“We’re meant to lose the people we love. How else would we know how important they are to us?” ~ Mrs. Maple in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
The observant reader of The
Modern Vitruvian, and I would like to think there is no other kind, will
note that this is the second consecutive column with a quote from The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. I can assure you that I have already ejected
that DVD from the player and will give it a rest for the foreseeable
future.
If the truth be told, I would have preferred never to have
had the occasion to use the above epigraph, but the month of January has seen
the passing of three men for whom Masonry was a way of life, and without whom,
Masonry will not be the same. The deaths
of Illustrious Brothers Kielman and Faub of this Valley, and Bill Davenport, an
active instructor and Past Master in my District have left me unsettled.
I knew each of these men – my Brothers – to an extent, but
not very deeply. I had the chance to
spend time with each of them within the last few weeks of their lives, and I
keep wondering what I would have done differently had I known that our last
conversation would be our final
conversation.
One thing I know about myself is that I am obsessive about
time. I am constantly looking at my
watch. Even though I am trying to heed
my own advice and take more time to appreciate The Space Between, I must fight to put the clock and the next task
out of mind. So had I been told that this was the last
conversation, would I have given in when they insisted that I stay for
dessert? Talked a little longer even
though I knew that I’d be exhausted the following morning? Would I
have asked them something deep? What was
their proudest moment? Their biggest
regret? Would I have been brave enough
to answer those questions if they had asked me?
Dessert? It’s already 10:30. If I don’t leave now, it’ll be after midnight
before I get to bed. I have an early day
tomorrow. Maybe I’ll just go home
tonight and do dessert when the meeting is shorter or my schedule is lighter.
As I think about these Brothers and the countless others that
I have known and loved and who are no longer with me, their faces appear to me
just as real as if they were here in the room, and I long for one last
conversation.
To some I would say, “You know, we didn’t always agree on
how to do things, but I always respected you.
The ways you challenged me made me grow as a man and a Mason.”
I might thank others for their advice (solicited or
otherwise) on how to play a role, deliver a line more effectively or gesture in
a way that brings a character to life on the Scottish Rite stage.
To another, I might get comfortable in my chair and ask,
“How was your granddaughter’s recital,” knowing fully that his eyes would begin
to sparkle as he recounted her every graceful move in the five-year old’s
ballet class as only a proud grandfather could.
Perhaps the conversation I would most like to have is with
my grandfather. “Pap,” I would start,
“We never had the chance to sit in Lodge together, but I can never thank you
enough for being the kind of man that made me want to join an organization you
belonged to. I hope I have made you
proud.”
Those are conversations I can never have. But surely there must be some lesson to be
learned. That is the mission of The Modern Vitruvian after all.
The next time you are in Lodge, look around at the faces
that are there with you. Is there a
Brother with whom you should make amends?
Are you carrying around baggage from an old disagreement? Did someone in the room change your life in a
profound way? Is he the reason you are a
Mason? Did he give you words of
encouragement when you were about to quit?
I suspect that there is a face that comes to mind for each of those
scenarios.
Now ask yourself what you would do if tonight’s conversation
was the last you would have with that Brother.
Would you sit next to him instead of across the Lodge? Would you try to heal the wound? Would you thank him. Tell him that he is important to you? Would you look him in the eye and tell him
that your life is better because he is in it?
Remember that “See you tomorrow” isn’t a legally binding
contract, so do not leave unsaid those words that could heal, empower, uplift,
encourage or comfort. Mrs. Maple doesn’t
have to be right. We don’t need to lose
the people we love to know how important they are. Just imagine your Lodge – your life – without
them in it and let them know they matter.
And when the meeting is over, put away your watch. . .
And stay for dessert.
Note: I know that death and regret can be intensely
personal. I sat at this computer, eyes
full of tears, as I wrote this story. If
you feel called, please share your stories: memories of your friends and loved ones who made a difference for
you, conversations you should have had or the ones you did have and are thankful
that you did. If you would prefer that
they remain anonymous, send them to me at pittmason@yahoo.com with that request and I will publish
them without your personal information.
