This is difficult for me to write. I've put it down on paper (well, not on paper technically but you get my drift) elsewhere, whether that ever shows up anywhere is still up for debate. Much debate.
But anyway...
I saw a social media post from the Boy Child this morning marking the 13th anniversary of our militaries push into Iraq during Operation Iraqi Freedom. Thirteen years ago so much was different for my family. So completely different. Sure, everyone's was but I can't speak to that. Well, I can, of course, but not with any intelligence. I can barely speak with any intelligence period, but at least I lived through my family's experience.
And, if you've ever stopped by here at any time over the last several years, (it surprises me sometimes just how long ago I started pumping this bilge out) you know (Holy crap it's been six years, I just checked) I've written A LOT about this period of time as it relates to my family and to me.
But never about my feelings during 2003 pre-crash.
I'm going to give it a shot here. However, as is my practice when it involves personal stuff about my family I'm giving full editorial control to the Boy Child. He'll see this privately first and once he approves it, if he approves it, I'll post this. Or scrap it. In which case...
The Fall of 2002 is really a better place to start, since that's when the family picture was taken. That's always been a kind of reference point for me. Diane wanted one done. And, since the Boy Child was home on leave this was the time for it. He had already done one tour in Kuwait earlier in the year. And, if memory serves, we already knew he was headed back to Kuwait in January.
There was a lot of post 9/11 tension here as you may remember. Talk of invasion, WMD's, regime change, etc. That had a lot to do with the decision to have the family picture done, although I don't remember it coming up specifically while we talked about it. There was an underlying fear that by going overseas again, something might happen.
None of us spoke about that "something" but any military family knows what we felt. Much more so than a non-military type family. Due, of course, to the nature of the job, the morbidity/mortality rate is so much higher than the general population that the "something" is just, kind of, always there lurking in the shadows of your mind. Ironically, the poignancy of the family picture was created, not by an event in the Middle East, but by Caitlin's death six months later.
Communication being a little less advanced then compared to now, we got mail from overseas semi-regularly. I'm fairly sure I didn't write as much as I should have. But we were grateful for every message we got. I don't remember if we got a "last" one before the Army started to move into Iraq or not. But I remember, vividly, not having any contact with him for about six weeks. And, every night on the news, starting thirteen years ago tonight, we watched.
And, we waited.
We watched to see where they were going and what units were going there. I used to go to the DoD website looking at names of casualties. The rational part of my mind always knew that this was a wasted exercise. That, God forbid, anything happened I would have had a knock on the door from uniformed personnel.
That didn't stop me however. I don't know if I found some kind of solace in not seeing his name on any lists or what my malfunction was, I just know I found a brief respite from worry (and fear) by doing it. What I do know, is the day we got a phone call from Iraq was among the better days of my life. There was still worry, of course but we knew, at least in that moment, he was alive and well.
Not that this time was without tragedy.
A high school friend of the Boy Child's was killed in action (among the first American casualties) on March 29, 2003 in Afghanistan. I went to the wake, to pay my respects. I knew the young man, not well, but well enough to know that I liked him. And his sister had been a classmate of the Boy Child for, geez, maybe their entire school lives, and she was just such a sweet kid.
So I went. And, looking back I really hope I didn't say something stupid to the family there. I fear I did. I really had no clue what I was doing. That situation would change forever in a few months and I became much more familiar with condolences.
I think I'm going to start shutting this one down now. I've never really had many conversations with the Boy Child about his military experiences. I think he knows I'll always listen, but never having served, there are many things I have no frame of reference for.
But one thing I do have is the deepest respect for what he and his mates (s/o to Thor, Drunk Mike, Nate and so many others I met but don't remember) dealt with.
Thanks fellas for taking care of him while I couldn't. I thank whatever it is that's responsible for bringing home, essentiallly, the same person he was when he left. That's something many families can't say, and it's something I'll always be grateful for. My kids (even though they're no longer kids, and haven't been for a long time) are a constant source of pride for so many reasons and I'm always proud of them. But today, in this post, I hope my pride in my son shows through.
I'll end it by pushing a song by one of my current musical crushes, Jason Isbell. It's about a young man he knew growing up. A young man that was killed overseas, just short of the end of his second tour of duty. Without getting overtly political, I've always had a soft spot for protest songs and there are few things more powerful than songs about young people dying too soon. To that end, here's Dress Blues
Peace.
Saturday, March 19, 2016
Thursday, March 17, 2016
The Genius of doing good, or, "Hair" he goes again.
I'm not even going to apologize for the terrible pun, so let's get that out of the way right up front.
If you know me IRL, you know where my hairline is located. That is to say, roughly at the back of my neck. This is (only slightly) by choice. It dates back to 2007; the first, and only, year I participated in St. Baldrick's head shaving fundraiser. A friend had a child fighting a brain tumor (she kicked it's butt btw) and it seemed to me to be kind of a fun way to help out. I wore my hair pretty close-cropped anyway and, after all, it's only hair. I kind of liked not having any gray hair afterwards and decided to keep the look. This, to me, eliminated the desire to do it again, since I'd already proven I'd do it.
There were a couple ulterior motives for sticking with baldness. Shortly before this all took place, I was in the middle of a phone conversation with the Boy Child. He'd had a union-related question and wanted to pick my brain. He was at work at the time. After I answered his query I heard him relay the information to his coworkers, and this is a direct quote -
"Hey, my Old Man said..."
Old. Man.
Ex frickin scuse me?
I had never, to my knowledge, been referred to in that way before. It didn't sit well, as confirmed by the hoots and hollers I heard back through the phone after I yelled at the Boy Child over his choice of alias. Also around this time, the Quiet Child made a similar age-related disparaging comment to me. Apparently I was already numbed to it since I'm blanking on the particular unintended venom thrown my way.
So, my head-shaving was not completely selfless, since I gained something from it too. As I said, not having the (mustache excluded) gray (and btw, the mustache is NOT going anywhere) was ok (except for about a three-week long lapse in judgement in my mid-twenties, it's been with me since I was able to grow one) with me.
Moving right along...
I have, here, on occasion, taken my grandfatherly privilege to spout off about the littles. Even the not-so-little anymore Heir to the Throne, but this time I'm tipping my hat to the Boy Genius.
Last night, for the 4th year in a row, the Boy Genius took part in his local St. Baldrick's head shaving event. This is, and has always been, something he wanted to do without any external prodding. He does it to help kids in need. He's a pretty special kid, all bias aside. To do this event every year he's been win school is, to me, a very cool thing, and he's helped his school raise a nice bit of money for a charity that, by these metrics, seems to do things the right way.
And that's important. It's important to me, and it should be important to you too. We all work hard for our money *pulls out soapbox, climbs up on top* and if, at the end of the week when we sit down to pay bills, we have a little extra to give to those less fortunate, we should be sure the money goes where we want to go and not to pad some CEO's personal bottom line.
There are numerous examples of where not to send your money, fire up your Google machine before you give.
*puts soapbox away*
So, I just want to go on record to tell my readers, both of you, how proud I am of this guy
Again.
In addition to raising progressives, it seems we're doing a pretty good job of raising thoughtful, caring, considerate human beings too.
I'm a pretty fortunate guy, don't you think?
Peace
If you know me IRL, you know where my hairline is located. That is to say, roughly at the back of my neck. This is (only slightly) by choice. It dates back to 2007; the first, and only, year I participated in St. Baldrick's head shaving fundraiser. A friend had a child fighting a brain tumor (she kicked it's butt btw) and it seemed to me to be kind of a fun way to help out. I wore my hair pretty close-cropped anyway and, after all, it's only hair. I kind of liked not having any gray hair afterwards and decided to keep the look. This, to me, eliminated the desire to do it again, since I'd already proven I'd do it.
There were a couple ulterior motives for sticking with baldness. Shortly before this all took place, I was in the middle of a phone conversation with the Boy Child. He'd had a union-related question and wanted to pick my brain. He was at work at the time. After I answered his query I heard him relay the information to his coworkers, and this is a direct quote -
"Hey, my Old Man said..."
Old. Man.
Ex frickin scuse me?
I had never, to my knowledge, been referred to in that way before. It didn't sit well, as confirmed by the hoots and hollers I heard back through the phone after I yelled at the Boy Child over his choice of alias. Also around this time, the Quiet Child made a similar age-related disparaging comment to me. Apparently I was already numbed to it since I'm blanking on the particular unintended venom thrown my way.
So, my head-shaving was not completely selfless, since I gained something from it too. As I said, not having the (mustache excluded) gray (and btw, the mustache is NOT going anywhere) was ok (except for about a three-week long lapse in judgement in my mid-twenties, it's been with me since I was able to grow one) with me.
Moving right along...
I have, here, on occasion, taken my grandfatherly privilege to spout off about the littles. Even the not-so-little anymore Heir to the Throne, but this time I'm tipping my hat to the Boy Genius.
Last night, for the 4th year in a row, the Boy Genius took part in his local St. Baldrick's head shaving event. This is, and has always been, something he wanted to do without any external prodding. He does it to help kids in need. He's a pretty special kid, all bias aside. To do this event every year he's been win school is, to me, a very cool thing, and he's helped his school raise a nice bit of money for a charity that, by these metrics, seems to do things the right way.
And that's important. It's important to me, and it should be important to you too. We all work hard for our money *pulls out soapbox, climbs up on top* and if, at the end of the week when we sit down to pay bills, we have a little extra to give to those less fortunate, we should be sure the money goes where we want to go and not to pad some CEO's personal bottom line.
There are numerous examples of where not to send your money, fire up your Google machine before you give.
*puts soapbox away*
So, I just want to go on record to tell my readers, both of you, how proud I am of this guy
For doing this
In addition to raising progressives, it seems we're doing a pretty good job of raising thoughtful, caring, considerate human beings too.
I'm a pretty fortunate guy, don't you think?
Peace
Saturday, March 12, 2016
"Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh! They're going the wrong way!"
I believe this is a first. I mean, I've alluded to my job in the past, but I'm fairly certain I've never actually written about an event, or series of events, at work.
And then, today, or rather, this morning, happened.
Allow me to flesh this one out a little.
We've had this particular new guy for, oh, about three months. He's on a rotation through our stations, trying to get a little bit from each house while being evaluated by each of our Lieutenants. It's what we do with our new guys now. In attempt to be diligent in keeping the cream of the crop of new guys (a generic term, btw. I mean no offense to any non-male persons that might be skimming through this mess) our bosses felt it would be better to let all of the officers on a shift determine the relative value of our new people (better?) rather than the traditional way of keeping them with one shift for their entire probationary period.
Clear as mud?
Back to the matter at hand...
I wasn't sure what to make of, oh, let's call him, Seinfeld. I mean, he seemed fine, but typically new guys come in really nervous and old guys tend to intimidate them (without even trying) and as a result it takes a little while to get a read on how they'll be, both on the job and in real life, you know?
He was quiet at first, did all the "new guy" duties and started fitting in with the rest of us. In time, we learned that, in addition to being #1 on our list, he was also valedictorian (pretty sure that's the first time I've ever dropped THAT one up in here) of his paramedic class. Bright kid, hard worker, good, albeit raw, skills. I think he'll be fine, I really do. He'll be here for the next thirty-three (I know, right? 3frickin3) years and I (that's 2048 to you and me) think he's got (if you're scoring at home *shout out to Patrick and Olbermann* or even if you're alone, I'll turn 90 years old the same year) a really bright future here.
Of course the journey from point A to point B is not without it's bumps and bruises...
I may have mentioned it before, I've been fortunate over the years to work with some pretty talented cooks here, and that's no small feat. Of course I had nothing to do with the selection of same, just dumb luck, but my belly has been well-cared for pretty much my entire career.
Today, when we got back from shopping Seinfeld asked how he could help in food prep and was tasked with cutting up the mangoes for salsa (pork tacos for lunch, homemade pizzas for dinner)(And yes, they'll both be as good as they sound #sorrynotsorry). I asked if he had ever cut up a mango before. In case you're unfamiliar, they can be quite tricky and not a little treacherous if you don't know the trick. The fruit itself feels a tad bit slimy and the pit is ginormous. If you don't give yourself a stable base, it's easy to inadvertently cut yourself. And I didn't want that to happen. So I asked.
The reply?
"Sure I've cut them before"
Unconvinced by his tone I continued "Describe to me how you do it."
"You just peel it"
"Really? You just peel it? How?"
So one of the other guys showed him how to cut up the mango to avoid injury.
This is just one of the many adventures we've had in our brief time together. I'm not sure if he thinks I'm always messing with him (I'm not, I'm too old for that nonsense) or if he thinks I'm enfeebled. I tend to support the latter theory.
This morning, for example. We got an ambulance call first thing this morning, at an address that has two different ways in. Like, completely different. Like you can literally make a right turn out of the firehouse or a left turn out of the firehouse and, other than the street the address is on, never use the same street until you arrive at the address.
Typically, I choose to go left, through the neighborhoods. It's windy (not the atmospheric condition, I mean it has many turns) and you have to pay attention (or spend a few years in this station learning the streets) or you'll make a wrong turn and nobody ever likes that, but imho, it's the fastest way to get where we needed to go. So, since I've spent over half of my twenty three years at this station, I don't even give it a second thought, I turn left and drive to the call.
As we were leaving, I was going to wait and let the ambulance go first, but they hesitated briefly so I pulled out of the station and turned left, the ambulance following behind us. We drove to the scene, took care of business and started back to the station. Until we caught another one. We got back to quarters a little while later and soon after, the ambulance returned from the hospital. Seinfeld's partner du' jour said "He thought you didn't know where you were going."
See the title for an exact quote.
Sigh.
Can I just add here that while I'm crafting this fine piece of literature we've got "The Fast and the Furious 83" on in the background (a story for another day) and let me just say I'm shocked, SHOCKED that none of those movies have ever won an Oscar for Best Picture.
But I digress...
Seinfeld is the first one we've hired that was born after I started here. Don't think that doesn't sting a little. And, as I approach the end of my career, I feel I have much to add to the education of these still-wet-behind-the-ears new people.
Just as they have much to offer me.
Like an almost limitless stream of amusement.
Peace.
And then, today, or rather, this morning, happened.
Allow me to flesh this one out a little.
We've had this particular new guy for, oh, about three months. He's on a rotation through our stations, trying to get a little bit from each house while being evaluated by each of our Lieutenants. It's what we do with our new guys now. In attempt to be diligent in keeping the cream of the crop of new guys (a generic term, btw. I mean no offense to any non-male persons that might be skimming through this mess) our bosses felt it would be better to let all of the officers on a shift determine the relative value of our new people (better?) rather than the traditional way of keeping them with one shift for their entire probationary period.
Clear as mud?
Back to the matter at hand...
I wasn't sure what to make of, oh, let's call him, Seinfeld. I mean, he seemed fine, but typically new guys come in really nervous and old guys tend to intimidate them (without even trying) and as a result it takes a little while to get a read on how they'll be, both on the job and in real life, you know?
He was quiet at first, did all the "new guy" duties and started fitting in with the rest of us. In time, we learned that, in addition to being #1 on our list, he was also valedictorian (pretty sure that's the first time I've ever dropped THAT one up in here) of his paramedic class. Bright kid, hard worker, good, albeit raw, skills. I think he'll be fine, I really do. He'll be here for the next thirty-three (I know, right? 3frickin3) years and I (that's 2048 to you and me) think he's got (if you're scoring at home *shout out to Patrick and Olbermann* or even if you're alone, I'll turn 90 years old the same year) a really bright future here.
Of course the journey from point A to point B is not without it's bumps and bruises...
I may have mentioned it before, I've been fortunate over the years to work with some pretty talented cooks here, and that's no small feat. Of course I had nothing to do with the selection of same, just dumb luck, but my belly has been well-cared for pretty much my entire career.
Today, when we got back from shopping Seinfeld asked how he could help in food prep and was tasked with cutting up the mangoes for salsa (pork tacos for lunch, homemade pizzas for dinner)(And yes, they'll both be as good as they sound #sorrynotsorry). I asked if he had ever cut up a mango before. In case you're unfamiliar, they can be quite tricky and not a little treacherous if you don't know the trick. The fruit itself feels a tad bit slimy and the pit is ginormous. If you don't give yourself a stable base, it's easy to inadvertently cut yourself. And I didn't want that to happen. So I asked.
The reply?
"Sure I've cut them before"
Unconvinced by his tone I continued "Describe to me how you do it."
"You just peel it"
"Really? You just peel it? How?"
So one of the other guys showed him how to cut up the mango to avoid injury.
This is just one of the many adventures we've had in our brief time together. I'm not sure if he thinks I'm always messing with him (I'm not, I'm too old for that nonsense) or if he thinks I'm enfeebled. I tend to support the latter theory.
This morning, for example. We got an ambulance call first thing this morning, at an address that has two different ways in. Like, completely different. Like you can literally make a right turn out of the firehouse or a left turn out of the firehouse and, other than the street the address is on, never use the same street until you arrive at the address.
Typically, I choose to go left, through the neighborhoods. It's windy (not the atmospheric condition, I mean it has many turns) and you have to pay attention (or spend a few years in this station learning the streets) or you'll make a wrong turn and nobody ever likes that, but imho, it's the fastest way to get where we needed to go. So, since I've spent over half of my twenty three years at this station, I don't even give it a second thought, I turn left and drive to the call.
As we were leaving, I was going to wait and let the ambulance go first, but they hesitated briefly so I pulled out of the station and turned left, the ambulance following behind us. We drove to the scene, took care of business and started back to the station. Until we caught another one. We got back to quarters a little while later and soon after, the ambulance returned from the hospital. Seinfeld's partner du' jour said "He thought you didn't know where you were going."
See the title for an exact quote.
Sigh.
Can I just add here that while I'm crafting this fine piece of literature we've got "The Fast and the Furious 83" on in the background (a story for another day) and let me just say I'm shocked, SHOCKED that none of those movies have ever won an Oscar for Best Picture.
But I digress...
Seinfeld is the first one we've hired that was born after I started here. Don't think that doesn't sting a little. And, as I approach the end of my career, I feel I have much to add to the education of these still-wet-behind-the-ears new people.
Just as they have much to offer me.
Like an almost limitless stream of amusement.
Peace.
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
Still... Life
I've been mulling this one over for, oh, about a month or so. Maybe even a little longer, I'm not sure. But the seed was planted by a "Save The Date" that I got a while back from one of Caitlin's best friends.
Caitlin had many, many friends in her short time here. But, even at the risk of slighting some of them, my recollection is that there were five that she was particularly close to. In alphabetical order; Ashley, Dalmy, Megan, Melissa and Sarah are the ones that always come to my mind as the ones she (and, by default, we) spent the most time with.
And, since she's been gone, they were the ones that Diane, and, ultimately me, spent the most time around. They're all very sweet, and I consider them among my favorite people on. the. planet. I think at one point or another I've told them all that I love them like they're my own.
And if I haven't, shame on me, because I do.
And, as I thought about this little gem-in-the-making, other life moments would pop up occasionally. For instance, random social media postings from one or more of the girls regarding random life moments. Or, a reminder of one of the girls birthdays popping up (shout out to Mel!). Or, a Holiday greeting card (because I forgot to give Sarah my new address) that showed up 6 weeks after Christmas. Or, a social media post from the son of one of the guys I've worked with for the last 20+ years relating how his Dad always told him if there was ever a time the son (or the son's friends) was too impaired to drive, the Dad would come pick him up, no questions asked and how the son would do the same should he ever have kids.
Or, the email notification I got this morning from the Illinois Department of Corrections letting me know the drunk that killed Caitlin was released from his most recent DUI arrest and conviction.
Happy Tuesday.
But instead of me venting about that, let's go back to happy.
Megan, I can't tell you how much it means to me that you sent me that "Save The Date". I'm not ashamed to admit I teared up when I saw it. And I'm somewhat regretting writing this at the local coffeehouse because I can feel the tears welling up again as I write this. Let me put this out there too, I understand budget constraints, and if you need to trim the list when the date comes, I still love you (all five of you) forever and wish you and your new Hub all life's happiness.
Insert smiley emoticon here > <
Dalmy, I'm so glad I got to meet your other half (Jon with no "h" right?)(or is there an "h"? Jesus I should remember that) and Mel, I'll always feel like I should've put more effort into getting down for your and Yas's wedding. I was thrilled you two thought enough of me to share the day. I let other "issues" get in the way and I shouldn't have.
I look at the beautiful, happy, intelligent and successful young women you've all become and, while I obviously can't take any credit for that, I feel so proud of and happy for all of you. You ladies, whether you realize it or not, have brought us (and by "us" I mean "me") so many happy moments and wonderful memories, and you will all forever be an instant smile on my face.
PS, I hope the rest of you don't expect posts on your birthdays, I don't know if I can handle that kind of pressure... But I'll try.
Hearts.
And
Peace.
PSS, I wanted the girls to have editorial approval before this went online. This is the end of our conversation after they all approved... This is one of the many reasons I love these girls.
Caitlin had many, many friends in her short time here. But, even at the risk of slighting some of them, my recollection is that there were five that she was particularly close to. In alphabetical order; Ashley, Dalmy, Megan, Melissa and Sarah are the ones that always come to my mind as the ones she (and, by default, we) spent the most time with.
And, since she's been gone, they were the ones that Diane, and, ultimately me, spent the most time around. They're all very sweet, and I consider them among my favorite people on. the. planet. I think at one point or another I've told them all that I love them like they're my own.
And if I haven't, shame on me, because I do.
And, as I thought about this little gem-in-the-making, other life moments would pop up occasionally. For instance, random social media postings from one or more of the girls regarding random life moments. Or, a reminder of one of the girls birthdays popping up (shout out to Mel!). Or, a Holiday greeting card (because I forgot to give Sarah my new address) that showed up 6 weeks after Christmas. Or, a social media post from the son of one of the guys I've worked with for the last 20+ years relating how his Dad always told him if there was ever a time the son (or the son's friends) was too impaired to drive, the Dad would come pick him up, no questions asked and how the son would do the same should he ever have kids.
Or, the email notification I got this morning from the Illinois Department of Corrections letting me know the drunk that killed Caitlin was released from his most recent DUI arrest and conviction.
Happy Tuesday.
But instead of me venting about that, let's go back to happy.
Megan, I can't tell you how much it means to me that you sent me that "Save The Date". I'm not ashamed to admit I teared up when I saw it. And I'm somewhat regretting writing this at the local coffeehouse because I can feel the tears welling up again as I write this. Let me put this out there too, I understand budget constraints, and if you need to trim the list when the date comes, I still love you (all five of you) forever and wish you and your new Hub all life's happiness.
Insert smiley emoticon here > <
Dalmy, I'm so glad I got to meet your other half (Jon with no "h" right?)(or is there an "h"? Jesus I should remember that) and Mel, I'll always feel like I should've put more effort into getting down for your and Yas's wedding. I was thrilled you two thought enough of me to share the day. I let other "issues" get in the way and I shouldn't have.
I look at the beautiful, happy, intelligent and successful young women you've all become and, while I obviously can't take any credit for that, I feel so proud of and happy for all of you. You ladies, whether you realize it or not, have brought us (and by "us" I mean "me") so many happy moments and wonderful memories, and you will all forever be an instant smile on my face.
PS, I hope the rest of you don't expect posts on your birthdays, I don't know if I can handle that kind of pressure... But I'll try.
Hearts.
And
Peace.
PSS, I wanted the girls to have editorial approval before this went online. This is the end of our conversation after they all approved... This is one of the many reasons I love these girls.
Wow Joel! That made me happy cry. The truth is-and I think this goes for all the girls- you're just as big of a part of our lives as we are to yours. We love you long time! And don't sweat Mexico one bit, that makes me feel bad. You, Diane, and Caitlin were there with us in spirit, I know it, I felt it. Besides most of us got major diarrhea. So you kind of dodged that bullet.
LOLOLOL, ok I just got weird looks at the coffeehouse because I literally lol’d!!!
True story - you truly bond with your friends when you are on a boat in Mexico passing a puke bucket
I wish it were a lie but it's not. That's 100 percent factual.
Omg!! It wasn't even a puke bucket - it was a fish guts bucket
I still haven't been back on a boat due to that. Post traumatic stress disorder from that boat ride.
Saturday, December 26, 2015
Christmas Wrappings
This is another one of those that may not see (I should try and figure out how many I've canned before posting) the light of day, I'm going to kind of wing it and see what I think.
So, if you spent any amount of time in a grocery store in the days leading up to Christmas, you may well have done a little bit of self-loathing for-
A.) Not stocking up well in advance of the madness
B.) Not shopping at 3:00 AM or some other ungodly hour when the store would be semi-vacant or
C.) Not conning a loved one into doing the shopping for you. The crowds were insane, as usual.
And, I knew this going in when I pulled into the lot on the day before the day before. I actually sat in the car for a couple minutes and texted the Oldest One to see if she needed anything since I was there. And, I admitted I had no clue why I was there, since I had no urgent purchases looming over my head.
I again questioned my own sanity and entered the Jewels.
I wandered semi-aimlessly around the store for ten or fifteen minutes, hoping I'd see something that would trigger why I decided to stop. I grabbed a couple not really essential items so I didn't feel like a complete boob and put them in my cart. I called the Boy Child to see if they needed me to bring something over, again admitting I must have lost my mind for being there. But when he said they didn't need anything, I wandered the store one more time and headed to the checkout.
I placed my dozen or so things on the belt and realizing someone had entered the line behind me, grabbed one of the dividers and placed it after my order.
All he had placed on the belt was a six pack of Stella Artois.
Feeling the need to make small talk, I complimented him on his selection. In addition to being, imho, a lovely brew, it's also a union-made adult beverage.
The man looked to be about my age and was very soft-spoken, with, I think, a bit of a southern accent. My hearing, not being what it used to be (25 years of sirens and air horns will do that to you) I couldn't really understand what he'd said. But I thought I caught something and as I looked at the necklace he was wearing I saw a ring on it.
I said "Excuse me, but did you say your wife just passed away last month?"
He replied "Yes, she died suddenly November 30th. From a massive heart attack."
He went on to tell me they had three kids at home. He also told me she wasn't very old and had been in otherwise excellent health.
I told him how sorry I was for his loss and explained I'd lost my wife suddenly in 2006. And, as I always do, I told him to be aware of "the seconds". I guess it's become what I do. We stood in line talking about grief and what lay ahead for him and his kids and I tried as best I could to let him know what he might expect.
As we left the Jewels and headed for our cars I wished him the best and tried to remind him he had a lot of people sending him strength, whether he knew it or not.
As I approached my car I heard a chuckle behind me and it was him, just realizing he'd parked right next to me.
He said his name was Frank and I told him mine. And then I told him that I'd had no idea why I went to the grocery store and was questioning my sanity.
Right up until the time he'd told me his story.
We gave each other a hug and parted ways.
I'm not sure what I think.
You know, I mean about a higher power. And the whole "why are we here" thing has me baffled. My beliefs have migrated, and will probably continue to migrate, about things like that. I think I'd probably describe myself as more spiritual than religious. I don't have the wisdom to differentiate between random acts and Divine intervention. In all honesty I don't know that it makes a difference, ultimately, which of those two occurrences takes place. The end result is the end result. And I get that there are those that will see something here and assign their beliefs to it. To me, the definition of faith is believing in something that makes no logical sense. I'm ok with that too btw. If your faith leads you to believe things happen for a reason, so be it. I'm not doing this to debate theology with anyone or anything like that.
I think I'm just going to leave this right here, I can feel myself heading in a direction I'd rather avoid.
I think I'll close this by just asking that what ever the thing is that gets you through the night, ask for a little strength and kindness for Frank and his family.
They're going to need it.
Peace
So, if you spent any amount of time in a grocery store in the days leading up to Christmas, you may well have done a little bit of self-loathing for-
A.) Not stocking up well in advance of the madness
B.) Not shopping at 3:00 AM or some other ungodly hour when the store would be semi-vacant or
C.) Not conning a loved one into doing the shopping for you. The crowds were insane, as usual.
And, I knew this going in when I pulled into the lot on the day before the day before. I actually sat in the car for a couple minutes and texted the Oldest One to see if she needed anything since I was there. And, I admitted I had no clue why I was there, since I had no urgent purchases looming over my head.
I again questioned my own sanity and entered the Jewels.
I wandered semi-aimlessly around the store for ten or fifteen minutes, hoping I'd see something that would trigger why I decided to stop. I grabbed a couple not really essential items so I didn't feel like a complete boob and put them in my cart. I called the Boy Child to see if they needed me to bring something over, again admitting I must have lost my mind for being there. But when he said they didn't need anything, I wandered the store one more time and headed to the checkout.
I placed my dozen or so things on the belt and realizing someone had entered the line behind me, grabbed one of the dividers and placed it after my order.
All he had placed on the belt was a six pack of Stella Artois.
Feeling the need to make small talk, I complimented him on his selection. In addition to being, imho, a lovely brew, it's also a union-made adult beverage.
The man looked to be about my age and was very soft-spoken, with, I think, a bit of a southern accent. My hearing, not being what it used to be (25 years of sirens and air horns will do that to you) I couldn't really understand what he'd said. But I thought I caught something and as I looked at the necklace he was wearing I saw a ring on it.
I said "Excuse me, but did you say your wife just passed away last month?"
He replied "Yes, she died suddenly November 30th. From a massive heart attack."
He went on to tell me they had three kids at home. He also told me she wasn't very old and had been in otherwise excellent health.
I told him how sorry I was for his loss and explained I'd lost my wife suddenly in 2006. And, as I always do, I told him to be aware of "the seconds". I guess it's become what I do. We stood in line talking about grief and what lay ahead for him and his kids and I tried as best I could to let him know what he might expect.
As we left the Jewels and headed for our cars I wished him the best and tried to remind him he had a lot of people sending him strength, whether he knew it or not.
As I approached my car I heard a chuckle behind me and it was him, just realizing he'd parked right next to me.
He said his name was Frank and I told him mine. And then I told him that I'd had no idea why I went to the grocery store and was questioning my sanity.
Right up until the time he'd told me his story.
We gave each other a hug and parted ways.
I'm not sure what I think.
You know, I mean about a higher power. And the whole "why are we here" thing has me baffled. My beliefs have migrated, and will probably continue to migrate, about things like that. I think I'd probably describe myself as more spiritual than religious. I don't have the wisdom to differentiate between random acts and Divine intervention. In all honesty I don't know that it makes a difference, ultimately, which of those two occurrences takes place. The end result is the end result. And I get that there are those that will see something here and assign their beliefs to it. To me, the definition of faith is believing in something that makes no logical sense. I'm ok with that too btw. If your faith leads you to believe things happen for a reason, so be it. I'm not doing this to debate theology with anyone or anything like that.
I think I'm just going to leave this right here, I can feel myself heading in a direction I'd rather avoid.
I think I'll close this by just asking that what ever the thing is that gets you through the night, ask for a little strength and kindness for Frank and his family.
They're going to need it.
Peace
Monday, December 21, 2015
Good Girl
I took Sophie for a walk this morning, in the rain.
Actually "walk" is not the most accurate way to describe what we do. When asked by one of the many neighbors she's caused me to meet, I usually describe it as "going for a sniff". She's 10 years old, has arthritis in both hips and has synthetic ligaments in both knees, so she doesn't really tolerate long distances. Instead, we go for four to six blocks, pausing often in favorite yards for a break and sniffing, what seems like, every possible smell she can find. These short distances take us, typically, thirty minutes or more to complete.
She's always off leash when we do this, to be honest, I'm not convinced I know where the leash is at this point. She does a pretty good job of staying by me but I really don't care too much if she wanders a little further from me than she should. She's social with both people and other dogs, but I usually call her close because you never know how others might react to her.
I stood on the sidewalk, watching her blissfully roll in something (probably something disgusting) in somebody's yard, getting rained on.
And it didn't bother me in the least.
I told you that to tell you this.
Good news, bad news.
The good news is, I started my day by hanging out with the Beatle baby (Beatle toddler?) and the little Diamond.
The bad news is, I did it so my son and daughter-in-law could take their beloved boxer, Maggie (aka Good Girl) to the vet.
Her final trip to the vet.
Yes, THAT final trip to the vet.
Maggie was the first boxer I ever met. She was a sweet, sweet dog. She doted on her human babies. And she filled huge portions of R and D's hearts. And will for quite some time.
She would almost always greet me with a toy in her mouth, eager to play tug of war and she loved flashing "puppy eyes" to guilt someone into giving her a treat.
She was 11 years old and for most of that time she was pretty healthy. Knee surgery slowed her down for a bit, but she recovered pretty well from it. Recently, she was diagnosed with kidney failure and while the vet took great care of her and it looked like she was on the mend, it took it's toll on her, leaving her unable to stand without falling and only hobbling around the house.
Maggie had a huge heart and hid her pain well, I think. But it ultimately became obvious there was no choice but to ease her suffering.
Now, before you say something stupid like "it's only a dog" let me just say something...
I've got the grief bona fides down pat, thank you very much, and if you doubt that read here, here, here or here and if you're still of the opinion I'm spending too much time talking about "a dog" save yourself some time and stop reading. Grief is grief and none of us have the right to tell someone else they're doing it wrong.
Lose my web address too. Thanks.
I also wanted to say something to the Boy Child and my favorite daughter-in-law, even though I think they both know it. There may come a time when you decide to get another dog. That's ok.
That time may never come. That's ok too.
You'll know the time if it comes.
So I guess I'll wrap this up by saying-
If you've got a pet of some sort in your life, good for you. Personally, I think they add so much more to our lives than they may be an inconvenience to us. My life has been enriched beyond measure by the animals that I have been around. I still, on occasion, think about some of the ones I've lost.
Even Tobi, the Jack Russell terrorist.
And always, I smile at their memories.
Take good care of your pets, they do so much for us, and all they ask in return is a little love.
It seems to me they're getting the bad end of the deal.
Peace.
Actually "walk" is not the most accurate way to describe what we do. When asked by one of the many neighbors she's caused me to meet, I usually describe it as "going for a sniff". She's 10 years old, has arthritis in both hips and has synthetic ligaments in both knees, so she doesn't really tolerate long distances. Instead, we go for four to six blocks, pausing often in favorite yards for a break and sniffing, what seems like, every possible smell she can find. These short distances take us, typically, thirty minutes or more to complete.
She's always off leash when we do this, to be honest, I'm not convinced I know where the leash is at this point. She does a pretty good job of staying by me but I really don't care too much if she wanders a little further from me than she should. She's social with both people and other dogs, but I usually call her close because you never know how others might react to her.
I stood on the sidewalk, watching her blissfully roll in something (probably something disgusting) in somebody's yard, getting rained on.
And it didn't bother me in the least.
I told you that to tell you this.
Good news, bad news.
The good news is, I started my day by hanging out with the Beatle baby (Beatle toddler?) and the little Diamond.
The bad news is, I did it so my son and daughter-in-law could take their beloved boxer, Maggie (aka Good Girl) to the vet.
Her final trip to the vet.
Yes, THAT final trip to the vet.
Maggie was the first boxer I ever met. She was a sweet, sweet dog. She doted on her human babies. And she filled huge portions of R and D's hearts. And will for quite some time.
She would almost always greet me with a toy in her mouth, eager to play tug of war and she loved flashing "puppy eyes" to guilt someone into giving her a treat.
She was 11 years old and for most of that time she was pretty healthy. Knee surgery slowed her down for a bit, but she recovered pretty well from it. Recently, she was diagnosed with kidney failure and while the vet took great care of her and it looked like she was on the mend, it took it's toll on her, leaving her unable to stand without falling and only hobbling around the house.
Maggie had a huge heart and hid her pain well, I think. But it ultimately became obvious there was no choice but to ease her suffering.
Now, before you say something stupid like "it's only a dog" let me just say something...
I've got the grief bona fides down pat, thank you very much, and if you doubt that read here, here, here or here and if you're still of the opinion I'm spending too much time talking about "a dog" save yourself some time and stop reading. Grief is grief and none of us have the right to tell someone else they're doing it wrong.
Lose my web address too. Thanks.
I also wanted to say something to the Boy Child and my favorite daughter-in-law, even though I think they both know it. There may come a time when you decide to get another dog. That's ok.
That time may never come. That's ok too.
You'll know the time if it comes.
So I guess I'll wrap this up by saying-
If you've got a pet of some sort in your life, good for you. Personally, I think they add so much more to our lives than they may be an inconvenience to us. My life has been enriched beyond measure by the animals that I have been around. I still, on occasion, think about some of the ones I've lost.
Even Tobi, the Jack Russell terrorist.
And always, I smile at their memories.
Take good care of your pets, they do so much for us, and all they ask in return is a little love.
It seems to me they're getting the bad end of the deal.
Peace.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
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
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
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