Other
"Thinking Drafts" and writing by
Male Grief
A
free verse reflection on "Male Grief"
Why is
it men sometimes sit on a dark porch and brood?
This dark sadness is not unfamiliar to
women,
but men seem especially prone to it.
Some call it Grief.
Why do men grieve?
They grieve lost dreams
Man is a dreamer.
He sees what's not there,
what could be.
He wants to invent. Explore. Discover.
Young men especially.
They dream of the future.
Seeing great visions.
A life full of
opportunities.
The young man can become a great athlete,
start his own business,
raise three fine sons,
buy a ranch in
sail around the world
in a handmade sailboat.
Most men hide their dreams from others.
Sharing your dreams is risky.
Dreamers are told to grow up,
settle down,
be responsible.
But as a man passes through life,
his dreams recede in the darkness.
They first become unrealistic,
then unlikely,
finally, impossible.
He now views his dreams
through the rear view mirror of life.
Could-have-been dreams.
So the man mourns.
His wife asks, "What's wrong,
you seem sad?"
He answers, "nothing."
He tells the truth.
There is nothing wrong...
that he can speak about.
He doesn't even know why
he feels so dark.
If he did, he couldn't expresses it
like she could.
She would finish his sentences.
So he goes out for a walk in the dark.
He makes something with wood.
He feeds the dogs.
Sits on the dark porch in
the rain.
He knows.
He won't admit it, but he knows.
He will never climb
He'll never own his own business.
He'll never have that ranch.
Never be a great athlete.
Never move to
He might make a handmade boat,
but he will never sail it around the world.
His dreams, now pipe
dreams.
Yet, he says,
"One of these days
I'm going to sail a month
on one of those tramp steamers."
"Have you lost your mind?
What would possess you to do such a
thing?"
He withdraws the dream
into the protective shell of his soul.
And the man broods.
So he reads books about sailing ships.
Collects maps of the ocean,
cuts out pictures of ships
and uses them as bookmarks.
He rides the Ferry across
with his son.
They talk about the ocean.
And he watches his dream becomes a fantasy.
So, the man grieves.
He will never do it.
Relentless responsibility pierces his
dreams.
The calendar crushes them.
So, he broods on the porch.
Why is
it men grieve
and brood on the dark porch?
They grieve lost virility
The man puts up hay.
He can toss a bale eight bales high.
Do it all day.
Sleep hard.
Do it again tomorrow.
This year is different.
He is sore tomorrow.
And the next day.
Next year it will be worse.
He bends over.
An involuntary grunt escapes.
The son defeats the father in Ping-Pong.
Father dozes on the couch at nine.
Falls asleep before his
wife.
Gets up in the night.
Twice.
The son lifts the heavy end.
And his wife passes him one night.
He is slowing down.
She, speeding up.
Same desire, less energy.
Same interest, less
spectacular.
He is getting like her.
She becomes like him.
Like he used to be.
She teases him.
He teases himself.
His son brings home a pretty girl.
He reaches back.
There is less there now.
Diminished.
Unreachable.
So the man broods.
Why
does he brood on the dark porch?
He mourns his loneliness
He is lonely.
Even among people.
Friends, family,
workmates.
Still lonely.
Why?
He has no friends.
He has many friends.
Yet he has no friends.
He hungers for a high school buddy.
A college friend.
A war buddy.
He cannot find them.
He is lonesome.
She arranges his social life.
He visits their friends.
He becomes a half-couple.
So he goes fishing.
Plans a hunting trip.
Joins a service club.
Buries his father.
Shoots skeet.
Takes up golfing.
Buys man-toys.
He seeks someone.
He seeks Jonathan.
There are needs a wife can't meet.
He is disappointed.
No Jonathans.
The men are threatened.
They distrust.
They compete.
They tease with shallow yuk
yuks.
They know him,
yet do not know him.
There are stories he must tell.
Only
to men.
Safe
men.
Understanding
men.
Wise
men.
Real
men.
There are stories he must hear.
From
men.
Wise
men.
Men
who know.
Old
men.
Men
who've passed this way before.
He yearns for a man-group.
A
few.
A
crew.
A
team.
A
gang.
A
squad.
His
squad.
Where stories can
be told
and
heard.
To men who care.
Men who trust.
Men who help.
He is incomplete.
Something is missing.
Still a boy. A man-boy.
Only men can make a man of him.
So he is lonely.
A lonesome man without
friends.
So he broods.
Why is
it men grieve
and brood on
the dark porch?
They mourn past sins.
The big man sits on the pastel pew.
He does not sing the happy songs.
He does not clap as his wife does.
He is not happy.
He cannot be merry.
He mourns.
He mourns for sin.
His own sin.
Past sins:
The girl he used in high school.
The friend he betrayed.
The thing he stole.
The man he beat for promotion.
The habits he hid.
The lie he told.
Sins, all forgiven.
But consequences still.
He mourns the consequences.
It hurts where the bullet was removed.
He cannot smile today.
He is a man of sorrows.
He broods about pain.
The consequences his own sins
have caused others.
Why is
it men grieve
and brood on the dark porch?
They mourn the pain of others
He works in his shop alone.
He rides his horse to the mountains.
He watches nothing pass,
from his wheelchair post at the window.
He is mourning.
What does he mourn?
He mourns the pain of others.
Even the pain in nature.
He remembers the gasping robin.
He stares into the mirror eye of a dying
deer.
He buries his dog.
He dies with a thousand warriors.
Ron's son drowns in the lake.
Charles loses his job.
And packs to move away.
Ken's son is drinking.
Ken does not sleep at nights.
Nathan's wife leaves him for another.
Gene's wife dies.
Richard is dying with cancer.
Only his eyes can talk.
The man bears these pains.
So, he mourns.
He suffers the loss of others,
their grief,
their rejection,
their pain.
He is wounded by the suffering of friends.
Even enemies.
He bears their sorrows.
Absorbs their pain.
This is why the man broods.
This is why the man mourns.
_________________________
In some ways the grieving man is like
another
One who had no beauty.
Despised and rejected by other men.
He too was a "man of sorrows."
He knew about suffering.
People looked away from this man of grief,
like people shy from a scarred face,
He was pierced for all men.
He was crushed for all sin.
Our sin.
My sin.
Wounded for my
transgressions.
Yet He opened not His mouth.
By His wounds, He heals.
He poured out His life unto death.
Bore the sins of many.
My sin..
A man of sorrows.
Who understands men who grieve.
So what do you think?
To contribute to the thinking on this issue
e-mail your response to Tuesday@indwes.edu
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