Oops!

I forgot to send Jacob a Christmas card! I doubt he'll bat an eye; he was looking forward to spending the holidays alone, and even asked his daughter NOT to come visit for Thanksgiving or for Christmas. Jacob and I had a beer at The Village about a month and a half ago, and he seemed really happy in general, but definitely a bit Scroogey at the mention of holiday company!

Let's quickly add up everything I know about Jacob's parenting prowess (2010). I'll preface this by saying he's certainly not winning any father-of-the-year awards this year.

1- Refused to attend only daughter's wedding for selfish reasons even when urged otherwise by many friends, myself included.
2- Refuses to accept daughter's new husband for absolutely no reason at all (he has barely spoken to the guy before)
3- Says "nope" when daughter asks if she may visit her father for Thanksgiving and/or Christmas.

When we met for the drink, in a brave moment I asked him if he was seeing a therapist, but he misheard my question and I chickened out on the "re-ask". Perhaps next time?

In other news, oddly enough, he seems open to the idea of dating. When I say open, I mean only that. He will consider it. He is not, however, filling out questionnaires on E-Harmony, buying new cologne, or prowling the local Lynchburg watering holes (which would prove a near pointless endeavor anyway). My husband David and I know a woman who might be a good match for a cup of coffee or something stupidly simple like that. She is a widow, but lost her husband 13 or so years ago. She is just a few years older than Jacob, and is very pretty. She is an old friend of David's family, and I'm hoping that the next time we're in Lynchburg we can introduce the two of them at a casual dinner.

I will definitely need booze.

One for the birds...

The other day while Jacob was sitting in the parlor where he keeps his wife's ashes, a goldfinch appeared at the window. This goldfinch alledgedly proceeded to frantically bump its body against the window, seemingly desperate to get inside, and continued to move from window to window showing no signs of discouragement. Jacob opened a window, left the parlor, and upon returning a few hours later, discovered that the bird was still inside. So, he let it out. Let "her" out. Yes, that's right, he thinks this spunky little goldfinch could have been his dead wife's spirit.

Whether merely allegorical or a sincere attempt to consider the possibility of man-to-bird reincarnation, I blame it on the remains. Where these three factors are in play: namely a griever, a bird, and the remains of a cherished person, there will be some sort of poetic interpretation.

When my fiance's father passed away last October, a woodpecker appeared, pecking furiously at a support beam on our house, just as David was removing his father's ashes from the truck. David's father was an amateur radio operator and Morse Code expert. We lovingly marveled at this event, but to actually believe that David's father's spirit had relocated into the form of a long-billed arboreal bird would have been a stone thrown at the scientific method, which for us Godless wanderers is the closest thing we have to a deity.

Is this sort of romanticization of death practical? Does it help us move on or does it hinder our ability to heal? Does it offer a misleading or idealistic view of death? Is is important to have a realistic view of death anyway? How does how we view death factor into the healing process? These are questions I am not prepared to answer today, but I am tempted to say that anything that stands in the way of actual truth, bad or good, isn't healthy. What do you think? (you, who do not exist!)

In other news, Jacob's daughter's wedding is tomorrow. There is nothing that can be done. He simply will not attend. The last thing I said to him about it was that I was terribly disappointed about the decision he had come to, and that I had thought that attending the wedding would be a good first step to reclaiming his life.

Reclaiming it from what, you ask?

...from that damn bird.

Just say "I do" to your daughter's wedding.

Jacob's daughter is getting married on June 5th. A couple of weeks ago, I asked Jacob if he was excited/nervous about giving his daughter away. He responded that he would not be attending the wedding. After some gentle prodding and by expressing my initial (but uninformed) disapproval, I was able to procure a disjointed e-mail from him filled with excuses: some real concerns, some petty concerns, and some downright annoying "woe is me" rationalizations. I'll also make it clear that the "real concerns" I speak of are still not acceptable excuses for failing to attend your only daughter's wedding ceremony. For example, not wanting your 28 year old daughter to get married because she "should be focusing on her academic studies" is a real concern, but I would never consider it a deal-breaker. The petty excuses include, but are not limited to, "I didn't pay for the wedding, and that is embarrassing" and "There will be a few people at the ceremony I do not get along with." The "woe is me" rationalizations are the kind of excuses you might expect from a hermit widower who fails to realize that he is not the only one who lost someone special. His daughter lost her mother. These include cry-me-a-river items such as "I will feel awkward and uncomfortable because I'm technically still in mourning." As true as that may be, how does alienating your daughter on her wedding day solve the problem?

After the doleful excuses stopped coming, he closed the e-mail with "So, I put it you" which, whether he intended it this way or not, I took as an invitation to respond candidly. I spent very little time on the real concerns, and zeroed in on the grief barricade, because I feel that is the most powerful factor preventing him from wanting to attend the wedding. I acknowledged his grief delicately, sympathetically, but kindly reminded him that despite the almost definite possibility that the celebration would cause him some discomfort, he was acting selfishly.

I, rather bluntly (but with a sprinkle of poetic spice from the existential spice rack), asked him to call his daughter, apologize for being selfish, tell her that he wouldn't miss the wedding, and then buy them a hell of a wedding present (the fix for not contributing to the ceremony/reception). He thanked me for my honesty and time, and said that he would have to "chew on this". Well, it must have been a pretty tough piece of meat to chew, because he has all but ignored it, and pursued lighter topics.

I now have 7 days to convince him to attend his daughter's wedding, and so far, I am no match for Jacob's thoughtless obstinance. Woe. is. me.

Of gently rolling biconditionals...

p <--> q. That's p if and only if q. If not p, not q. If not q, definitely not p. Just your standard logical biconditional, two logically codependent items. Think about it in terms of a husband and his wife. If no husband, certainly no wife (she cannot be a wife by definition without her husband; she must be a wife to someone), and vice versa. But what if our dear, sweet antecedent is stripped of its precious consequent abruptly, unwillingly, tragically? What if all the forces of mathematics, physics, and fate conspire to strike a fatal blow to our gentle biconditional connective, leaving it shattered, dangling helplessly in some kind of sad, irrational limbo. p -->. If p then what? If p then what?

Like every other aspiring philosophy major at the university I attend (and there aren't very many with these ludicrous aspirations), I was obligated to take one course in formal logic to satisfy a requirement. The university offers one logic course taught by one professor, and this is how I met the university's resident logician, Jacob, who is apparently the only scholar at a giant academic institution capable of transmitting some of the most abstruse and infuriating material I've ever encountered. I recall boo-hoo-ing in my car on the rides home after the first few classes like a pathetic little baby, beating inanimate objects into submission (the steering wheel, the gas pedal etc.) and setting the stage for a very animated (read: reckless) drive home. I would then whine to my fiance about how difficult the material was, which only proved to exacerbate my academic wounds. I couldn't properly explain how difficult the subject matter was because I couldn't explain anything!

I would occasionally e-mail the good professor my questions, as he was usually accosted by almost everyone else after class. Gradually, I was able to integrate much of the information into my brain (somewhere between the correcting-other-people's-grammar lobe and the is-this-movie-worth-watching-if-it-doesn't-have-any-sex-scenes? lobe). Following the mid-term exam, it was brought to my attention by Jacob that I was his "top student". This title was at the top of my verbal resume for several days, but it was incomprehensible to me that there were not only a few students more lost than I, but every other student was more lost than I! I was on top of the world, rolling in the the soft, warm narcissism of my Teacher's Pet Syndrome like a dog rolls in the dirt. And then ... my fiance stalked my professor.

Okay, okay, he didn't exactly stalk him per se; it was really more an an impromptu visit to the house of a man he'd never met before in a town two hours away from the university I attend. Sounds fishy, I know, but I can explain! I had mentioned to my fiance, David, that I had heard that Jacob lives in the same town that David grew up in. Being the seasoned Google detectives we are, we looked him up and mapquested his house (This really isn't helping my case, is it? And yes, we zoomed in with the satellite tool; we're only human!) We just wanted to get an idea of where in town he lived (David's mother still resides there). Well, that weekend, David went to visit his mother, and the two of them somehow made the ridiculous decision to visit Jacob's house, where David proceeded to introduce himself to Jacob, who was apparently doing yard work and was covered in grass clippings. "My fiance is a student of yours!"

The above was relayed to me via an excited phone call from David fifteen minutes after he had unintentionally embarrassed the bejeezus out of me. "Guess who I just met? Your professor!" As the story unfolded, I realized that David had, benevolent intentions aside, kind of stalked my professor whom I barely knew. The mortification swept over me like a heat wave. A hot, HOT heat wave. No wait, hotter than that, much hotter than that. Lava! The molten lava of Mt. St. Awkward pouring over me! Smoldering, singeing, scalding every inch of my...well, you get the idea. It was embarrassing.

As humiliated as I was, I needn't have been. Jacob didn't seem to think it was all that odd. I later discovered that he lives in a little piece of history built in the mid 1800's, and is no stranger to the occasional uninvited drive-by. Still, I apologized profusely, and eventually my mortification faded. We began a very superficial student/professor semi-friendship. I continued to do well in the course, and began to find his sense of humor in class particularly endearing. His dichotomous nature was both perplexing and amusing. On the one hand, here we have a brilliant man who probably dreams in logical notation (I would call those nightmares). On the other, we have this goofy mid-fifties-something man who makes completely random statements about red angus cows that do not moo and stands there, grinning hugely, waiting for the students to laugh. And we did. We always did.

I attended a party around that time. Also in attendance were my former ethics professor and friend and a recent philosophy graduate I knew. We were merrily discussing Jacob's merits one moment, and the next moment the two of them were telling me that Jacob had lost his wife unexpectedly to cancer a couple years ago. Died. Cancer. Unexpectedly. At that moment, despite the fact that I had consumed many happy helpings of pina colada from a large blender, I was sobered, stomped upon, demolished. Not him. Not Jacob. It didn't seem fair. I won't get all choked up about death as a concept. "Tag, you're it" is about as much meaning as I'll ever attach to it. I'm not religious and I'm not a subscriber to romanticized portraits of destiny, but there was something about this particular situation that moved me more that usual. Firstly, I was very fond of Jacob. He had such a sweet disposition, such a gentle way about him. Really, all of his students love him; they are in many ways powerless not to. But it was more than that. Upon hearing of his wife's death, I felt an immediate sense of duty, of purpose. I could help this man. Let me make it known that I understand exactly how narcissistic and self-righteous that sounds. What can I say but that my intentions have been pure from the start, and remain pure.

Less than a week after that night, Jacob surprisingly opened up in an e-mail and revealed himself to me as a widower. I admit, I felt a bit phony having already known his painful secret, but there would have been no benefit in explaining to him that I had already had the news delivered to me by an intoxicated third party. When I read his words, it was as though I was hearing the news for the first time. I never prodded him to confide in me. I had very casually asked him to tell me a little bit about himself, even offering light suggestions such as "Have you lived in Brandenburg all your life?" He ignored everything light and fluffy and went straight to the devastated-man-with-a-dead-wife nitty gritty. I was touched that he trusted me enough to share that with me, but my sadness (not pity) for him deepened.

I have since grown to know Jacob much better. While I do not know the specific circumstances surrounding his wife's passing, he has spoken to me about missing her and even "speaking" to her many times. Jacob is a broken man. He is somewhat reclusive, delicate, and absolutely terrified of starting over/letting go. He puts on a pretty good poker face for his day-to-day, but he's got a long way to go.

So, here we have this blog, which is not a goal of any kind. This blog is merely my way of documenting my budding friendship and my progress with Jacob, as well as Jacob's progress with himself. I am not a psychologist, and I do not have a hero complex (Wait. Do I have a hero complex?). Jacob is genuinely my friend, and I want nothing more than to see him happy again, with new joys, new adventures, and a heart filled with a lust for possibility and prosperity.

Which brings me back to our sad little biconditional. q is no longer, so what will become of p? Logically, we established that p cannot exist without q in a biconditional, and in an emotional sense, that may be true right now. However, this is the real world, and joy will find a way to return even when it seems the source of all joy has perished. p's heart beats and he continues breathing because his body wants him to, and as long as that body insists he move on, it would be a pity not to at least try. And so we say goodbye to our broken biconditional, appreciating the perfect push and pull it provided for many years, this sweet mutual exchange now but a memory. p is now a lonely antecendent in a lonely conditional, an if without a then. But we have only just begun. If p then what? Oh, my poor dear, I will show you what...