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A Letter to Lawrence

by Dennis Lockwood-Lee

284 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #99-0044; ISBN 1-55212-292-1; US$27.50, C$31.62, EUR22.59, £15.81

An adventurous 80-year old father's memoir, written for his 8-year old son.

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about the book      about the author      chapter 1      chapter 24      catalogue info

About the Book When a boy of ten, sitting atop a tall tree, the author became obsessed with knowing who he was. To work at 14, to sea at 16, to war at 19 where he became a Japanese POW weighing only 65 pounds he had a near death experience. Escaping alone through Nagasaki a few days after the atom bomb blast he passed out to recover with the thought "...go now and learn to grow in love". Trying to grow with this thought through tumultuous years he writes of his journey.

About the Author

Born in 1920 in England he cried when he had to leave school at 14, knowing there was so much to learn.

He says he has been scribbling all his life, and spent money (he couldn't afford) on writing courses. For three years he wrote 1000 word monthly articles for B.C.W.I. magazine.

Living alone he has accepted the world's family as his own, and looks forward to being present at his son's graduation in ten years.

Excerpt: from Chapter 1

Death Swallowed up in Victory

"I may tell all my bones: they look and stare at me". (Psalms22)

Sitting in my four-man cell in the winter of 1944, I was a bunch of bones held together with sinew and covered with wrinkled skin, like an Auschwitz skeleton. I was escaping the one-way trip to the Japanese prisoner-of-war camp hospital.

Weighing around sixty pounds, I knew my options were closing in on me. I'd been close to Davie Jones's Locker many times before. If I was heading there again, so be it.

But I didn't really want to die just then. There was so much I wanted to know first. I was even prepared to suffer longer to find it. Death's tantalizing shadow was like a sneaky enemy using its guillotine to keep mankind endlessly reincarnating, and I was feeling the keenness of its blade. I believed life and death were processes in life, an opinion I'd derived from intuition and books. How else could I know of such then.

Death had been grinning at me for many days, and I knew if it arrived I'd have lots of company. Somewhere in the valleys of death the spirits of many of my buddies lay. Many hanging around the corpses that were strewn around the camp in rough wooden boxes, waiting to be carted to the crematorium. I did not fear death. Life was no picnic and I was angry we had to go through so much hell from the powers that were. It was madness. The whole bloody world was aching and paining as much as my body and nobody with a clue as to why. It was an absurdity. I thought if only I could die and dissolve into nothingness, at least there would be a finality to it. It surely would be for the best, but nothing in me would answer to that buzzer. I watched myself as I drifted in and out of emotions; a little boy's awe for new things, a cynical denial or acceptance, amazement all mixed up with a sardonic humor- it was liking trying to chat up God and the reaper at the same time...

Excerpt: from chapter 24

A Boy is Born

"There was a star danced, and under that I was born."
  --William Shakespeare

"Honey! Come quick!"

I ran into the bathroom, "Oh...It's pink!...What does that mean?...It's a girl?"

"No! If the bar turns pink..." she read from the pregnancy test pamphlet, "...most likely you are pregnant...Oh darling I'm a mother!" In disbelief she gripped my hands, and, still sitting on the edge of the bathtub, buried her head in my midriff while I stroked her hair.

"Bless you darling," I knew how long she had waited for this moment. She was thirty-six and I seventy-one.

And that, Lawrence, was our first awareness of your being. After your arrival I remembered passing through the Suez Canal just after World War II- a soothsayer told me I would be very rich and have two children- aging, and not rich, I had forgotten.

At the reception desk of a large city hospital, obviously very heavily pregnant, your Mom was asked, "...and what are you here for?"

"My wife is ready to give birth. Where do we go?"

The receptionist, obviously unhappy, flicked her fingers and moved us on, "Down there," she barked.

Finally, at what seemed to be the business center of the birthing process, we sat. I was fidgety, unaware that it would be over forty hours before you and your ma would sleep and I'd go home.

Eventually we were surrounded by an attentive and caring staff and we regained confidence, although your mother had an intuition that our timing was not right and said, "I think we should go home." We'd heard so many good reports of the hospital's reputation we believed everything would be done well.

Expecting a simple birth, we did not anticipate heavy drugs, stirrups, forceps, or to see the glistening cutlery of surgeons, or hear talk of a caesarean alternative.

When told there would be interns and students assisting, I saw your mother's face tighten. I felt she would get closer attention from the conductor of the delivery.

Your arrival was much slower than expected and the majority opinion was that your mama should go upstairs to let the prostaglandin cream work overnight. She was hungry and tired after not eating (as per instruction) for over eight hours. Sleep is a great healer.

However, an assertive student checking her over, somehow, influenced the half a dozen other hovering around that delivery should be rapidly induced. By her assertiveness, I though she was in charge. My instinct was against induction, but I didn't want to question her know-how. Your mother's intuition was right from the beginning. We should have gone home to rest and wait until you were more ready to come into this world.

What followed was one long, bungling, painful experience for your mom. I was convinced all present were doing their utmost; they were concerned and caring, but as time wore on their ineptitude became increasingly apparent.

But for the relieving nurses who sat close by your mom, talking her through the contractions with knowing and love, and at the very end, for the one obstetrician who knew what she was doing, I fear to think what would have happened.

Her doctor checked in for the first time after fifteen hours of labor and said, "Isn't the it down yet? I'll come back when you get to the meat and potatoes." I'm sure she didn't mean to sound callous, but it's stuck in my mind ever since..."meat and potatoes!" Later, I realized she was a caring doctor. I believe she was overtired, and had walked in to an already tense situation when no one seemed to know what to do. When she asked me what to do, I knew the crew were panicking.

Your mother wore severe pain in her face, but did not cry out. I had not witnessed more stoicism.

Pain relieving epidural was not properly administered. I felt I was back in a long night in the Japanese POW camp, witnessing torture.

Come daybreak, my faith was with the nurses as I relied on their love and caring to bring your mother through. Many hands had entered your mother hoping their fingers would tell them what to do. Some said your head was up (it had been down since the 38th week), some said you were anterior (you were posterior)...they just didn't know. They talked about caesarean birth and forceps. They put your mother in every position imaginable, plus in the stirrups, and brought in a trolley full of ominous looking cutlery and talked of moving her to the operating room, for...?

In the evening of the second day, in spite of my life-long respect for woman's know-how (knowing they had to be smarter than men just to be equal), I found myself wishing for a man to come in and take over. A male anesthetist was called in and was able to give a successful epidural, easing your mother's pain so she could rest.

After thirty-five hours, in response to our emergency call, a leading lady obstetrician appeared. She had instant command; she listened only a very short time to the apprentices. With her hand inside touching you, she said, "This baby's in perfect position," and gave your mother an encouraging smile, "...if we use forceps...not to pull, just to spread your pelvic bones a little...in a few minutes you'll be able to hold your baby." Your mom cried a tear of joy mixed with the fear of hurting you, more onlookers and learners arrived, a quiet expectancy was in the air. Suddenly, "It's a boy!"

You gave an exasperated cry, "Whaaa!" Tension lifted, anxiety turned to bliss and elated voices and laughter greeted you.

The pediatrician weighed you in at seven pounds nine ounces, did some quick tests, put a little woolly sailor's hat on your head, then placed you in my arms. You were the most beautiful, wondrous breath of life to come to me. A divine spirit from the great 'I AM' that enfolds us all. I saw in your eyes the deepest, bluest energy that was...perhaps from before time? I saw the richness of your soul. It seemed you were on the threshold of becoming a human; you had not yet fully entered the school of materiality; you had not shut down your awareness of coming from a different dimension of thought.

Overawed and humbled I knew you were an old spirit. A great welling up of love brought tears of gratitude. I longed that this time around, in this big school of life, you'd soon discover your own divinity and that of others. I believed that "the last enemy to overcome is death." I believe that somewhere in time we will learn to walk this talk.

I heard voices say your mom was too tired to nurse you, that she looked exhausted and close to collapse. "No! Give him to me!" she begged, "I need to hold him!" After the pain of labor she needed your closeness.

An understanding nurse helped me place you on her bare tummy. We watched you, eyes closed, navigating knowingly toward your mama's breasts, and there were oohs and aahs and chuckles by all. Agonizing tension melted; everyone gathered as I took photographs; I saw faces of joy, some with tears, a few in somber thought.

After the trials and tribulations another spirit had manifested in human form. Another universe. A masterpiece your mother helped create. She nurtures you still. And we called you Lawrence William, our beautiful son.

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