Doors, by Gail Klock

Buzz, the dull sound of an institutional doorbell summons the matron with the keys. Footsteps can be heard descending the stairs. Click, goes the first lock, up two flights of stairs, then click opens the metal mesh door into the plainest, most unattractive physical setting you can possibly imagine. A space which lacked color and texture, the walls and floors an unpainted concrete; no pictures, wall hangings, or changes of surfaces to detract from the bleakness; no shelves holding objects of interest. It was a grey world. Visiting my grandmother didn’t take place in an over the hills and through the woods fashion. We entered through the locked doors of the mental institution in Pueblo where she was a patient. She seemed quite “normal” to me. She was dressed like all the other female patients in non-descript shifts which left you guessing as to the shape of the wearer. The men were dressed similarly in the same institutionalized green material with pants that had drawstrings and loose fitting tops. All the women had the same hair style, one I could have administered as a kid, hacked off at the neck line.

The room was large and open, a few tables scattered here and there and lots of empty space. Some of the patients were moaning to themselves rocking back and forth sitting on the floor, and others were very intensely playing with their private parts. My mother and other family members never did know what the diagnosis for my grandmother was, my guess is clinical depression which was triggered by the death of her husband at an early age shortly after the diagnosis of his brain cancer. My grandmother’s behavior didn’t bother me, nor did the actions of the more severely impacted patients, but the locked doors did. She had been stripped of her freedom to move about as she liked and to spend time with her loving family. She lacked the necessary keys to escape this captivity, to regain her freedom and become all she was capable of becoming.

Fortunately, I’ve had these keys available to unlock the restrictive doors of life, but I’ve often misplaced or used the wrong ones in trying to open the doors to happiness.  As a child trying to maneuver through life without the emotional support of loving adults I developed childish strategies to protect myself from being hurt and disappointed by loved ones. I played Simon and Garfunkel’s, “I Am a Rock,” over and over as a college student. I so identified with the idea of being a rock which felt no pain, and an island which never cried.  But I didn’t have the wisdom or guidance to realize a rock doesn’t feel love and an island doesn’t laugh. The keys I needed to use were the ones which led me through the door of vulnerability.

Several instances, which have occurred recently in my life, have given me insight into the desirability of being vulnerable.   During about the third round of chemo, simply walking a few steps was exhausting and almost impossible and the myriad other physical feelings when sitting still were equally horrible. It was at this point that I realized, “it is what it is.” I can’t fight the feelings, I can’t change the feelings, I can only live with them. Once I acknowledged the situation and accepted it for what it was a sense of peacefulness descended upon me. I knew I was okay and would continue to feel better and better. There were no longer doors separating me from others, somehow they had sprung open and I felt more one with the universe. I can’t explain this further, but I felt a shift in energy.

After my last surgery in 2012 I slowly embarked on the physical healing process which allowed me to return to playing basketball, an activity I love with my heart and soul. This process has been slow, at first just getting the ball to the basket was all I could manage. I didn’t step foot in a scrimmage on the court with others for at least six months, and when I first did it was with trepidation. The surgery had been very complex and had involved cutting and moving all of the nerves and muscles in the hip joint.  Initially I could not bend either my knee or hip. I asked my doctor if I could try playing again and told her falling is part of playing and asked if this was a problem, she wisely stated I might open the wound back up but I wouldn’t hurt anything. She must have been an athlete herself to understand the significance and relative truth of this statement.  It took a while for me to get enough stability to play and it took longer to overcome my fear of getting hurt. Now I don’t worry about getting hurt… it is what it is, when you fall you get back up. You might have some bumps and bruises, but you also have the joy of playing. It’s that one time when you execute the motion just right, when you get the desired result, when the wholeness of your mind and body are one, that makes it worth the bumps and bruises. I’ve unlocked the door to physical vulnerability and have experienced the joy that was on the other side of the doorway.

I’m well on my way to accomplishing the same with my emotional life. Even in moments of emotional isolation, which used to paralyze me with fear, I now realize I have the key available to open the doors to great love and joy, to actualize the energy available, which is represented by the concept of “it is what it is”, allowing the doors to be unlocked. It is only through allowing myself to be emotionally vulnerable that I will enjoy the greatest love of my life… yes there will be some tears along with it, of that I am sure.  But I’ve been that rock way too long, and it was a rather dull rock at that, now I’m beginning to feel really alive. I feel like the hawk that soars above, enjoying the warmth of the thermals, knowing it will soar with the wind beneath its wings, knowing it’s not alone in life, and that all of life’s forces work together… if only we use the right key.

© 27 Apr 2015 

About the Author 

 I grew up in Pueblo, CO with my two brothers and parents. Upon completion of high school I attended Colorado State University majoring in Physical Education. My first teaching job was at a high school in Madison, Wisconsin. After three years of teaching I moved to North Carolina to attend graduate school at UNC-Greensboro. After obtaining my MSPE I coached basketball, volleyball, and softball at the college level starting with Wake Forest University and moving on to Springfield College, Brown University, and Colorado School of Mines.

While coaching at Mines my long term partner and I had two daughters through artificial insemination. Due to the time away from home required by coaching I resigned from this position and got my elementary education certification. I taught in the gifted/talented program in Jefferson County Schools for ten years. As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.

As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.