When Linda and I got married, we were kids.  She had just graduated college and I still had a year to go.  Sean came along about a year after.  We would joke about how cooking THE Thanksgiving dinner for guests meant we were now grown-ups.  We misjudged that.  Now I know that a real grown up act is having to bury your parents.

George Geisler, Linda’s dad, passed away a couple of days ago.  He was 92 and in failing health, but the end still came suddenly due to flu complications.  This year’s flu vaccine is clearly inadequate.  Now I understand how the pileup of years and declining quality of life makes a rapid passing a blessing for all.  He had made decisions years before about the kinds of treatment (or, more accurately, the lack thereof) that he wanted.

Now we are in the fog of funeral arrangements, death notices, Social Security, and Veterans paperwork that comes with passing.  Since we are basically on autopilot, the compassion of strangers is welcome at this point.  Amidst the numbness and tears, humor also helps us through this time.  Linda is, as usual, on top of things.  Her middle brother John had passed away about ten years ago and she helped Helen, her mom, through the bureaucracy.  Her oldest brother Jimmy died a few years ago and she helped there too.   When we were picking out the urn for him, Helen commented that after we spread their ashes, we could recycle the urns for her and George.  Linda wryly remarked that there would probably be a corkage fee.

George went through various political stances over the years, and ended as a staunch Republican.  He often felt obliged to help us overcome the error of our Democratic ways.  When a veteran passes, they give a flag, among other things, to the surviving spouse.  So at 3AM that morning, the gentleman at the desk is walking us through this stuff and pulls out a green form.  “If you fill this out and submit it, you will receive a letter signed by the President thanking you for his service.”  “The current President?” Linda asks with a twinkle in her eye.  Cautiously (Idaho is a very red state) he says, “well, you could wait.”  “Oooh no,” she replies, “I’m getting Obama to sign this one.”

Rest in peace George. You earned it.

George in his “Edward R. Murrow” Pose

Almost three months home and I’m finally getting to this.  The rapid fire events of homecoming, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year all share the blame.  In reality, though, I didn’t have a clue how to move from writing about the wonder of a totally different culture to a new interpretation of my old familiar haunts.  But I realize that the best way to hold on to some of the lessons Africans taught me is to write down these reflections, no matter how mundane.

I came back to warm welcomes from all.  Some were reluctant to shake my hand when they heard West Africa, but they got over it after a few weeks “quarantine.”  Linda visibly relaxed, her long solo stint of taking care of the millions of big and little things coming to an end.  My mother-in-law was relieved, and she again reminded me that people in the U.S. need help too.  She and George kept their promises that they wouldn’t die before I returned.  Seriously.  I made them promise.  The band was also glad, getting their bass player back at last – although I think they missed an opportunity to trade up during my absence.  While I was now “unplugged” and drifting a bit, I was back with the most important person in my life and we were reconnecting as we never had before.

Before I left, we talked a lot about how I would be changed by this whole experience.  I joked that Linda was also going to have some big changes from shouldering all the home load in my absence.  She covered everything with her usual attention to detail and eagerness to please.  She became more self-reliant and realized she could do it without me (scary).  She developed new processes and rules.  I came back to a familiar place but had to relearn a lot.  Most of them made sense and I quickly realized that maybe I shouldn’t comment on those I didn’t fully comprehend.   Fortunately, I got immediate feedback for behavior modification purposes.

I guess it’s human nature to try to contrast, draw parallels, and generally put what’s happening in the moment up against past experiences.  Now Africa is my backdrop for comparisons.  Roads, electricity, drinking fountains, racial attitudes – all of them made me reflect.  I looked at my standard of living in a somewhat guilty light.  Our perception of our condition is all relative.  Trying to compare our plight in the U.S. middle class with that of a middle class half a world away is fruitless.  The differences are distant and vast, yet at times we can feel that our situation here and now is the most unjust.  In Ghana, I could just look out the window and priorities would sort out in an instant.  Out there it is a constant struggle, and my role is to try to improve things, even if it’s just a little bit.  Here, it’s more complex.

I had the luxury of total focus in Africa.  Sure, I was working with 11 companies and constantly juggling a lot of balls, but there was one mission.  And when I wasn’t working on that, it was non-stop learning about culture, language, and people.  Back home, the multitude of different tasks and needs pulls me in so many different directions.  I miss that focus.

So now what?  Clearly, I’m a failure at retirement.  I only lasted about a year in that role before SEED came along and bailed me out.  I promised myself not to think too deeply about the future until mid-January.  That’s been a struggle.  But now I know why I’m drawn to this work.  It’s actually a very selfish reason.  This sort of cause takes me outside myself, damping self-judgment and the nasty self-talk I sometimes inflict on myself.   A place with so many people in genuine need makes it more straightforward to find an opportunity to make a difference.  Having the same impact in the U.S.  feels like a bigger challenge, but that just means I have to look a little harder.  While I want to go back and continue this work, for now I need to be here helping out.  My mother-in-law was right after all.

No more sweating in the rooftop gym. Now: aerobic snow shoveling