like that, no way. I cannot change another life, no way nor how. I can just care and try to help, that is all. Once someone finally asks for help, there is usually much further to go for them before change is even possible. Most times, they are just not ready, just not yet.

The book, what is the book about you might wonder? A book about life, the examined life if you care to ponder in such terms, a book about life, and learning life through trial, triumph, and trauma.

To identify this here life as such, exploring and learning through mastery and missteps, all sounds like the most wondrous adventure. But I am not obsessed, to say there is one answer for all, to strive to find it and not stop until I taste it, no, I do not create such internal and unrealistic struggle. Just to explore, to help, and gather as I go, this my purpose.

Inspecting my past, I heal and learn. Analyzing my present, I learn and grow. Considering my possible opportunities for continued vertical breathing, I grow and live. Accepting all my life is, what my life is not, what my life could be, and be not, this my quest.

I try not to take this here life for granted.

I do not imagine, dream, or pray I have decades or even years left of this here life.

I do not avoid the reality or the conversation of my death, death as one of only two certainties of my life. Why or how could I dare to dodge absolute certainty? I do not hide from death, I know him.

I rather celebrate life, with every precious breath, every treasured step, every remaining minute, and every majestic day. This here life, however long left of it, a gift, a true gift.