We Tried.

A particular Peanuts cartoon has taken me over of late. I don’t remember where I happened on it, though I was at one time a regular reader of the adventures of the Peanuts crowd. In my late teens and early twenties, I owned a half-dozen paper back compilations of the daily offerings, and I think I read them regularly. I am not certain if this specific cartoon was included in any one of these anthologies, but I have a sense that I must have cut it out and placed it (where else?) on my bulletin board or refrigerator door so that I could see it regularly. My memory is vague—I can’t quite recall the exact characters or setting, and so if anybody is reading this blog (and this is a risky test to see if, indeed, anybody is out there!), I would appreciate some reference that this researcher might pursue. I would own this particular strip. Indeed, as you will see, I don’t even remember the strip that well—and much of what I will recall here will be made up here. Nevertheless . . .

In the first several frames a character either Linus or Linus’ brother (was there indeed such a character?) is reading a note his mother has placed in his brown paper lunch bag. The note reads something like this, remembering that I am making most of this up: “I hope you have a nice day, and that this lunch provides you some sustenance. It is not much, but there is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, some fruit and a beverage. It is more than most have to eat. The world is a difficult place and you must find your own way in this hard and often, cold world. Your father and I have tried to give you the strength and resources to find your way, but alas, we are only human and have our flaws. Life is but a glimmer, and you should shine as best you can, though your light may not be seen by all. In the end, you should know we tried our best, and we love you.”

It’s a bit dramatic, I think, for a note in the lunch bag. In the final frame, either Linus or his brother (?) turns and says, “Sometimes my mother gets carried away.”

Why do I remember this particular strip at this moment? Because every breathing moment of my days I want to give my children the strengths I may have developed to enjoy the world, difficult and hard as it may be. Because every breathing moment of my months I want to give my children counsel and to protect them from the harshness of life, and assuage their necessary and inevitable griefs. Because every breathing moment of my years I want to ameliorate the sufferings which must come from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortunes. And I want to say, “I tried, dear Lord, I tried.”

Of course, these thoughts derive from Bob’s death. Of course, these thoughts derive from the death I must inevitably experience. Of course, these thoughts derive from the depths of my responsibility, my greatest burden and my greatest joy and care. At every moment I would it be gone; at every moment I celebrate it. I begin to think it is why I grow especially attached to Baruch Spinoza, to Henry David Thoreau, and to Emmanuel Levinas. I think they offer something to sustain me. Sustain us.