Thursday has become the day Mike
McIntyre of Plain Dealer and WCPN fame and I eat pho and shrimp spring rolls at
Minh Ahn. Mike and I are good friends. We're quite alike in many ways and way different in others. I have come to rely on him quite heavily in recent days.
As we waited for our noodles, I
told him how I had my life seems to be subsumed by grace. Mike’s childhood was as strongly steeped in
Catholicism as mine. Our friendship meant that I did not have to
explain what that meant.
His adult life is buttressed by
a strong belief system, that I envy and an indomitable but nonetheless
rebellious spirit. We mulled the sense of power and
wonderment that grace provides. And we reached the same conclusion at the same
time:
As brightly as the flame might
burn, you must be able to let it recede, like the pilot light of a furnace.
“People whose flame always burns
that bright are usually crazy,” Mike said.
That would be me. Manic and a
bit crazy. It feels as if I’ve become someone else. My head spins with creative
energy and what feels like startling clarity of thought.
All of this manic energy is no
doubt serving as a shield of some sort, keeping the fear at bay. And it has
largely worked. Mary Lou believes I’ve been “touched by God.” Perhaps she is
right.
Yet there have been several occasions
since my diagnosis when, deep in the night, abject fear descended upon me. Death’s
dark, grim prospect felt too real to be imagined. I peered into a future that
no longer was mine.
My manic energy has enervated and
sustained me. But those other unspeakable moments won’t allow themselves to be
ignored.
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