The Miracle of Male Grief

The first time I went wonderstruck over the writing of Ronald D. Moore was while watching an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation titled Family.  And where did all that alliteration come from?  Anyway, Captain Jean Luc Picard returns to his family’s estate following his capture and torture by enemy forces.  The home he was raised in is now the property of his older brother, Robert, whose gruff exterior only accentuates his apparent dislike of Jean Luc for leaving the family vineyards.  Tensions build until they come to blows.  Within moments, the two realize, as we do, they are older men no longer fit for fisticuffs and they’re on the ground laughing.  And then the most miraculous thing happens; Jean Luc begins to cry, and as he sobs he faces the psychological and emotional reality of what’s happened to him.  As Robert helps his little brother up, Jean Luc says, “Maybe I did come back so you’d look after me.”

From my first watching of this episode, I’ve marveled at that fight between brothers and the catharsis that followed.  Even without knowing how it worked, I felt the truth of it.  Seven years later I would do the Men’s Weekend and see it in person on a grand scale.  And last weekend I saw it in my parent’s house.

Frank drove up on Sunday to see Mom, who had just come home from the hospital that morning.  We all felt relief as we ate lunch together, Mom seeming tired but still very much Mom.  After lunch, conversation briefly turned to plans for dinner, and Frank asked Dad whether he could use the bread machine.  Without warning, Dad was furious and letting Frank know it.  Frank reeled but soon angered himself, and the two uncomfortably went at each other for the next couple of minutes, leaving me reparsing Frank’s question looking for what could possibly have set Dad off.  As quickly as he’d ignited, Dad was apologizing to Frank.  The two sealed the apology with a hug, and then it happened.

I can remember only one other occasion that I’d seen my father cry.  A moment of shock passed and was replaced with recognition.  I patted both on the back and suggested we move out of the kitchen for a little privacy.  A minute after we retreated to the family room, the fears that Dad had been stoically repressing for the past several days flew out.  “She can’t go,” he said as the tears rolled, “I can’t live without her.  If she goes, I’ll go.  I’ll do it myself.”  Soon Frank and I were crying too and, as with Jean Luc, afterwards we all felt better.

I’m not sure what makes it work, but I know that for Men anger acts like emotional grease.  Someday, I hope to ask Ronald D. Moore how he knew.