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A NEW DEADLINE
FOR HOPE
“Tomorrow”, she
said to herself,
“I’ll get a
prescription for
tranquilizers.
I’ll make sure
that I have
enough. I’ll set
a convention
date for my
death…… one not
to upset the
least, my family
weekly schedule………….”
Ann was working
hard on the idea
of committing
suicide and
trying a very
cool approach.
She thought that
her past
failures
resulted from
allowing too
many feelings to
get into her
decision-making
process. But
striving to be
objective did
not hide the
basic questions
which so deeply
troubled her.
Ann was just too
tired of hurting
and being hurt
by other people.
She was also
sick of herself
for compromising
with principles
when deep down
knowing her
attitude should
have been to
stand up and be
counted among
the other few
who felt the
same uneasiness.
At age 39, the
full time
training
assistant, wife
and mother of
two boys, once
in a while would
feel guilty
about the rat
race she had
joined a long
time ago.
Physically and
emotionally
exhausted, Ann
had run out of
excuses. “ There
is no doubt in
my mind – I just
can’t face
everyday life
any longer. What
for? Why so much
struggling for
so little? Work,
work, work all
the time. All
kinds of noises
and pressures.”
Looking back, it
seemed
unbearable not
to find real
improvement on
her personal
condition. Was
she helping the
family
substantially or
not? Why so many
worries with the
monthly bills?
Once, realizing
she was
overworked, Ann
dared to mention
about hiring
some help with
the household
chores. Jim did
turn the TV off
in disbelief –
“You are
dreaming! Wake
up, Madam. We
are not rich!”
Work, work,
work. Endless,
boring groceries
buying. Or
rushing to
choose more
things to own,
keep, insure or
simply to talk
about. No break,
no relaxation.
Was this all
that life had to
offer women like
herself?
No faith or hope,
just anger…..
Maybe a hidden
desire to
experience more
than the same
routine, with no
perspective of
growth/change.
Most important
of all to a
human being like
Ann: no time to
care for someone
else.
If you cannot
care for someone
other than
yourself …..
life is not
worth living
indeed.
No time for love
either. Love has
a place of its
own. It takes
time. It demands
patience. One
cannot rush love.
Or confine it to
coffee breaks.
No one to be a
friend to.
“Nobody with
time to spare to
be my friend! I
just can’t
endure living
without
friendship. As
Antoine de
Saint-Exupéry
pointed out in
his famous book
“The Little
Prince”, people
got used to buy
everything ready
from the stores.
But one cannot
get a friend
from a
department store.”
Suddenly, Ann
stopped crying
inside. For a
few minutes, she
almost felt
tears would
bless her eyes
at last, after a
decade of no
display of
emotion. Nothing
happened, though.
Half an hour
later, Jim and
the boys
returned from
the hockey
practice which
usually would
take place every
Saturday. The
three of them
were in a jolly
mood, laughing,
exchanging silly
jokes. “ The
children will be
in good hands,”
Ann reassured
herself.
Would she stand
any chance to be
missed at all?
Would her
absence have
some meaning
only if she had
a daughter?
Once more, like
it occurred a
hundred times
before, Ann
longed for the
girl she never
conceived.
Would she care
for life, if
things had been
different?
Would she have a
friend, if Jim
had given her
another chance ,
instead of
demanding: “No
third pregnancy!
And no sleeping
together until
you have a
hysterectomy.”
Ann’s hands did
show much
nervousness but
her head was
going crazy,
while she
recalled Jim’s
remark: “There
are already too
many girls in
the world. Grow
up, Ann. Enjoy
the two boy we
have.”
“Ann, what are
you up to now?
The meat is
burning!”
She did manage
to save the
dinner that
Saturday,
despite her
private turmoil.
Would she manage
to die?
“Oh, what a big
fool I am!” Ann
was now very
close to
screaming.
Surprisingly,
she could not
deny to herself
that she meant:
“Will I manage
to survive?”
“I am a coward”,
she would be
repeating for
the next days,
while dragging
herself from
home to the
office and then
back to the
family routine.
A few weeks
earlier, Ann was
under the
impression that
she had finally
liberated
herself from
life. She could
feel a
determination
toward suicide.
Ann got a strong
hint that her
mind was made up
and nothing
would change
such decision.
Ann was relieved.
Really?
She did have a
small problem.
Whether
psychologists
would name it an
instinct for
survival, or
contradiction,
or doubt, Ann
could not define
it. She knew the
headaches were
getting worse.
The more Ann
planned a date
to die, the more
she experienced
a great inner
controversy. It
was like dealing
with two very
different people,
striving to
achieve opposite
goals, walking
not in the same
direction. Both
fighting like
cat and dog.
“Their” endless
discussions were
driving Ann
crazy. Were they
her enemies?
Allies? Were the
concerned,
thoughtful
friends to whom
she had not been
formally
introduced?
Someone did seem
to care, after
all.
In disbelief,
her body and
soul aching, Ann
slowly realized
that she had a
true friend
inside herself.
Which one? The
voice on the
campaign trail
for complete
peace and total
absence of
suffering? Or
the one to hold
her death plans
to a virtual
standstill?
Something very
powerful inside
Ann was pushing
her away from
her deadline. “Nonsense”,
she would
whisper,
struggling with
the agony of
everyday choices.
“I am too weak.
I am lonely. I
don’t care any
more for
anything or
anyone anywhere.”
“Please stop
harassing me,
strange voice. I
just want to die.
Some people are
lucky: they get
killed one way
or the other.
But I have no
luck, so …… I
must do it
myself. I am not
the only one to
give up.
Suicides are on
fashion nowadays.
It is no big
deal. People of
all ages and
backgrounds
choose this
solution to
their problems.
Their number is
on the increase.
Even among the
very young.”
“If life is not
pleasant to
children, why
should it be to
me? If many kids
find this mad
world unbearable,
why should I
crawl and cry
until the end?
Why should I be
forced to keep
searching for
ideals never to
be achieved
anyway? Why to
search for love
when there is no
such thing? Why
to keep longing
for someone to
care when nobody
cares? Why to go
on trying to
reach others …..
when people
really don’t
want to be
touched, moved
or involved?
There is only
selfishness
around me, so …
we are all in
the path of
self-destruction.
I refuse to let
myself die
slowly in acute
pain and
distress.
Considering the
disturbing times
we are living
in, euthanasia
seems a heavenly
choice. Suicide
too (for me, at
least).”
Ann drove the
boys to the
hockey practice
the following
Saturday. Jim
was working on a
special project,
hoping for a
promotion and a
substantial
salary increase.
He didn’t go to
the office, but
no one would
think he stayed
home either.
Jim’s silence
has always
bothered his
wife, who felt
as being a
victim of
segregation in
her own
territory. Ann
found it hard to
admit the truth:
she still hoped
for a different
weekend, when
the family would
get together to
enjoy and love
each other.
Every time such
aspiration did
not turn into
reality, her
frustration
would take its
toll. Depressed,
disappointed,
Ann became
increasingly
irritable and
tense.
To judge others
as phoney people
is unpleasant…
though one can
live with it.
The unbearable
situation occurs
when one
realizes he/she
has became a
“phoney” too.
This was the
essence of Ann’s
profound shame
of herself.: the
changes which
had taken place,
not only in her
life but
specially the
ones in her
heart.
She remembered
with fondness
her childhood
and adolescence.
The loving way
she was brought
up had later
taken a sharp
turn. How to
reconcile her
family
atmosphere of
yesterday with
the
rush-bump-push
and pull of her
present life? It
seemed
impossible to
her to establish
any kind of fair
comparison
between the
togetherness
experienced in
the past and the
lonely
independence of
family members
in today’s
society.
As a child, Ann
enjoyed her
Mother’s total
devotion to her
loved ones as an
automatic
womanhood
behavior.
Growing up
brought a
striking
contrast.
Attitudes were
no more an
extension of
words.
Principles were
not expressed or
followed up by
coherent actions.
Communities
changed because
people living
there undertook
a practical
translation of
technology by
adopting a new
set of values.
Would Ann let
her parents take
a look deep into
herself? Would
she let her
Mother see what
her daughter was
like now, at
home as well as
at the office?
Would Ann’s
Mother then cry
in disbelief and
sympathy beside
her daughter,
holding her
again like she
used to, at
bedtime? Ann had
to admit that
she didn’t want
to hear the
answers.
Ah, the tragedy
of Ann’s life:
too many
fundamental
questions,
either
impossible to
answer or
carrying the
stigma of
solutions she
didn’t have the
strength to face
without breaking
down.
-‘Mommy, I can’t
wear this shirt…..
two buttons are
missing!” nine
year old Carl
said to Ann.
- “Sorry, Carl.
I noticed it
yesterday. I
have been very
busy at work.
Let’s try
another shirt.
How about the
one with the
smiling face
printed on the
pocket?”
-“No! That’s too
childish! It
reads: “Love
me.” Give me the
one with the big
Superman picture.”
Carl’s brother
had gone earlier
to school with a
neighbor. Jim
would be up in
half an hour. By
then, Ann would
be dropping Carl
for his first
morning class.
Ann’s Daddy
would probably
have said: “If
you have two
cars but cannot
enjoy a meal
together, as a
family… oh, this
kind of success…
I’d rather hide
from progress on
the farm.”
She would get
very upset at
him. Deep down,
Ann knew her Dad
was a wise man.
She had
pretended that
those things
didn’t bother
her and her
Father came to
accept her false
explanation. Or
was he
pretending too?
Ann’s Dad had
been always fond
of telling
stories to his
family. He did
it when the
children were
very young and
didn’t stop it
when they were
teenagers. He
enjoyed the
thrill of
keeping his
audience
interested.
Ann’s Mother
liked to point
out that his set
up technique was
more important
than the content
of his parables.
“He didn’t care
for bedtime
stories. Dad
wanted the
dining room
table as his
scenario. In
fact, he would
speak only if
all the family
members were
present. If one
of us couldn’t
make it for the
meal, the tale
session was
postponed.”
Ann was feeling
down again. She
looked at the
wall calendar
and chose a
month. “Soon
I’ll pick the
day”, she
assured herself,
shaking with
self-confidence…
Ann tried not to
recall one of
her Dad’s
Parables…
because it
troubled her.
" It is not
fiction. His
story happens
everyday
everywhere. I
see it around me
too often… a
reality which my
own boys will
most probably be
facing. Living
in the country,
wasn’t it
remarkable that
my Father knew
so much about
city life? Here,
there is
violence. Peace
and quiet don’t
really exist –
just their
disguise,
masquerading
loneliness.
Was Dad skillful
educator? Was it
out of
scientific
knowledge or
professional
training? No.
Dad was a farmer
all his life. If
asked, Mother
would have
answered
candidly, with
great pride: -
It was out of
love and concern
for his
children’s
future. "
Ann’s efforts to
avoid tender
memories were in
vain. She could
still hear her
Dad’s
compassionate
voice telling
the family his
favorite
contemporary
parable:
“In a poorly lit
room, a man of
perhaps thirty
eats while
watching the
news on
television.
People are
fighting
violently on the
screen, but he
shows little
interest. A few
minutes later,
after finishing
his meal, he
decides to get
rid of the
garbage. He
opens the door
and there, in
the hallway, he
sees the
bloodied face of
a young man
being beaten by
three others.
Having no desire
to become
involved, he
slams the door.
The battered
teenager pounds
at several doors,
trying to find a
way out.
Although
everyone is
aware that
something is
amiss, all doors
remain closed.
Confident now
that no one is
going to
interfere, the
trio laugh at
their victim’s
vain attempts to
escape. Inside
his apartment,
the man returns
to watch TV, as
if unaware of
what was
happening.
Early the next
morning he
slowly opens his
door and after
looking in all
directions,
leaves his
apartment. He
safely disposes
of the garbage
and drives off,
heading for one
of his favorite
parks. En route
he comes across
an accident. A
girl, whose arms
appear to be
injured, is
attempting to
free her
companion who
got pinned
within the car.
She sees the
approaching
vehicle and
screams for
help. He slows
down hesitantly,
stopping just to
tell her to call
the police, then
speeds away.
A summer day
warms the camp
site, like a
dream for the
ones who would
like to forget
winter will come
again. Hundreds
of people
eagerly enjoy
the nice weather.
Some even give
the impression
of rushing, for
fear of missing
a short-lived
fun. Parents who
never seemed to
relax, close
their eyes to
receive the
blessing of the
sunshine,
without giving
any thought to
bills or rising
costs. Children
feared to be
hyperactive in
the heat of the
city, now sit
for hours
building with
sand and little
rocks. The man
chooses a spot
well away from
other people, in
order to enjoy
his solitude,
his indifference
and desire to
remain free from
other people’s
problems. No
troubles, no
laughs shared
either. A firm,
personal policy
of no questions
asked.
A striking
sunset, a
rainbow
good-evening
from nature. Two
girls approach
the area where
the uncommitted
man has put up
his tent. They
try several ways
of establishing
a conversation.
He again chooses
to ignore their
efforts and
takes refuge
into his tent,
clearly
preferring the
company of his
radio.
The wind had
been telling the
trees, for the
last three days,
that winter is
definitely
coming on time.
The camp sites
are not as
crowded, though
many groups
still enjoy
common
activities all
day long. Back
within the safe
confines of his
temporary
quarters, the
man lies awake
inside his
sleeping bay.
His mind wanders
back to a sign
at the entrance
of the
provincial park
which reads, “No
animal here is
dangerous if it
is left alone.”
He is still
thinking,
suddenly
realizing it is
not the same
with human
beings. He just
remembered
reading
something about
the unexpected,
odd behavior of
lonely people… a
potential danger
to society, like
a hurricane not
preceded by a
warning forecast.
He did sleep
after all…. But
not before he
cried for hours.”
Suddenly, Ann
was back to
dealing with a
private dilemma:
a deadline for
her suicide.
Years ago, her
Father had
impressed upon
his audience
that selfishness
is never the way
to peace: “ The
flower of peace
blooms only when
we accept our
human condition
and the absolute
need to
communicate with
others.”
The young man’s
tears at the end
of the story
meant a
rejection of
personal
desperation and
a move towards
solidarity.
Ann was about to
miss her lunch
hour. Everyone
else had left.
The night before,
Ann suffered
such a
harassment from
her friend
inside her that
in order to stop
the nagging, she
agreed on
postponing the
date for a pill
overdose.
The two voices
were again
expressing their
viewpoints,
leaving Ann in a
kind of
suspense.
She was glad
thus when
Bernadette
called to invite
her for lunch on
the following
day. Ann liked
her since the
first week they
worked together.
“ Bernadette is
a warm, gentle
girl” – Ann
would say it
later. She had
always shown
appreciation for
the help Ann
gave her at
those difficult
times when she
was starting a
new job in the
Company. Her
sincere
gratitude would
strike some
mixed reaction
from Ann.
Would she have
helped a new
colleague so
much as she did,
if she had not
planned to die?
Would she have
been kind anyway?
Would she give
friendship
priority over
career
advancement and
promotions?
Ann could not
answer those
questions with
honesty. This
was terribly
discouraging to
her, who once
cared more for
people than for
competition and
salary increase.
Ann and
Bernadette have
been friends now
for about a year.
They trust each
other. They
share ideas,
solutions and
doubts. Each one
helps the other
as much as
possible, at
work and at home
whenever help is
needed, wherever
the need is.
Cruel questions,
out of curiosity
alone, are out
of question.
There is much
concern, care,
laugh, and
mutual support.
No longer lonely,
Ann cancelled
her previous
deadline. She
looks beyond the
daily obstacles
to accept with
courage the
challenge of
living.
Theresa
Catharina de
Góes Campos
Ottawa, Ontario
- Canada, April
22, 1982.
From: Tereza
Lúcia Halliday
Date: 2011/6/2
Subject: Re: A
NEW DEADLINE FOR
HOPE
To: Theresa
Catharina de
Goes Campos
Belo e vero.
Mais uma vez,
the anchor of
Friendship makes
a difference.
Thanks for
sharing.
Tereza Lúcia.
From: RAQUEL DE
ALMEIDA PRADO
CRUZ
Date: 2011/6/3
Subject: Re: A
NEW DEADLINE FOR
HOPE
To: Theresa
Catharina de
Goes Campos
Therezita,
Que lindo conto!
A mensagem de
esperança é
magnífica.
Realmente, é
preciso vencer
os obstáculos
diários que não
são poucos.
Beijos, Raquel. |
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