An open letter to a grieving friend

I'm so sorry for your loss.

This is something that, for reasons that are unclear to me now, I've become quite familiar with.  The untimely loss of a loved one.  It's never easy.  And, obviously, your life and the lives of your family are about to change in ways you can't imagine.  Please let me offer some advice, take it for what you will, but it's from my personal experience and I hope in some small way it can help prepare you for what's ahead.

People will say some things to you that will seem, at face value, unthinkably insensitive.  They mostly mean well, but unless you've lived through this, words often fail us at times like these.

"He's in a better place"

Bullshit.  His place is with you, where you thought he'd be until you were both well into your Golden Years.

"It was meant to be"

Why?  Why was it meant to be that way?  What purpose does it serve?  Whose purpose?  

"At least it happened fast, there was no suffering"

Excuse me?  No suffering my ass.  Have you noticed how my family and I feel?  We're going through Hell here.

"Oh you're so strong.  If it was me I don't know what I'd do"

This is probably the single most offensive thing you'll hear.  How dare you imply I'm not hurting?  How dare you think that whatever you've imagined in your head in the last 12 seconds is worse than what my family and I are ACTUALLY LIVING THROUGH?

And those are just for starters.  There will be more.  The people that offer these up truly mean well (almost all of them) but have no clue how hurtful these words can be.

You'll quickly be able to pick up whether someone is being sincere in their expression or not and that will be helpful.  Sincerity goes a long way toward assuaging the feelings you're going through. 

You'll also quickly learn to respond in kind.  When someone offers up a disposable phrase of condolence, you'll respond with an innocuous word or two of thanks.  But when someone reaches out in sincerity and touches your soul, however briefly, you'll be able to offer warm thanks to them.

Many people will tell you "call me if you need anything".  Take them up on it.  If something comes up that you can't deal with, call one of the people that made that offer and ask them to handle it for you.  Whatever it may be, no matter how serious or mindless the task, there will be times that you just can't bring yourself to deal with it.  So don't.  Ask for help.  

Your phone book will change.  I promise you that.  There will be people, in some cases long-time friends, that will stop calling you.  Try not to take it personally, it's a "them" problem, not a "you" problem.  And, conversely, there will be people you rarely had contact with that will become go-to sources for help, assurance, support, what have you.  You'll find you can count on them for things you'd never imagine you could need.  

Allow yourself time to grieve.  I know you need to "be strong" for your family.  And yourself too.  But make sure to find some time, whenever you can, whenever you need it, to mourn your loss.  You need it, more than you can know right now.  

And don't ever, EVER, let someone try to tell you "you've grieved long enough, get over it, move on".  Nothing makes my blood boil more than someone trying to tell me when I've had enough grief.  The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 4th Edition says if you're still grieving after six months, you've got a problem.

No shit.

You just lost someone that you loved.  You don't, however, have a mental problem.  I don't know if the 5th Edition says the same thing, but you'll find people that believe the 4th is gospel.  They've never lived with loss.  In my opinion, as long as you're not doing something that harms yourself, anything you do to deal with that loss is ok.  Screw the DSM IV.

The first year is going to be rough.  Dealing with all the "firsts" holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, etc.  But the "seconds" will sneak up on you.  You'll think "I made it through the first year, I'm ok now" and as the "seconds" roll in, they'll hit you like a sucker punch to the gut.  So be aware of them too.

Please remember hundreds, if not thousands of people, some you've never met and some you may never meet, are offering up their thoughts and prayers to you and your family.  You have more love and strength coming to you than you can imagine.  I hope that offers some small degree of support.  

It doesn't get easier with time.  But you'll learn to live with your new "normal".  We all have.  I always equate it to being a recovering alcoholic; one step at a time.  Keep putting one foot in front of the other and you'll get there.  Of course, I don't know where "there" is.

I don't know if I ever will.

I'll see you tonight, my friend.

Peace

  

The Last Paragraph

I was challenged by a friend recently, to write the last paragraph of, essentially, my life.

No, it's not like that.  I'm not terminal (although truly we all are) or anything like that, but rather, it's to help fill in the middle.  

I've been thinking about this task a lot for the last day or so.  I don't want it to be an epitaph (obvs) but really, what will my last paragraph be?  

What will anyone's be?

Pretty deep stuff for a Sunday morning, no?

I've documented large chunks of my life and the lives of my family here, so if you've spent any amount of time reading through these pages, well, you kind of get where I'm coming from.  I've never actively sought sympathy from this or any of the things I do related to the losses I've experienced.  Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a kind word or a warm touch on the arm and a genuine word of encouragement as much as the next guy.  But it's not something I seek.  Just like speaking, I find this both cathartic and crippling.  To open up a vein and bleed on the page or the stage is not an easy thing to do and it often drains me emotionally.  The message is, of course, important and that's a huge reason why I do what I do.  Frequent snark, here more so than when I speak, helps to blast through the emotion.  Kind of a dark humor approach, I think.  It's a defense mechanism I learned from my job many years ago and it serves me well from time to time.  It's not always appropriate but it works for me.

And personally, when someone says "If you reach one person, it's worth it" I say "Bullshit".  If I only reach one person, I've wasted everyone's time, mine included.  My intent is to get inside the head (and heart) of everyone I speak (or write) to, unless of course I'm being a smart ass at the time.  Which happens.  

I feel like this assignment is causing me, more than ever, to consider what my legacy might be.  I'm not sure if you've ever thought about your own.  In what way do you want the world to remember you?  The easy answers are "good person,father, husband, sibling, grandfather, etc." but is that really enough?  I mean, think about it.  I don't want a mountain or highway or anything really named after me, but I want to accomplish something so that, at least someone, will say "Oh yeah, he was the guy that did..."  Of course right now I have no clue what that ellipse represents.  

And, when I think of the things that were important to me fifteen years ago versus the things that are important to me now, well they've changed.  Some values are still the same of course, family and so on, but fifteen years ago, while I was involved in things with my union, it didn't take up the same portion of my time as it does now.  Politics are another example of something that takes up far more of my life than it did then.  And that's just two examples off the top of my head.  So, it seems to me that my last paragraph today may well be completely different than one I may have ten years from now.  But whatever it is it won't allow me to ever wear black ankle socks and black shoes with khaki shorts.  Holy crap.  Sorry for the break in the action but a guy just walked in to the coffee shop wearing that and... just... well, let me say, yikes.  

That doesn't lessen the pressure on me to craft a worthwhile last paragraph now either.  And I was kind of hoping it would.  Like a lot.  

I have faults.  The number and quality varies depending on who you ask.  I'd like to think the  (Grateful Dead plagiarism alert) long strange trip it's been has made me a better person, I really would.  But whether that's factual or not, I won't know.  Because really, I don't think I can know that.  It seems to me that since I won't know how the final chapter of my life ends, all I can do is try and take the lessons that life has handed me and make something from them.  I won't know the end result, since that won't take place until I'm on to the next plane of existence.  Trying to prevent what happened to us from happening to another family is something I've used, as have the kids, as a goal for my life.  And, just like my question of if I'm a better person now than I was, I won't know this answer.  So, as I evolve toward my ultimate conclusion, I'm going to ask this question.  Will I know?  Is there some quantifiable number of lives we've changed?  Will there be a Capra-esque scene at the end of (or after) my life where I'll find out?  

I hope so.  Because I think, as much as anything, that will be my legacy.

And I think I just wrote my final paragraph.

Peace.

Landed Gentry

I think I'm adopted.

Not really.  

In fact a better open to this tripe would probably be to ask my ancestors what the heck they were thinking.

Allow me to explain...

As far back as I can remember, my Aunt June was the family historian.  Both sides of the family too, in addition to being my Dad's sister, her husband, my uncle Don, was my Mom's brother.  That's how Andy and Ellie met, but that's a story for another time.  

Maybe.  

Probably not.  

But possibly.  

Don't hold your breath on that one.

Anyway, Aunt June was the "go-to" for family history and several years ago she made a pamphlet detailing what she knew about the Mains genealogy.  For some reason I had it stashed in my locker at work.  Don't ask, I don't know why.  But when I came across it a couple of weeks ago, I sat down and started flipping through it reading about my grandparents and my Dad's grandparents.  And, in there, I saw an ancestor that was born in New Jersey in 1765.  A great-great how ever many grandfather.  

And I thought to myself "holy crap we've been here a long time".  I never really paid that much attention to this kind of stuff in the past. But now, my curiosity was piqued (an underused word imho) so I decided a few days later to dig a little deeper.  

My cousin Judy (June's daughter) has taken over the role of family historian, and, through the wonder of the interwebz, has dug pretty deep (as has the photojournalist in the family, shout out to the D-I-L) and thanks to the well-known ancestry website, they've both uncovered quite a little bit of Mains family history.

Like, back in the day, my people ran with Robert The Bruce.  They were granted large tracts of land.  They had "Sir" in front of their first names.  They married into dynastic families.  They were kind of a big deal.  

Of course, in this instance, "back in the day" refers to the 90's.  

As in the 1290's.

As in the 13th Century.

THAT 1290's

So here's my question...

Where did we (and when I say "we" I mean "you people") go wrong?  What happened?  How is it that I grew up here in beautiful northern Illinois and not on the Scottish highlands?  

Where's my castle?  

Why do I not have serfs?

Do people even have serfs anymore?

I don't think I need a manservant, I mean I've been dressing myself for quite some time now, but still, I could have had one if you people upstream of me in the gene pool hadn't done something.  So what was it?  What did you do?  Some kind of mayhem or thuggery lost to the ages?  

I found a website that's apparently dedicated to the oulde (too much?) clan (I thought it was a nice touch, besides, you never know when good old 12th cousin 46 times removed the Earl of Upson Downham might read this) and this (totally made up title btw) is how my peeps were described.-

The Menzies’ are recorded as a relatively peaceful clan, predominately siding with law and order and the established Monarchy. Although surrounded by powerful neighbours, the Menzies held on to their inheritance without recourse to violent conflict. Differences with their neighbours were mainly resolved by diplomacy, litigation or convenient marriage and they became the oldest family in Strathtay with an unbroken descent in the direct main line down to 1910

So we've got "relatively peaceful" going for us and while siding with "established Monarchy" isn't necessarily my cup of tea (see what I did there?) I like the diplomacy aspect of my family's past.

But still, nothing to indicate what is, ultimately, my loss of title and land.

They stuck around the grounds more or less until 1600 when good old Josiah Means was born in County Cork, Ireland.  No clue why they went to Ireland and the old man died 44 years later in Scotland.  Josiah's grandson, born in Enniskillen in 1665 and died in New Jersey in 1742, was apparently the first of the lot to set foot here in the colonies sometime before the birth of a son in 1699.  

Again, what's the deal?

Not much of consequence once we got to the States, although there is a document that shows one of them received a pension (first familial drain on society, yaaay us!) for serving in the Revolutionary War.  That leads me to believe we lost our stuff pre-America.  

So.

What was it?

For any interested parties, feel free to post your thoughts.  I'm willing to adopt the most creative demise of the dynasty as my reality.

Fire away.

and (ironically)

Peace.

The Blonde Dog

Meet my favorite four-legged being in the history of the world -

Forgive the grainy quality of that picture, it was taken several years ago and technology wasn't quite what it is today.  Nevertheless, this ranks among my favorite pictures of my goofy dog.  "Someone" had the audacity to put one of her tennis balls in the garbage and she wanted to know why she couldn't have it.  In my defense, it was a shell of it's former self.

Literally.

The cover had been ripped off and it was almost in two pieces.  Still, it was hers and she wanted it back.  

Until I showed her the new and improved (Now with squeaker!) version.

I remember, pretty vividly, how she came to enter our lives.  The Quiet Child had come home for a visit.  She was around 4 months pregnant with the Boy Genius and one evening we were all sitting on the front porch when she told us she wanted to get a puppy.  She figured she could get it trained more or less before the baby was due and she thought it would be good for the two to grow up together.  I admit I was surprised when she said she was thinking about a Lab.  I'd thought she would go for a Rot or Pit Bull.  I'm not sure why I thought that, but I remember thinking it.  Her mother mentioned there was a breeder (spare me the hate, I know it's far better to rescue.  I'm merely telling you how it went down back then) just around the corner from us, maybe they could go look at puppies.  

They did.  The next day.

I was (surprise, surprise) at work.

I got a phone call that started off, and I quote -

"These puppies are so frickin' cute!"  (again, surprise, surprise)

"You want one don't you?"

"Do you mind?" (like I had any actual say in the matter)

So, this face 

Became a part of our household.  I think that date is pretty accurate too.  We got her at about 6 weeks old and from the start, she was a pretty easy dog.  And by that I mean she was pretty easy to housebreak and she was also very laid-back.  I've heard Labs are either complete spazz's until they're about 6 years old or they're pretty mellow and Sophie was always mellow.  I still remember the first "big girl" bark she let out.  She scared herself at the sound of her own voice, like she didn't recognize that she had made the noise and she wondered where the other dog was.

There was, btw, an "other" dog.  A Jack Russell terrorist (no, that's not a misprint) named Tobi and here they are 

It's funny, looking back at this picture, because even though Sophie grew to outweigh Tobi by about 5 to 1, they always treated each other like they were still this size.  Tobi would only have to curl his lip at her and she would cower down.  He was king of the dog castle and it was never questioned.

She has always, always, been the most gentle dog I've known.  

Like here 

She could have easily shoo'd the kitten away and snarfed the food, but she laid there, watching, waiting, "oh please, oh please" for the kitten to finish so she could sneak in and claim the spoils of food war.  Check out the look on her face.  "I'm not here, you can't see me, pay no attention to the dog behind the curtain" all at once.  

And there's also the "what did I do to deserve this?" look.  Like here, when she shared her dog bed with the other two knuckleheads 

She loves many things, my Sophie.  

Like kiddie pools in the summer...

And almost anything in the winter...

Especially this...

I apologize if the audio is a bit loud, I'm not sure how to manage that, and rest assured, no animals were harmed in the production of that video.  I don't know why she loves biting the snow as it leaves the snowblower, but it's probably her favorite thing in the world.

Sophie has been one of the few constants in my life for the last 10 years.  If you know me in RL or if you're a regular visitor here, you know my family has experienced our share of sorrows.  And I don't say that, ever, because I'm looking for sympathy from anyone, merely as a frame of reference.  I fully recognize, and will offer up if asked, that my life has been blessed with more good fortune than any one person should ever get.  wonderful friends, great family, awesome kids and grandkids, I'm one lucky son of a gun.

But Sophie helped me out of a lot of funks when I didn't really want to be a functioning member of society.  She always wanted to go out and play, walk, sniff things, whatever dogs enjoy.  And I couldn't sit there like a mope when she needed to do what she needed to do.

Funny thing about Sophie, when we got her, Diane was the one that trained with her.  Took her to obedience class, worked her on her commands every day, the whole nine yards.  But whenever I came home, whether it was after five minutes or a full 48 at the firehouse, Sophie was at my side.  

Right from the start.

I don't know why, but she was.  Still is.  

I'm so very lucky to have her and I don't know what I'll do when the time comes and she's no longer with me.

                                 

I'm going to go ahead and close this gem out now, I've been far too long "crafting" this piece and I need to pick up a Sophie-friendly birthday treat for her.

Peace

PS. 

Because there's (almost) always a PS, I'm not sure if that last video is going to function or not.  If it didn't my bad, but you're SOL