Letting Go...

One of the most painful things in the world, is seeing someone you care about slowly slip away. It could be because they've found new friends, or a new lifestyle or traumatic event. Or maybe an addiction or illness is slowly ripping them away from the person they once were and could be. Or maybe it's just a dormant problem in their life, coming to light and rising in all its ugliness to the surface. The particulars don't matter. The fact is, you had them once, but now they're leaving--if not physically, at least emotionally. They're not the same.

I've had this happen a few times. Once with a best friend I had in fourth grade. Twice in high school. It never gets any easier. But I suppose I've slowly started learning from the experiences, harsh lessons as they are. See, I suppose you could say I have something of a savior complex. I want to save people from anything and everything that's keeping them from their ideal. The problem is that the things that keep people from their ideal are bigger than a new crowd of friends or a bad attitude. Death, divorce, Depression, drugs...all these things are bigger than a person, bigger than me. In the end I find myself trying to turn the person away from their negative choices and responses. In the end I find myself trying to save people from themselves. And that's something only God can do.

Sometimes as a friend you have to learn when it's time to let go. Sometimes all you can do is love and pray for a person. Sometimes you have to admit that you can't pull them from the abyss, especially if they're kicking and screaming.

I'm always fascinated by shows like The Cleaner, Mental, and Smallville (in the early seasons). It's not because all the leads in these shows are particularly attractive, or because I'm just a prime time drama junkie (which they are, and I am). It's because of what all these shows have in common: common people saving lives. Even pre-'tights-and-flights' Clark Kent doesn't settle for simply saving lives, he appeals to the emotions of the villains as well as the victims. In fact, his real fight is the ongoing struggle for his sort-of-friend Lex Luther: the one person he couldn't save from himself. But for a while he does his best to rescue Lex from the darkness that consumes him. For a while it seems like there might be hope.

I suppose in a way these people are my heroes. William Banks drags people from their life of drugs and alcohol, cleaning them up so that they can return to the life they left behind. Dr. Jack Gallagher jumps into the frey with dangerous nutcases--the dangerous schizophrenic who's actually an inspired artist, the debilitated mother of four. He takes risks, being both firm and kind, and sometimes crazy. And through him these people find healing. I've always wanted to do that. But for some reason this doesn't seem to be my role to play. At least, I can't see any "mission accomplished" the way Clark, Banks, and Gallagher always seem to.

I guess that's because real life is a lot more difficult. Real life doesn't have writers, directors, or even documentarians who can follow people around to see if they ever did get healed, happier, better. Real life isn't a TV show. So you can't always save people. Sometimes you just have to let go.