Rocks

A personal essay on the role of family in health and well-being

Watching over clear blue skies, the sun shines down on rolling fields and brightens the litany of greens and violets and browns and yellows of which they are composed. These fields, marked here and there by humble homes painted farmstead red, inspire memories imbued with feelings of security and comfort associated with one’s formative years. Slowing on the single-lane highway as we approach the rural Wisconsin town, beige and gray buildings stand at attention, lining Main Street as we take stock of our surroundings. There’s a firehouse, a post office, and an auto repair shop that outline the town square. A bright green John Deere tractor sits idle next to the town’s welcome sign, which boasts a population of “unincorporated.”

I’ve come home to visit my family. Since I’m not able to get back as often as I’d like, I try and make every trip count, which means spending time with my grandparents. So, that’s where this story begins, with my mother and I pulling into the driveway of my grandparent’s house; a place they have called home for many years.

An American flag stands guard outside, taking its post amidst a small garden that wraps alongside the house. White siding and dark blue shutters invite us to take a seat on the porch to enjoy the wind chimes and weather. The garage door is open and its walls are lined with the tools and signage from our family’s old dairy farm. Posters of Holstein cattle are displayed with pride, along with a yellow wooden sign with black lettering that reads “J-ARGO.” Ragged and careworn shovels, handsaws, and hedge shears all hang from well placed nails. These are tools, many decades older than me, that hold the remnants of sweat and toil and labor not lost to history, but celebrated by it. Though undoubtedly enjoying their well-earned retirement, they are still ready to be picked up and used without a moment’s notice.

The door from the garage leads into the kitchen, where we are greeted by the smell of some freshly baked delicious thing (pie or kuchen or torte or bread). Though in their ninth decade of living, my grandparents come striding in to meet us. Eyes beaming and faces glowing, they offer a warm welcome with outstretched arms and a jovial “well, look who’s here!”

This is a standard greeting in the Midwest... I’m not sure you could find a better one.

We embrace and start chatting – lots of happy noise and smiles. It has, indeed, been awhile. My grandpa locks eyes with me and says, “Louie!” - he calls me Louie - “Louie! I have sumthin’ for ya.” He turns and walks away. Curious, I look to my grandma. With a smile and a shrug, she reads my mind and says, “it’s a surprise.”

Eventually, he returns carrying a Ziploc bag. It looks… well-used… not unlike the tools lining the walls of his garage. A big grin and a flash a teeth - “close yer eyes!” I oblige. He places the bag in my hand. I feel a few items, five in total, of unequal size. They are solid, rough, and jagged in texture. Rubbing them together, they squeak and clink in harmony with the crinkles of the Ziploc bag.

“Ok, open yer eyes.” I oblige. Looking at my grandpa, I realize I can’t quite figure him out. The same toothy grin is fixed on his face - permanently, it seems! His eyes, hanging on me, shine brightly but still convey his patented smirk and wink, as if to say I know something you don’t. I look down at his gift.

It’s a bag of rocks.

*******

Family is both a central part of the human condition and something that can transcend time. One generation, leaning on the lessons of the past, will endow habits, traditions, values, and even trauma, to the next. All these things shape how a person views the world and their life, which in turn influences their health and well-being. Starting from this place, the question I’m interested in is “how?” How is the concept of family central to the human experience and how does it translate to health? What ties them together? The answer is love. Family is an opportunity to love someone and be loved by someone. Love is essential to living a healthy life and is something that must start in the home. Therefore, family life is also essential. Unfortunately, there is some evidence that this truth has been forgotten in modern times. To rediscover why love and family are important values, we must first define love… let’s start by examining what it isn’t.

What comes to mind is the old bible story “Cain and Abel.” Most are probably familiar with it, but if you aren’t here is a brief summary. Many many millennia ago, Cain and Abel were brothers. Cain tended the garden and Abel the flock. In that era, it was customary to make regular offerings to God to atone for your sins and misdeeds. Abel would continuously choose to sacrifice the best of his flock… Cain chose otherwise. As a result, God blessed Abel more than Cain. Enraged at this, Cain made the horrible decision to murder his brother; a decision that resulted in him and his offspring being cursed for generations. Out of hate for his brother’s success, Cain murdered him in cold blood.

In hating his brother, Cain hates himself. And in destroying his brother, Cain destroys himself.

It’s a story rich in meaning and makes the point, in a clever way, that our well-being is linked to other’s well-being; especially those we call family. If we assume that hate is the opposite of love, and Cain hated his brother, then to love someone must be the opposite of Cain’s actions. To show this, to show what love is, I must keep with the biblical theme and quote that famous verse from John’s gospel, “for God so loved the world that He gave his one and only Son, so that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.” God showed His people how to love by sacrificing His only Son for them. Following this example, love must be sacrificial in nature and can be defined simply as putting another’s needs above your own. You do something you’d rather not, sometimes something that may even cause you unbearable pain, for the benefit of another. Existing not just as a feeling, but as an action and as a choice: the choice to put someone else above yourself. Sacrifice is the purest expression of this choice.

Side note: this is why “self-love,” though a fine and important thing, is nonsensical as a higher ideal. How can you put your own needs above your own needs? You can only truly love yourself through loving others.

This is the purpose of family: to love and be loved. Sacrifice is an integral part of this. You choose to make a sacrifice for those you love, and they in turn feel the full force of that love and are better for it.

I can speak to this personally. When I was a kid, I was in dire need of a couple of surgeries. Our insurance wouldn’t cover it and out-of-pocket wasn’t an option. So, my mom packed me in the car and we traveled to Madison to meet with the big insurance company. My grandpa came with us. While there, they argued my case passionately, with my mother doing most of the talking. Stoic and silent for most of the meeting, the sheer weight of my grandfather’s presence bolstered my mother’s case-making. It also made his own point clearer than words ever could. Within an hour after our meeting ended, the insurance company relented and approved my surgeries.

Feeling loved in that moment is something I won’t forget. My grandpa sacrificed time, energy, and comfort to travel with us and fight on my behalf. During that time, my whole family - my team - rallied in support of me when I was in need. This is one example out of countless of which I am lucky to have experienced. Without question, I have the great fortune of an amazing family.

Now, that isn’t to say that love is all sunshine and rainbows. This world isn’t built for that and neither is love. Take my grandpa, for instance. He showed, and continues to show with great clarity, that he loves me and cares a great deal about my welfare. Yet, a large portion of that love (especially when I was younger) did not impart on me fuzzy feelings of fluttering butterflies. Let me explain…

Over the course of a life filled with joyful and diligent labor, my grandpa developed big bear paws for hands. As a kid, I honestly felt he could crush cinder blocks with them. However, instead of crushing cinder blocks he chose to use them another way… for discipline. Led by a pointy pointer finger with a chip on its figurative shoulder, he would deliver a swift pinch and squeeze to the scruff of the neck when one of the grandchildren was in need. Between you and me, I was in need more often than not. In the moment, this certainly did NOT feel like love, and I can imagine my grandpa didn’t feel good doing it. Though he still chose to generously give of his time and effort, as well as sacrificing his mood and his peace, so that he could counsel and discipline. All for my benefit. Discipline and correction, from an outpouring of generosity, are also deep expressions of love.

In a situation like this, it is the giver’s responsibility to hold fast to the objective lesson they are teaching, withstanding any and all kicking and screaming, while maintaining a loving and generous spirit. It is the receiver’s responsibility to, eventually, realize that this is, in fact, one of the greatest gifts they will ever receive - the gift of correction. Yet, some never go on to fully understand this and refuse to accept the gift, believing they are already flying when in reality they are merely standing on the shoulders of those who came before them. There must come a time when they disembark, thank them for their shoulders, and walk arm in arm. There must come a time to grow up and support both those who came before and those who come next.

Nevertheless, this brings me to a rather unfortunate and heartbreaking truth. That, even though I myself am a product of a “non-traditional” single parent upbringing, I have still had the wonderful experience of being loved by the family around me. It has greatly benefited my health and well-being. The deep understanding of their undying support strengthens and encourages me to strive for the best, knowing that I will be caught if I fall. However, there are those who don’t share my experience. There are many people today who are unloved and don’t receive it from those who are meant to love them. Or maybe a loved one has departed, leaving in their wake the passive emptying that only grief and despair can bring about. I am not sure if there is a more soul-crushing hollowing out that takes place than in the person from whom love has been deprived. It is enough to buckle even the strongest among us.

The question to ask, if you find yourself in this situation, can only be - “what to do?”

You must pour into yourself by pouring into others.

Though the present may be dark, the future is bright, and your actions must be predicated on this truth. It now falls to you to develop the family life of which you’ve been deprived. You are still called to love. If you’ve been deprived of the example, then you must become the example. You may feel alone, but you are not. It may feel impossible, but it’s not. It exists within the realm of possibility… and since it does, then you must get to work and try.

Build yourself into a person capable of supporting those around you: steadfast in your commitments, unwavering in your responsibilities, and upright in objective morality. You build yourself into your best, not out of selfish ambition or pride, which is a road that ultimately leads to a self-centered, ever-shrinking existence. No, you build yourself from a deep desire to provide the absolute best of which you are capable - for others. This is the only way it can be defined. And this is not limited solely to the people around you at the present moment, but those who exist in the future: your future spouse, your future children, your future friends, even future patients… people other than yourself.

This is the task: to turn a dark present into a bright future. You accomplish this with loving and positive contributions to the lives of other people. You become dependable. You become steadfast. You become unwavering and resolute.

You become a rock.

*******

It’s a summer day in rural Wisconsin. A man and a young boy walk down a gravel driveway. Open fields dotted with dandelions and wildflowers flow around them, surrounding them and their farm in a sea of deep green and purple and yellow. In the distance, maybe half a mile away, silos and barns, illuminated by the sun, stand silent and steadfast. Holstein cows, speckled black and white, roam peacefully among rolling green pastures. A yellow wooden sign hangs proudly at the end of the driveway, spelling “J-ARGO” in black letters, calling out to those who may happen to pass by.

The young boy is learning how to walk. Wearing bright blue overalls and sporting curly blonde hair, each step he takes is stumbling, unsteady, and uncertain. But alongside him stands the man: sure and steady. He is wearing his own pair of overalls, though these are covered in the muck and mud earned solely through hard work and labor. His back aches, his feet throb, and his stomach pangs with hunger. He’s tired, yet joyful. Here he is with the boy, watching over him, guiding him, letting him take steps on his own, and sometimes even letting him fall. All so he can learn to walk.

Spotting something buried in the gravel - bright orange - the boy reaches down and snatches it. It’s a rock. He inspects it closely, observing every detail, and determines it to be of some value. Turning towards the man, he bestows unto him this exceptional find.

The boy finds another. And another. And another! A large rock, a black rock, a flat rock, a beige rock. In total, five rocks are found and given to the man. He receives them, puts each one in his pocket, and pats it to assure the boy of their safekeeping. Then, taking the boy’s hand, he leads him home down the gravel driveway.

He would watch over these rocks, entrusted to his care, for the next thirty years.