February 8th, 2013
My cousin Bernie died. He was 69 years old. Thirty three years ago, the doctors said he had six months to live. When he was a child, the doctors said he wouldn’t live past twenty one.
Before the term was considered socially incorrect, Bernie bore the label “mentally retarded.” Later, he was called “special” and that, indeed, he was.
I loved Bernie. I liked Bernie. I admired Bernie. I learned a lot from him.
Take it All In
Bernie is the oldest of 23 cousins on my mom’s side of the family. We gathered often—30+ Italians in close quarters—and it got pretty boisterous. Bernie always had a sense of peace and content. While he didn’t actively participate with the many cooks in the kitchen, or the adults playing endless rounds of Canasta, or the kid’s games, or the singing and dancing, Bernie did participate. He was present. He had a twinkle in his eye and a satisfied smile, as he breathed in the “all” of everyone around him.
Listen
Bernie made it a point to have one-to-one time with me (and the other cousins.) I always felt listened to when I was with Bernie. He adjusted our chairs so we were face-to-face. He looked me right in the eyes and used my name – Mary Jeannine – often. He asked open ended questions. He repeated what I said to make sure he understood it. He started the conversation by telling me what we talked about in our last conversation and asking me what happened. Once, I hadn’t seen Bernie for over ten years and he remembered and asked me about our last conversation!
He expressed empathy and helped me to love and appreciate myself: Oh Mary Jeannine – you can run so fast, you love to sing, I love your smile, you must be so smart, you are so lucky…
When we were done talking, he always thanked me for the conversation and shared how much he enjoyed our little visit. Oxford once said, “Being listened to feels so much like being loved, we can’t tell the difference.” Bernie gave me the experience of being listened to. Bernie made me feel loved.
Give and Receive Compliments and Mean It
At some point in life, I started the practice of deflecting compliments. I didn’t say thank you. I’d point out how I could have been better. I’d say I was lucky or I didn’t deserve it. I felt obligated to come up with a compliment in return.
Then I had a visit with Bernie, who was full of compliments for me. As I deflected each compliment, he paused, looked me in the eye and said, “I mean it, Mary Jeannine.” And he repeated the compliment – with emphasis.
He was steadfast in helping me to receive and absorb the gift of his compliment and give him the gift of my “Thank you.” He helped me to really see and appreciate the “all” of me, the true me, and build upon that me to create the next me.
Focus on What Truly Matters
When Bernie asked me about my work, he asked a lot of questions. What set Bernie apart was that he didn’t ask about the doing. He asked about the being. He had a knack for getting to the heart of my work: Wow –You get to be around all those beautiful plants! Wow—You grow flowers that go into bouquets! Wow—You get to fly in an airplane and meet new people! Wow—You help make machines that keep people alive! Wow—you wrote a book that people can go to a library and read! …. When Bernie talked about his job, his face lit up as he spoke about how glad he was to help others.
Bernie helped me focus on what truly matters. He helped me rise above the doing and reminded me of the joy and significance of every job I had.
It’s One Thing to Be Intelligent and Another to Be Happy
When I was ten years old, Bernie said, “I’m not smart like you, Mary Jeannine.” I was taken aback. I hadn’t really thought about being smart—or not. I tried and couldn’t imagine not being smart. Nor could I imagine how I could handle knowing that I wasn’t smart and worse (in my mind), others knowing I wasn’t as smart as them.
I didn’t think that if I was told I was mentally retarded, that I could love myself, be content, or have the courage or strength to be with other people. At that moment, I felt a profound respect and admiration for Bernie. He wasn’t intellectually smart. He was kind and loving and compassionate. He appreciated and expressed appreciation for everyone and everything around him. He was happy and he brought happiness to others.
Remembering Bernie
Andy Rooney once said, “Most of us end up with no more than five or six people who remember us. Teachers have thousands of people who remember them for the rest of their lives.”
I am certain that Bernie has thousands of people who will remember him for the rest of their lives. And I am one of them.
I am so glad he was born, that our paths crossed, and that I got to experience and learn from the miracle of Bernie.