Category: Family

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Mysteries of Mental Illness

This one is probably not going to be terribly long, it is sort of my version of a PSA.  Airing tonight and tomorrow night on your local PBS station (or through the app, if that’s how you PBS) the documentary Mysteries of Mental Illness will air.  It airs at 9:00 PM Eastern (check your local listings for when it airs on your particular nape of the neck) and each night there will be two, hour long episodes, back-to-back. 

Here is my best attempt at providing a link to the trailer featuring Ryan.

The documentary crew followed Ryan, Danielle, and kids, off and on, for several months last year, including part of the inaugural RFOL last May. I’ve watched several of the trailers for this series and they are pretty powerful. Of course it’s easy for me to say that about the segment on him, but I mean each and every bit that I’ve watched has given me pause. And, in more than one case, has caused me to examine my own beliefs about some of the topics the show discusses. And realizing just how wrong society in general, and myself in particular, was about many things. A little self reflection is ok with me though.

So, I don’t know when specifically his segment will air, or if it is going to be woven throughout the entire documentary. But if you’re the least bit interested, from what I’ve seen it will be worth your while.

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Random Acts of Kindness

I know, right? Nothing for months and now two in, like, three days? In all honesty if tomorrow wasn’t Caitlin’s birthday (she’d be 36 tomorrow btw) and, therefore, Random Acts of Kindness (RAoK) Day, I probably wouldn’t have written one this quickly.

But it is (or will be) and so I am.

I think most of you are familiar with the story; Caitlin was killed by a drunk driver when she was 17 years old. It was a week before her high school graduation, three weeks before her 18th birthday. I’ll put some links in for anyone that needs a refresher; here, here, here, here, here, here, and here. Jesus, seven links, I’m pretty sure that’s a record for ICRTD. I’ll keep this one intentionally short on the off chance any of you want to go back through some of these. There’s tearjerker or two, so maybe don’t read them at work…

So here’s the deal. All I’m asking for tomorrow is that you do something nice for some random person. Whoever is behind you in queue at the coffeehouse, drive-up or wherever. You can do it anonymously if you like, or you can tell the person that it’s in memory of a pretty amazing young woman, you can do anything you like, just do something. No act is too small, I’m not asking you to drop a hundo for this, if all you do is buy a beverage for somebody, that’s great. Heck just hold the door open for a stranger if that makes you smile, or help them carry groceries to the car. Just do something nice that you might not normally do for someone. If what you do makes your eyes light up, like the ones in these next two pictures, that’s a win. Actually, it might be a good thing for some of us to do on a semi regular basis, or at least more than once a year. But if you can do it tomorrow, please give a thought to Caitlin when you do.

Last thing (I think) that I’ll ask for today, and I’m pretty sure I’ve made the same request before; if you do something tomorrow for RAoK, please mention it, either in the comments here, or through whatever social media led you here.

I’d love to know we can continue to make a difference.

Thanks.

and Peace.

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Now Where Was I?

Welp, I pooped in a box today. How’s that for a way to start this post? 

That’s not technically true btw. I actually pooped into a plastic bucket and then placed the bucket inside the box. This is all due to my annual checkup, which took place last week. My Doc gave me the option of sending a sample in vs getting a colonoscopy and I chose the poop in a box route. It was ridiculously convenient too. I came home from running errands one afternoon and saw a package waiting for me on my front porch and thought “Ooooooh I got something!”  You can imagine my disappointment when I realized that, instead of some tasty treat a thoughtful, Beautiful Blonde has sent me, I would soon poop in a box.  Once you start saying that, it’s not easy to stop, it kind of rolls off the tongue, which is probably the wrong metaphor to use given the subject matter.  Still, you have to admit I’m right. Also, it got me thinking about jobs. There are many, many great jobs out there. I think I can safely say opening boxes of poop; eight hours a day, five days a week, is not one of them. I’m not sure what would be worse; knowing box after box after box contains someone’s poop, or opening a box and being surprised that the contents were poop. Probably the surprise box, but the surprise would wear off pretty quickly after the 40th or 50th box, I’m sure. And, yet, someone does this job. I hope it at least pays well. 

I’ve been thinking about jobs for the last week or two, a lot more than usual. This is due to a handful of conversations I’ve had lately with the Heir to the Throne. Wonderful grandchild that he is, he came out to central North Carolina to pay me a visit and get away from some of the stressors life can throw at a 19 year old. And there are many. We’ve talked about jobs, careers, futures, relationships, several things of a serious nature. We’ve also talked a little bit about pooping in a box, because who better to appreciate hearing about poop in a box than a teenage male?  

It hasn’t all been serious talks though. We’ve also managed to sneak in a little fishing along with a quick trip out to the mountains where we did a little sightseeing.  While an attempted stop at Grandfather Mountain turned into an epic fail; due to the pandemic you can only get access if you make an appointment, which we did not do, our Plan B became a stop at Linville Falls, which was beautiful.  We’ve also visited what has become my go-to group of restaurants in the area for guests from back home. Lexington BBQ for, well, bbq; Magnolia 23 for old-school, home-style, Southern cooking; and Johnson’s for a lovely local favorite, cheeseburgers “all the way” which is to say a cheeseburger with chili, slaw, and mustard on it. It’s pretty tasty too, despite how you may think it sounds. I’m really glad he was able to come out for a visit, I think it did both of us some good.

He’s heading home tomorrow morning. I am too actually although I’ll be a couple hours behind him. I’m coming home for a couple weeks to give Ryan and Danielle a hand.  Ryan starts a new, still experimental, treatment using the drug ketamine. The long-term results are encouraging, so here’s hoping. He’ll need a chauffeur for the treatments, since there will be some short-term level of impairment involved, and that’s where I come in. Six treatments over ten days.

Ok, so quick disclaimer; I wrote the bulk of what you’ve read so far Friday morning while the car was getting a pre-road trip service.  I’m currently sitting at the kitchen table watching the two littlest ones playing in their inflatable pool in the backyard while #LillyNO is crashed on the couch.  We drove in yesterday, pretty uneventfully.  Well, let me take that back.  Yesterday was, in fact, a momentous trip in that, in all of the shuttles back and forth from NC to IL, #LillyNO had NEVER produced a drop of pee in the fine state of West Virginia even though every, single trip, either northbound or southbound included a stop there.  You may recall, or not, that I’m particularly fond of stopping in Beckley, WV where there is a place, Tamarack, that features work by local artisans.  It’s a great place to walk around a bit, get a bite to eat, and check out the work of some really talented people.  We have spent, literally, as long as an hour there, walking around the pet-walking area, while #LillyNO sniffs everything and anything and yet, never, ever did what I intended her to do while we were stopped there.  And yesterday, as we neared exit 45 (the Tamarack exit) or at least we were within 25 miles of it, #LillyNO started whining, like, a LOT, so I pulled off at the next exit.  We walked around for maybe five minutes when, lo and behold, she burst her WV seal so to speak.  I can’t imagine beaming more brightly if I had won a Pulitzer and a Nobel on the same day. Shoot throw in a Grammy, Tony, Oscar, Heisman, or any other award for that matter.

Ok, disclaimer number two… I had to walk away from this production several hours ago when, according to my laptop, the server at Word Press stopped functioning. I’m guessing maybe the fact that it was receiving content from me for the first time in a really long time short-circuited something.

I’m gonna wrap this one up here before something else happens and I can’t get it posted. I’m hoping this will get those of you that have been questioning why I haven’t written anything to get off my proverbial back. You know who you are. I’m looking at you Ray.

With a little luck, I’m going to try and squeeze in a visit or two with some friends while I’m here, but I make no promises. Love to all.

Peace

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Deadlines

If you’ve spent any amount of time here, specifically over the last ten months or so, you are likely well aware of what’s been happening with my family. I’m speaking, in general about my son Ryan’s struggles with PTSD, but in particular, I’m speaking about Run For Our Lives and the effort Ryan and Danielle are making to call attention to, and raise money for, Illinois Firefighter Peer Support (ILFFPS) which is the resource they turned to when he was in a crisis state and almost added to the 130 firefighters that died last year by suicide.

One of the few ways Ryan has almost always been able to find solace, especially when he was deep in the throes of his PTSD, was through running. He’s been a runner for pretty much his entire adult life. The joy he’s found on the road or trail as he runs has helped him find some peace, even at times when that felt like the last thing he would ever achieve. So running was a natural way for him to try to raise funds to pay forward on behalf of firefighters that may be dealing with demons similar to those he’s fighting.

When Ryan and Danielle explained to me what they were doing; that he would run one kilometer for every firefighter that died in 2019 by suicide, and how it would work; that they would have people sign up to run “alongside” him in a virtual 130 km run, the skeptical part of my mind kicked in. Fortunately, I kept my big mouth shut. The last thing either of them needed from me at the time was doubt. But as they told me their goal was to get 50 people to sign up for their virtual run, which would take place from February 1st to May 30th, I thought that might be pretty tough to reach.

Let me just say, HAH!

I have rarely, if ever, been more glad to be wrong about something in my life. As of last night the registration total stood at 90. Which is incredible, to say the least.

But really, to be thisclose to DOUBLING their initial goal? I stand even more amazed at the fortitude those two have shown in the face of incredible adversity. I’m always, always, always proud of all of my kids. My bonus kids too. So the very least I can do is put this out there for any of you that have been thinking about signing up to be a part of this. Today is your last day to sign up.

As a reminder, $100 of the $130 registration fee will go to ILFFPS to help them provide essential service to firefighters, and their families, that find themselves teetering on the brink. You’ll be sent a Google Doc to track your mileage (in case you’re wondering, 130 km translates to 80.7 miles), you’ll be invited to a private Facebook group for encouragement, you’ll get, upon completion, some cool race swag in the form of a t-shirt and a medal. And, maybe best of all, you’ll be playing a role in helping to save someone’s life.

Think about that for a minute. Does it sound hyperbolic? Maybe. But it’s the truth. The $100 sent in from your registration will help save lives. What better feeling is there than that?

I’m keeping this one short today. A.) I don’t think I can top that last point and B.) I want to get this up on the interwebz as soon as I can. So I’mma end with this. If you’ve signed up already, thank you. If you’ve contemplated signing up, please do so, today. If my tired, old, ass can do this, your’s certainly can. It’s super simple to register, just follow this link to the form and don’t forget to submit your payment info at the bottom (I almost did when I registered. Don’t be me). Piece of cake.

And, of course,

Peace.

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Forty Isn’t Old, If You’re A Tree

Jesus I’m old. This is not some new phenomenon btw, but today, it got reinforced in an unforgiving way. Today, my second child hit 40 years old.

Sigh.

I’m not even going to ask how it happened, I mean, duh, right? But there are questions in there. How did this cheesy little tow-head

get so old so fast? That picture feels like it was about two years ago. It also provides further documentation that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, since closer inspection reveals he is holding a chocolate cupcake. He’s also already got a well developed, if subtle, “Really Dad?” look on his face. Although I must say, I never got too many of those from him over the years. Unlike a certain unnamed sibling.

As I thought about what I wanted to say to mark today, I knew I had to include one of my fondest memories of his childhood. The day I was convinced he was going to play in the big leagues. He was a toddler, probably between 16-19 months old. We were all out in the front yard, doing I have no clue what. But he had his new, plastic bat in his hand. I was sitting on the front step of the house and he was eight or ten feet in front of me. I grabbed the plastic wiffle ball that came with his bat and tossed it to him. First time ever. So, obviously this was the first time he’d ever swung a bat at a “pitched” ball. He lined the ball off my chest. I mean like “THWACKTHUMP” quick. And that rocket shot was produced by the sweetest little, natural, left-handed swing. Now, this may not seem like anything to many, maybe most of you. But at this, still early stage of parentdom, I was convinced this kid was going to be a professional ballplayer.

Of course, he didn’t become a ballplayer. It’s safe to say the gene card deck was stacked against him. But, too, I don’t believe that was ever his passion. You don’t throw yourself into something you’re not passionate about. You don’t try to change the way things are if you’re not passionate about why the change is needed. You don’t take up the fight that benefits others more than yourself (since your ship has already sailed) without passion.

The 39th year was not an easy one for my son. He’s faced, and continues to face, a challenge that has bested many. And he keeps moving forward. Coming from a crisis state, which he was in last spring, to today, is nothing short of remarkable to me. The transparency, the openness of what he’s gone and is going through is inspiring to me. The fact that he chose to continue addressing his struggles with PTSD through the passion of his service to others is, to me, far more impressive than if he had, in fact, played major league baseball. Conceiving of Run For Our Lives to raise awareness of the very real problem of firefighter suicide, something A.) we weren’t even aware was a problem as recently as five years ago and B.) raising money for an organization, Illinois Firefighter Peer Support, (ILFFPS) that provided help for Ryan and Danielle on the day they realized he couldn’t go on, speaks to me about the type of man he has always been.

And it will always make me think about the day I got a text from Danielle that read, simply, “You have a minute”

The day he almost became a statistic.

The day he took his first step towards light.

So, at this point, I’m going to ask you to, if you haven’t already, click on this link and register to be a part of the Run For Our Lives virtual run. It’s pretty painless, mainly since you don’t need to run or walk all 130 kilometers on one day, like Ryan will. The virtual run opens February 1st and must be concluded by May 30th. The math is a little over a half mile every day between those two dates. The fee is $130 and of that amount $100 will go to ILFFPS, an organization funded totally by donations, so that they can continue to provide essential resources to firefighters, and their families, that find themselves in a crisis state. If you’ve already registered, invite a friend to do it with you. If you’re in a position to make a corporate type sponsorship, contact me and I’ll get you in touch with the right people. Before I give up this particular pulpit, let me also add a phone number or two; 855-90-SUPPORT if you or a first responder you know is at or nearing crisis. 800-273-8255 is the number for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline for anyone that may be in need.

Lastly, I think, I want to thank everyone that has registered so far. You’re helping to make a difference in the lives of people you’ll liklely never meet and that’s no small thing.

Ok, I lied, I’ve got one last thing… I just want to wish this guy a Happy 40th!!!

I know you’re a fan of naps, but I hope as you settle into this new decade on the planet, you find true value in their recuperative powers. Even if you no longer get to share them with Tobi the Jack Russell terrorist (not a typo). Have a great day Ryan, I’ll talk to you tonight. I love you.

Peace.

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Run For Our Lives

I’ve referenced titling these gems on occasion here, that sometimes it’s harder to come up with a title than it is the subject. Well, this one was easy enough to title, since my focus is on the ongoing efforts of my son and daughter-in-law to promote awareness, and prevention, of firefighter suicide. For those of you that haven’t been following along, Run For Our Lives is the fundraising effort they’ve started since Ryan “went public” with his PTSD. He’ll be raising money by running one kilometer for every firefighter to die by suicide in 2019. As compiled by Firefighter Behavioral Health Alliance that number is 130. So on May 30, 2020 he’ll take off on a run of 130 km (80.7 miles). The target of this fundraising effort is Illinois Firefighter Peer Support Group which is the organization Danielle reached out to for help as Ryan sank deeper into the depths of his PTSD. Their support, by my son’s own admission, helped prevent him from becoming a statistic.

The method for meeting the goal they’ve set, raising $10,000.00 for ILFFPS, is called a virtual run. As I said, Ryan will be doing his run on May 30, 2020, however the virtual run will take place beginning February 1st and must be completed by May 30th. So you can run as much or as little each day until you hit the 130 kilometer mark. In case I’ve left something out, or caused you confusion about how this works, here’s a short video explaining the virtual run –

I don’t think the video mentioned the registration fee, although I know it’s on the form (link to follow), but the cost is $130.00. Of this amount, $100.00 will go to Illinois Firefighter Peer Support to assist them as they work to support Fire and EMS personnel in crisis. Let me take a minute here to say I recognize this post is already link intensive, but there’s a lot of information to share, and it’s important that this stuff gets out there accurately. Also I’m not done linking stuff so…

For instance, late last week the Chicago Tribune put up this story about Ryan and Danielle and their path through PTSD to this point. It’s been picked up by numerous outlets and is helping spread the word that we need to stop stigmatizing PTSD and instead need to address it for what it is, a fact of life for many people, but one that need not destroy lives. I feel like I need to say something here, not that I’ve been shy about saying it to anyone at any time, but I feel like it needs to come out again. I’m incredibly proud of both Ryan and Danielle for what they’ve gone through, what they’re going through and dealing with what lies ahead of them. This obviously hasn’t been easy for either of them, but they’ve responded to the challenge placed in their lives wonderfully. I also want to acknowledge the incredible outpouring of support they’ve received to this point from so many people, thanks for that.

I think I’m down to one last link for this post but it is likely the most important one, the registration form for anyone that wants to take part in the virtual run. It’s a Google document so it should be easy for even the most computer illiterate among us to fill out and submit and, as I mentioned above, the money raised is going to an incredibly worthwhile cause. Clicking on this link will take you to the document and following the instructions there will get you registered. If you’ve already registered, thank you! If you haven’t please consider signing up today. Together we can make a difference. I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s the truth.

This picture was taken by Danielle and it is, to me anyway, one of the most powerful pictures I’ve seen in some time. Let’s hope through our efforts, no one on this job has to feel this sense of being overwhelmed again. Thanks.

Peace.

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The Fight For What’s Right

I had been thinking for the last few days I should put up a post here, kind of a scattered thought semi-mess of some of the events from the last several days plus the pending visit of a couple guys from the firehouse.

That all changed this morning when I read this post from my daughter-in-law, PhojoMama. In truth, I had read a draft of it last night, she asked my opinion on a couple things and I offered my input, fwiw. But when I saw it was posted, I sat down and read it again. And, like with my son’s earlier post, this time I read it as a Dad. Now, I know many of you know us IRL, so you may have aready seen her post. And if you have we appreciate you. But if you haven’t seen it yet, please take a couple minutes to read it. It’s an incredibly powerful, intensely personal look into the spouses perspective of PTSD and touches on a few of the hurdles she/they had and are having to overcome. I will tell you this though. If you’re not in a location where you can let emotion flow, wait until you are before you read it. As I looked at the laughing face of my son in the photo she chose to use on the post, I thought, again, about how close we came to losing him. She makes several key points too, not the least of which is that spouses, significant others, or really, any loved one, needs access to the information to get the help their first responder needs when they need it.

Yesterday marked the start of National Suicide Prevention Week. A couple quick statistics for you from the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention website- Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the U.S. In 2017 there were 1.4 MILLION suicide attempts. 47,173 Americans died by suicide that same year. So to say I’m grateful to the powers that be for my son choosing to seek help rather than an end, it’s possibly the largest understatement of my life.

A couple other points I’d like to make. First, for those who brush, either suicide or an attempt at suicide, off as a sign of weakness, I’d like to ask you to perform an act that’s anatomically impossible. If you need clarification, it rhymes with “Go truck yourself”. I’d also like to ask you how it is that you can so deeply understand the history, the psyche, the trauma, the scars, the fears, the, well, the everything of a person that truly feels they have no alternative other than to end the pain? Really. What makes you an authority? And maybe more importantly, what happened in your past that sucked the compassion from you?

Ok, that’s starting to take a turn on me and I’d rather stay a little more focused. Because here’s the other point I’d like to make. I don’t claim to know a lot about politics or politicians. But here’s what I do know. When constituents call, write, or stop in for a chat, they tend to listen. And when whatever you present to them is compelling, they tend to act on it. And they should be shocked to learn that we lose roughly the same number of first responders each year to suicide as we do to on-the-job line-of-duty deaths. That’s pretty compelling. So here’s my larger point behind writing this today. Especially for my friends and family still in Illinois. Contact your elected state officials; State Representatives, State Senators and let them know this. Currently, in Illinois, there are minimal protections in place for psychological injuries sustained on-the-job. That needs to change. Blow out your knee on a call and you’re covered until you are ready to return to work. But blow out the synapses that keep you mentally in tune and you’re shit out of luck. Now, I’ll tell you this up front, firefighters are generally loved and respected right up until the point they ask for something. So if you talk to Mr. or Mrs. or Ms. political person and they seem all bright and happy until you explain what you’re looking for and then their mood changes, well, that’s why. On the good side, legislation to help protect first responders shouldn’t be cost-prohibitive from a tax standpoint. On the bad side, I feel it likely would add expense to a municipality to provide this higher level of coverage. Also, I feel confident in saying the insurance industry will probably fight passage of a bill of this sort. So our work is cut out for us. Maybe you’ll find out the value your politicians place on their first responders. As a resource, Kentucky recently passed legislation to this effect. And you can share that information with the politicians as a way to get the ball rolling. As I move towards the end of this, I’ve got one last link, at least for my Illinois friends. If you don’t know your elected officials, by clicking here you can enter your address and find out how to contact them. Now, I’m not going to put a link like that for all 50 states, but I would like to say that it really is easy to find out who represents you in your statehouse so fire up your Google machine, you non-Illinoisans and get some help for the people that have your backs 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, whether you realize it or not. And if any of my non-Illinoisan friends would like to share this and put up state-specific info for wherever they are, I would be truly grateful.

Ok, I lied. Here’s one more link, in case you or someone you love needs it. It goes to Illinois Fire Fighter Peer Support.

Let’s make a difference.

Peace.

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The End Of August

If you come by here, really even semi-regularly, you know how I feel about August.

As the end of this particular month approached I thought about, well, a couple things actually. I thought about a potential post to mark my tenth anniversary as a blogger and I thought about how the 31st day of this month is the anniversary of Dad’s passing. And I thought about how I’ve never written about him. I put out three pieces after Mom passed away, but never did anything on him. It’s been twenty four years. It’s time.  It was my first real experience with losing a loved one. I still have some vivid recollections of his final weeks. One in particular. He was in the hospital, I think it was after his first stroke. He had started to regain some motility but nowhere near enough to do much of anything for himself. So Mom asked me if I would shave him, since it had been several days. I took his electric razor and cleared the stubble off his face and neck. He smiled when I was done. I have many, many fond memories of Dad, but that one may be the most meaningful for me and I’m not sure I know why.  Maybe because it was so near the end, maybe because it was just some small thing I could do for him to make him feel better albeit briefly.  Yes I had acted as “his” paramedic until I realized I needed to be his son and I was incapable of being both simultaneously.  But for this man, that had done so much for me; this small, simple act, one that gets replayed in my head every time I look in the mirror if I’ve gone several days without shaving myself, is probably the closest I’d ever felt to him.

I don’t mean that as a negative either. I never, for even an instant, doubted my parents loved me. And I’m sure my siblings all feel the same way. I don’t remember hearing Dad say the words “I love you” to me. I always kind of took that as a byproduct of his own upbringing. My grandparents died when my Dad was 9 years old. He, his three surviving sisters (his oldest sister died at the same time as my grandparents) and his brother all grew up in an orphanage in Dundee, IL. So I kind of assumed that had everything to do with it. This picture, courtesy of my sister the Cheesehead, is Dad and his sisters June, Margaret, and Pearl, waiting for the train to take them from their home in California to the orphanage in Dundee. His brother was too young (about 18 months old) for admission when this all went down, so he stayed with a family friend out west (or relative, I forget) until he was old enough. His childhood was not something he and I ever really talked about. I mean, not like it was some deep, dark, secret or taboo, more that, I knew the story, but I never really sat down and made a point of asking him about it, the emotions about it, the touchy-feely kind of stuff I tend to write about vs Dad’s generation which was far more stoic. I know he had a pretty good childhood, all things considered. They all had chores to do, not like child-labor, sweat-shop stuff, but chores they were responsible for. And he and his siblings spent a lot of time together during their years there.

Like so many of his generation, when World War 2 came along, he did his patriotic duty and enlisted in the Army Air Corps, the precursor to the Air Force. Get a load of this handsome guy-

Whenever I look at this picture, I see just how much the Heir To The Throne looks like him. The hairstyle may be a little (or, significantly) different, but geez he looks like Dad.

Throughout most of my life, especially when I was younger, people always said how I was just like Dad, same easy-going demeanor. But the more I thought about it, I’m far more like Mom was personality-wise anyway. Mom was quick to anger, but equally quick to get over it and move on.

Dad was always unruffled. I think I was 12 years old before I ever heard him swear. A vocabulary skillset my own kids learned from me at a much younger age. My brother had gone to a high school basketball game and I remember he got a flat tire. Dad went to help him change it. In a snowstorm as I recall. I’m not sure why I was there, since I know I was pretty much useless at that point (hold your comments please) but Dad, while digging through the pile of tools in the trunk said “Where’s the damn jack?!?!” I was petrified. I later learned Dad could cuss with the best of them, but I rarely heard it. I think the worst I ever heard from him was an occassional “shit”, certainly never an eff bomb. My brother would work with him sometimes and confirmed that yes, on job sites, Dad could sling those around freely too. But I digress. Kinda.

I was always sorry Diane never really got to know him. We had only been dating for a couple months when Dad died. I think they would’ve have gotten along famously. I can almost hear him making one of his Dad-joke puns and her rolling her eyes, laughing along with him. I may have gotten more of mom’s personality, but I definitely have his sense of humor. Dad loved to laugh. Whether at some terrible joke he told or at some tv show he watched. He laughed freely and often. And it’s a wonderful characteristic. Sometimes it’s the only response worth having. Trying to find humor in some of the hurdles life puts in the way has helped me inumerable times over the course of my life, and I have him to thank for that.

I got my love of sports from him. Dad was a pretty good halfback during his high school football days. Our favorite story was when he ran the wrong way one game. This was, of course, long before anyone knew anything about concussions or their long-term effects. I don’t recall if he scored for the other team or not, but he always laughed about that incident. When my turn to play came around, Mom and Dad were always there. Every football game and every home track meet. Those were a little tougher to get to, since they were both working back then. And they both loved going to the high school basketball games. Especially if Dad’s friend Wally was one of the referees. If Wally made a call Dad disagreed with, he made sure Wally knew about it in no uncertain terms. Reasonably good natured, but Wally knew it if Dad thought he’d blown a call. One Friday night my senior year, we had an indoor track meet a half hour or so away. I didn’t expect much that night, so Mom and Dad went to the basketball game. As it turned out, I’d had a pretty good night. After we got back to school they announced our results during the game. I was in the locker room so I had no clue that happened, didn’t learn about it until years later. But they said he just beamed as people came up to congratulate him.

Dad is, as much as anything, the reason I became a firefighter/paramedic. He had a heart attack back in the mid 1980’s and, as I watched the ambulance head towards the hospital, with him in the back, I never felt more helpless in my entire life. So, a couple years later when I had the opportunity to go to EMT school and then paramedic school, I was all over it.

And it was due in large part to being unable to help Dad in his time of need.

There were many things Dad was not. He was after all, human, and he had his share of foibles, as we all do. But one thing he always was, was proud of who the four of us, and all of our assorted children, had become.

Oh and pay no mind to the 90’s porn star mustaches my brother and I are sporting. It was, after all, the 90’s so…

This was taken at the folks 50th wedding anniversary. I took three swings at it and couldn’t even hit 25 years cumulatively. Obviously I didn’t pay close enough attention to the model Mom and Dad set.

Dad, I miss you each and every day. There are so many times I wish I could meet up with you over a cup of coffee and ask one of the million or so questions I now have for you. It doesn’t seem possible you’ve been gone for 24 years.

On to September.

Peace.

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Time

As I looked back through some of my posts over the last couple years, and thinking about some that I put up on the old site, I realized that so many have titles relating to the passing of time. This is, of course, a recognition on my part of the course my family’s lives have taken over the last 16+ years. As I was chatting with the Oldest One on our daily phone call as she makes her way home from work, we talked about today (since we talked yesterday, it was actually tomorrow then…) and, as I’ve written before, today is unalterably the most bittersweet of days. We celebrate the birthday of the youngest grandchild while acknowledging another year since Diane died.

To be honest, when I sat down yesterday to work on this, my first thought was to just do some cursory introduction-type thing and then put in an excerpt from what I’ve previously written about Diane and Caitlin. After I ruled that out I thought maybe I’d just re-post a piece I’d written on an earlier August 21st.

Neither of those things felt right as I looked at them (the posts) more closely, and the more I considered it, the more I knew the day deserved its own post.

So here goes.

As the Little Diamond gets older, I want to make sure she knows the Grandma she never got the chance to know. I mean, obviously, I want all of the grandkids to know her; the Reigning Princess shares some of her personality traits after all. The Heir To the Throne and the Boy Genius, while maybe not remembering her, at least had moments with her. Moments saved on film (or, you know, digitally) that the three younger ones never will have. So, while I don’t want to gloss over the other littles, because of the connection inherent in their “shared” date, it’s important to me that LD knows her Grandma. I know they would’ve been fast friends, LD has some of Ellie’s personality and she and Diane had a pretty solid relationship, after a time. I think, Diane would’ve been in on the Jojo Siwa phenomenon too. Maybe not to the point of wearing bows and/or unicorn headbands herself but, yeah, she would’ve loved taking LD shopping for Jojo-wear at the drop of a hat. I know her heart would have been so full watching the first dance recital last spring too, just for one example.

Quick side story, one of my favorite Diane/Grandma Ellie stories at that. When the Boy Child was in the Army he bought his first new car; a Jeep Wrangler. He really enjoyed driving it with the doors off and the top down. As you might imagine, this made for a pretty windy trip wherever you were going. Diane was pretty particular about her hair. I don’t mean to say she was obsessive about it or anything, but she always looked pretty dialed in before she left the house. One day, while I was at the firehouse, the two of them got in his Jeep and went for a ride. Someone else was with them, but I’m drawing a blank on who it was. And since that part isn’t germane to the story, I’ll leave it at that. Since it was a forty-five-ish minute drive from the house in Wondertucky (not the town’s real name) to the Greater Burlington Metropolitan (all 500 citizens) area to say they were a little windblown is an understatement of epic proportions. To further set the scene, Mom’s eyesight wasn’t stellar by this point in her life. As I wrote about on the old site after her passing, it wasn’t so bad that she wouldn’t point out (real or imagined) road hazards; other cars, dogs, deer, tractors, you get the idea, but it was bad enough that she wouldn’t always see faces clearly unless they got really close. So, when they stopped in for a visit, and the Boy Child greeted her with a typical “Hi Gram!” her response was an enthusiastic “Hi Ryan! Who’s your friend?”

We all had a good laugh about that one, and reminded Ellie about it from time to time. And it’s actually memories like that one that have helped soften the loss as the years have passed. It also feels a lot healthier mentally to laugh about our past than it does to weep over it. Kind of a celebrate what you had versus mourning what you lost perspective. I’ll always be able to connect with the last days. But I try really hard not to tap into that. Especially since I’m no longer doing VIP’s. I felt like ripping open that particular vein and bleeding on the stage helped get my point across. Now that I’m done with that part of my life, my grief can finally mellow. It will never go away completely but it allows me to live a normal-ish life.

Well this is starting to take a turn on me, so let me try and get back to where I was originally headed with this thing. I FaceTimed with the Little Diamond and her Daddy this morning, and she told me they were going to the coffeehouse and then the play place. I’m fairly certain there are (were) bunny cookies and a cupcake in her future. As there should be on a birthday, amirite?

Sweetie, I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. But one day I’ll sit you down and show you pictures of an amazing woman. I’ll explain to you how she was the life of every party she attended. I’ll explain to you how much she meant to, not just our family, but through her advocacy work, to people she barely knew. I’ll explain to you how much she would have loved spoiling you, and your big brother, and your cousins if she’d had the chance. And maybe one day you’ll understand why sometimes, on your birthday, I get a little tear in my eye.

Happy birthday sweetie, I love you!

Peace

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Keep Moving Forward

So, for this post, I’m doing very little of the writing. Allow me to explain. A couple hours ago, I got a text from my son, asking me to proofread something before he posted it to his social media accounts. I did, and after making a couple minor suggestions, asked him if I could put it up here. He graciously agreed. I’m not gonna lie, once I took off the proofreader hat and put on the Dad hat, I cried as I read it. It’s very powerful and in addition to illuminating the ongoing struggles he and his immediate family face down, it’s a sobering reminder of how close we came to losing him.

And not even knowing he was in pain.

That’s it for me, for now. I’ll probably put a little bit at the end. But the rest of what you read will be his words…

This is going to be a bit of a long and personal post. I pre-apologize for that. I don’t usually read them myself so I can understand if you keep scrolling. But if you’ve stayed this long maybe you’ll read a little further.                                                           

This is what PTSD and anxiety looks like for me today. I’m not having a particularly great morning. I had a triggering (I hate the buzzwords, but I don’t know how else to label it) day yesterday. Some work related, some not. I was on edge most of the day yesterday. I felt depressed. I tried to work through it. I tossed and turned most of the night. I came home from work this morning thinking that I was fine. But I wasn’t. I promptly snapped at Danielle when she asked me a simple question. I didn’t even realize I had done it until I noticed her change in demeanor. Then I could feel it coming back in the pit of my stomach. That awful feeling of guilt, shame, self doubt.

“Why did you snap at her?”

“What’s your problem”

“Pull your shit together”. 

After I took the kids to daycare I laid in bed for an hour and felt bad for myself. I really beat myself up about it. I tried to talk to Danielle about it but she was at work already and wasn’t really in a place where she could have that kind of cPonversation. So there I laid. Catastrophizing. 

I started to run. I hated every step. I ran too hard at the start and bonked a few miles in. So I took a lot of walk breaks. So many walk breaks. But I just kept moving forward. I wanted to quit so much. I started breaking it down into more digestible segments. “Run to that fire hydrant and then walk for 5 seconds” I did that over the last 4 miles. It sucked. But I eventually finished. My first long run training up for what will culminate in my longest run ever. Next spring. 

Today was my first long run as a part of my training plan. I didn’t want to do it. The thought of getting out of bed was too much. So I laid there some more. Then through a series of thoughts I remembered the fundraiser I’m working on (more on that shortly) I couldn’t give in to my feelings. I had to get up. So I did. 

Late spring of 2020 I am going to run a kilometer for every firefighter that commits suicide in 2019. As of this moment that number is north of 60. It’s been over 100 for the last several years. I almost contributed to that number. I’m doing this run to raise money for Illinois Fire Fighter Peer Support. The organization that helped me get to a place where I could get the help that I needed. I will be getting a link to donate directly to them. I’m not sure how successful this fundraiser will be. But I’m going to try to make it big. It needs to be big. People need to know there’s help. 

As a part of the build up to this event, and the run itself, Danielle is going to be documenting my story and my struggles. She’s a phenomenal storyteller & I think with her help we can really make a difference in people’s lives. 

If you made it all the way through, thank you. And stay tuned for details on next springs fundraiser.

There you have it. I’m so proud of the transparency he’s willing to show, baring his soul on the page like this. I can’t think of a better way to remove the stigma than to get this out in the open so people in need are more willing to talk about it without feeling they’re showing weakness. As I said, I’ll publicize the shit out of his efforts, and this is the first of what I hope will be many reminders.

One last thing, and this holds true with anything I post here, if you feel so inclined, please share the post. Hopefully someone that may need to see the message my son is sharing, will see it that way.

Peace