TRANSPARENCY
by: Lindsay Demchuk
My grandfather is dying.
It’s one of those things that are inevitable. We will get older, we will – one day – die. We, my family, have known for some time that my grandfather’s days are numbered. He suffers from a myriad of various health conditions that have troubled him over the years. Jokingly, we refer to him as a cat, one with more than the requisite nine lives. Until recently, that is, as it has begun to look as though his nine lives may be coming to an end.
My grandfather had a stroke. As his side progressively went numb and he lost hearing in his ear, my grandmother had sense to call the ambulance. As the paramedics guided him down the stairs, she did not go with him. She chose instead to remain at home and put her fresh Christmas baking into tins.
My grandfather had a check-up, a requirement for all stroke victims. He has to go for surgery to clear out blockages and the prognosis is not good. He could very well die as a result of it. My grandmother opted to go to the hospital with my mother, as a duty; only because ‘it wouldn’t look good’.
Because it wouldn’t look good.
Keeping up appearances is important to my grandmother. She is always dressed well, her hair perfectly coiffed and her actions poised. At closer inspection, age has made its presence known: the wrinkles begin to show, her movements are far slower and her tiny body becoming even more frail.
In a similar way, appearances have been maintained within that family. A specific image had to be projected to the outside world. However, within the four walls of their house, life was hell. Abusive behaviors divided the family and created deep, painful, enduring rifts that now – years after the siblings have become adults, a few with their own families – have yet to be healed or resolved. And, in spite of how life was within the house, the outside world had to continue to see the ‘image’ of the happy, shiny family void of imperfection. The cracks in the discontinuity between the projected image and the reality of this family’s world became increasingly more evident and repercussions experienced as a result. Even still, my grandmother has maintained that appearances must be kept, the image must be held for the people to see.
And again, as my grandfather’s health declines, the cracks begin to show and what really stands, is nothing worth looking at.
When we create for ourselves masks, facades under which we live, the truth will always be revealed. It can be shoved down deep, rotting and corrupting the depths of our souls, our beings. All of that which we believe to hide will rise to the surface and, one day, we will be seen for who we really are.
What truth will be revealed in you? What do you actions and behaviors reveal about who you are in the inside?
Now, no one is perfect. Perfection is a completely unrealistic ideal. But to be so dishonest and ignorant of the reality surrounding oneself – even to the point of damaging others, let alone oneself – is avoidable.
There’s something to be said about transparency. Honesty. Self-awareness. Integrity: are you the same person regardless of who you are around, what you may be doing and where you find yourself?
Or, are you keeping up appearances: one person in this situation, another in that circumstances, a separate one in the company of this individual. Do you want to be the person who is found to be completely different at heart in contrast to what appearance has been presented?
Integrity is irreplaceable. When it begins to be corroded by a multitude of poor decisions, unapologetic disregard for and destruction of others only to try to be covered by an image, a façade presented – our integrity rots away. A slow, messy stench begins to rise as the image dissolved and the ugly reality moves to the forefront.
Sure, as humans, we aren’t always pretty. Life can get messy and we sure are not perfect. We will not always be integral – but the key is recognition and awareness of this, being humble enough to apologize and to work as hard as possible to ensure that these actions or decisions that do lack integrity are not carried out as a result of our willful doing.
Now, know that even in spite of this, I do love my grandmother. I struggle with the way things have gone in the past and the way she conducts herself now. Still, though, I choose to love her. She is my grandmother. I respect her but do not have to choose to pattern my life similar to that way in which hers has played out. We are different and so we should be.
In that case, let my hair be mussed, my make-up a little smudged and my actions less than poised. When my grandfather dies, I want to cry and be upset. And when I am with my grandmother, I want to love her. To hug and talk to her with all my heart, recognizing that my love for her takes precedence over any frustrations I may have. And when I leave her, let I not become angry or frustrated but instead, again, love her. There is no image I need to project, no appearance to keep. I’d rather my integrity in tact and it is something I strive toward at all costs.
--unlock magazine
