Tag: Grief

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It’s Great To Be Alive

I’m listening to XRT this morning.

I haven’t done that for years. Not a slight to “Chicago’s Finest Rock” either, I switched to satellite radio a while back for my main listening and from there, a few years ago I started listening mostly to streamed music. Mainly since it gave me (within reason) full control over what, and who, (whom?) I listened to. Admittedly, I missed XRT, but not enough to go out of my way to listen to it. I think maybe I missed the on-air talent as much as anything, although I can’t go any further without acknowledging that a very large part of my current tastes in music was developed, nurtured, and curated, by WXRT. I don’t remember exactly when I started listening, but my best guess is somewhere around 1976 or 1977, so people like Garry Lee Wright, Johnny Mars, Bobby Skafish, Tom Marker, Frank E. Lee, geez there’s so many more. Of course no list of XRT DJ’s would be complete without the inimitable Terri Hemmert, everyone’s favorite Aunt Terri. So many different voices helping to form my taste in music.

But today’s post isn’t about them. It’s only superficially about me. Rather, today I want to write about your best friend in the whole world, at least if you listened to WXRT any time over the last 30+ years. Lin Brehmer. Lin passed away yesterday, prostate cancer taking him far too soon.

In the 24 or so hours since I got the text from Ryan alerting me to Lin’s passing I’ve spent a lot of time reading tributes to Lin, so many beautiful, heartfelt words from those that knew him, knew him as more than a voice on the radio, but as a friend, coworker, or mentor. They are far more qualified to express their thoughts and process their emotions on the man than I am. I don’t say that to diminish my feelings, only to contextualize what I’m trying to say. A voice on the radio is the only way I knew Lin, and, theoretically at least, I shouldn’t feel his passing as much as I do given the nature of our “relationship”. After all, he was “only” one of the voices accompanying me down life’s highway, literally and figuratively, for many years.

I feel like I have so much more to say here, but instead I’m going to do two things- I’ve mentioned here before that I sometimes feel wholly inadequate as a writer when I listen to lyrics by songwriters I admire, Lin, through his 20 year long segment “Lin’s Bin” wherein he would answer readers emails, as well as in many other ways, was incredibly gifted with words. So I want to add a postscript in the form of one of his beautifully eloquent answers. Here, from the XRT Facebook page, are Lin’s own words. I’m gutted.

Is it still great to be alive?

What is my inheritance? What have my ancestors left for me? They have left those voices in the dark that ask questions, my own voices in the middle of the night when the mind spins slightly off its axis and wobbles like a spinning top about to roll over on its side. 
Is it still great to be alive? A delicate question subject to the eloquence of the ages.

“For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there’s the respect that makes calamity of so long a life.”

And yet we can say it out loud. 

It’s great to be alive.

Affirmation is so much easier in a convertible with the top down.
Celebration comes naturally in the robustness of our younger years.
Optimism is a dish best served with extra appetizers to share.
Great to be alive.

How does this phrase sound to the people living on the fringes?
Living on the street. People who survive against all odds.
What is so great about alive?

Is it still great to be alive?
This question stirs the guilt we feel when we attempt to rejoice among the ruins of civilization.
So better to joke about it.
Better to sing about it.

For the thoughtful, this is an awkward question.
Some have said that It’s great to be alive is not something they would ordinarily say.
Me either. But these are not ordinary times. And they never were.

Are we shaken from our brighter purpose by the unspooling tragedies that start as a ten word tweet and grow into a news story with full team coverage and a regenerating youtube video? Sadness that proliferates like the head of the Hydra.
These events that amplify our own misery and doubt.

When the noted social critic Frank Zappa stood on a stage to announce that it is great to be alive, it might have seemed sarcastic. 

“It’s so f$%&*g great to be alive is what the theme of our show is tonight, boys and girls. And I want to tell you, if there is anybody here who doesn’t believe that it is f$%&*g great to be alive, I wish they would go now because this show will bring them down so much.”

Life is so much clearer with a guitar in your arms.
But the truly cynical observer will remind us that it is always more poetic to reject life when you’re not fighting for your own. If it’s only pretty good to be alive, we should wonder at the young and the old who struggle to breathe.

Some of us are tempted to give up. Instinct is strong but not unshakeable.

In the absence of certitude, we make choices. I’ve made mine.
Is it still great to be alive?
Actually, no.

It’s f$%&*g great to be alive.

That last line was one of the taglines Lin will leave with us.

I’m going to leave this for now but, before I go, I want to encourage you to tune in to WXRT 93.1 FM if you’re in the Chicago area, if you’re like me and somewhere else in the world, you can stream that at, for example the Audacy app or likely any number of other streaming options. Regadless how you do it, you should listen in as the station pays tribute to one of the good ones.

Rest In Peace Lin. From one of your many best friends in the whole world.

Peace

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Decoration Day

I really had no thought about posting anything today. No real reason, other than a clear lack of cogent thoughts. I know, I know, some (like Ray, for instance) would say that’s never stopped me before. What can I tell you? But then, as I was driving from the coffeehouse to the grocery store, the muse stopped by and deposited a couple things in my head. Since anyplace that doesn’t also sell gasoline along with coffee is now closed for the remainder of today, this is one of the rarer posts created at home.

I noticed today being a holiday didn’t seem to have much of an impact on local lawncare services. I totally get how some businesses remain open without regard to things like holidays, I guess I just never counted Memorial Day as one of those. It seems to me that this day in particular elicits kind of an odd response from the general public as it is. Over time it appears to have devolved from its origins as Decoration Day in the aftermath of the Civil War to where we are today. How many people have you heard say “Happy Memorial Day!” or some similar sentiment? It just seems odd to me that anyone would use that phrase given what today is marking, you know? Almost as odd as thinking that this is the perfect day to buy a mattress, but if you turn your television on today I guarantee you’ll see more mattress commercials than you will remembrances. Today is supposed to be about honoring the war dead. I don’t claim to know the correct way to honor them either. I mean, I have thoughts about that, but I recognize they may be skewed by my personal beliefs and that some would find my ideas offensive. So I won’t be telling you how to observe today, but I would suggest at some point to take a few minutes to recognize that hundreds of thousands of lives have been taken for causes, just and not so just. And perhaps we, as Americans, should strive to be the type of Americans worth fighting for.

Growing up I was never aware of the term Decoration Day btw. The first time I heard it was in the late 70’s. The original ex had two maiden aunts, I guess spinster is the term, although I don’t know if that’s a derogatory term or not. If so, I mean no offense. At any rate, Carrie and Clara were twin sisters and they were about 187 years old when I met them. Not really. But they pretty old nonetheless. Back to the point, they were the ones that referred to the day as Decoration Day. I remember thinking they seemed insistent on calling it that too. Kind of like Chicagoans that insist Willis Tower is still Sears Tower.

I’m going to cut this one short today. I do have other things bouncing around that I’d like to address, but I figure if I’m going to bitch about today, I should keep it about today. So, lastly, today’s background music is the newest album by Manchester Orchestra – The Million Masks of God and man I really dig it. This is one of those albums that, the first time I listened to I thought “yeah, it’s ok I guess.” But the more I listen to it, the more I get into it. Just outstanding. Lastly, lastly, there’s no way I could name this post what I named it without throwing in a link to Decoration Day by Drive By Truckers and eventhough it’s not entirely about honoring war dead, it is ultimately about the feelings toward a generations long feud and the results of it.

Peace.

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Finding Rhythm

I spent my morning blasting Foo Fighters for about four hours while I caught up on my online reading.

Fwiw, it seems as though many of my friends are musicians of some sort. I don’t mean that in a negative way in the least, even though it may come across that way. What I mean is, I don’t know any touring musicians. I’ve met a couple in one way or another, but I mean of the people I know, off the top of my head, probably ten or more play an instrument. And of that group, it seems most are drummers. I don’t know what, if anything, that says about me (or them) but it just struck me as odd.

I bring this up because late last night news broke of the sudden and unexpected passing of Taylor Hawkins, the drummer of Foo Fighters. Now, I don’t claim to be a huge fan of theirs, I like them, I listen to them from time to time, but I don’t for example have any real desire to see them in concert. This may seem odd to the casual reader among you, since I do consider myself an avid concertgoer, but I think due to their popularity if for no other reason, I’d consider them an arena rock band and that’s not an environment I particularly enjoy. Sometimes I get a little twitchy getting bounced into by random people (even in the Before Times) at the smaller venues I typically inhabit and the thought of getting crammed in with 40 or 50,000 other people just isn’t appealing to me.

But before I digress any further, let me try and return to my original point. Hawkins, 50, was on tour with the rest of the band in South America when he passed. As of this morning no other details were released, and I don’t know that anything relevant will be. Not that it should matter to any of us that aren’t related to him, you know? I mean, obviously, human nature being what it is, there is some curiosity, but what matters is a family lost their father/husband and a band lost their brother-in-arms and the rest of us should just leave it at that as far as I’m concerned. Maybe instead of letting our minds wander to some darker place, we should take some time to listen to someone who, as the Roots Music site No Depression wrote earlier today, was a drummer that was “ferocious, yet joyful” when he played and just be grateful we had the chance to listen to him for as long as we did while we send strength and light to those that loved him and will feel his loss for the rest of their days.

Rest In Peace Taylor Hawkins, and may we all find something in our lives that we perform in a ferocious, yet joyful manner.

I feel like I got a little preachy there, and I apologize if I did, but I don’t apologize for the sentiment. By and large, the general public doesn’t need to know details behind the demise of someone outside of our personal orbits. The exception being if there is some benefit to the greater populace. Here’s an example, kinda.

By this point in time we all know that purchases on over the counter meds like, for example Claritin D, are regulated by the federal government so that you cannot buy more than 9 grams, roughly 2 teaspoons, because some cracker ass cooked meth from it in his bathtub. Now, you might surmise that since a stimulant is made from this base substance that, in turn, Claritin D would also have somewhat of a stimulant effect on a person.

You might, but I didn’t last night.

We here in central North Carolina are in the early stages of The Pollening, as witnessed by the lovely yellow hue my truck has taken on. As a result, my sinuses are wreaking havoc on the rest of my head, with Claritin D being about the only thing bringing me any relief. Typically, I buy it in a package containing 15 capsules, each providing 24 hour relief. I take it in the morning and I’m good ish for the day. Except for the fact that, for whatever reason, the drug stores in my fair town were out of the 24 hour variety earlier this week. I don’t know why, but I found it odd that two different chains were both out. Idk, maybe it’s also cooking season, but this time I had to buy a package with 30 of the 12 hour capsules. I had been sticking with my regular morning pop, but last night I was feeling it in my head (this always reminds me of the old joke “Does your face hurt? Well, it’s killing me!”) so I took another 12 hour pill around 9:00, just before we went to bed. I did give brief pause to what the effects might include, but figured it’d wear off in an hour or so.

HAH!

I got roughly zero hours of sleep last night. But apparently if I ever need to make an overnight drive anywhere I can just pop an otc decongestant to get wherever I need. I don’t know what else to attribute it to, but what I do know is it sucked. I moved out to the couch around 11:00 and #LillyNO was gracious enough to share it with me. B2 had to work this morning and I didn’t want to take a chance on waking her (B2 that is, not Lilly) as I tossed and turned, literally all night. I should clarify, it’s not like I had the shakes or anything, I was just awake. Like unable to sleep. I finally started to feel a little tired around the time her alarm went off so I just made it official and got up to have a cup of coffee. Fortunately we don’t have any plans for the evening, so if I end up calling it a night in the immediate aftermath of dinner, so be it.

And I’ll be calling it a night without any decongestant.

Ok, last thing, this post has been accompanied by the last album from the late Justin Townes Earle; The Saint Of Lost Causes, and if you’ve never listened to it, you should. It’s wonderful. He was a wonderfully talented, troubled young man. And also gone too soon. Maybe that’s what drew me to that album this morning, I don’t know. But it was a good call.

Peace

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Sometimes…

I’m fond of typing here that “sometimes the universe provides”. By that I mean that often times in the past, when I’m stumped about what to write, something, somewhere happens that triggers something for me. And I spin out a thousand words or so based on that, whatever it may be. I’ve been working on a piece to put up here for a few days now, and it hasn’t been an easy write for me.

And then, about 45 minutes ago, I got a phone call from the Oldest One, She was very upset. As I was cycling through in my mind what might have happened to get her so upset, and landing on a handful of things (that’s kinda the way my mind works I guess) she told me one of the Heir To The Throne’s childhood friends was killed in a car crash last night.

She didn’t really know any details, she had just gotten the call alerting her about it immediately before calliing me, but she told me she didn’t know how to tell HTTT and wanted him to know before he saw it on social media. Which is, of course, a perfectly reasonable response. So I told her I’d make the call if she couldn’t. She agreed but said she wanted to be conferenced in to the call.

So I called him. And I told him. In an intentionally dispassionate voice. Because, even though the boys had grown apart over the years, they were still on good terms. And because, even though he’s had to deal with a lot of loss of loved ones in the course of his young life, it’s not an easy thing to hear, ever. It’s not that I didn’t care about HTTT’s friend, I always found him to be a very likable, somewhat goofy, and charming kid. He was also the only one of HTTT’s circle that callled me Papa. And he always did. If I showed up at one of their ballgames, whenever he saw me he’d call out “Hi Papa!” and was genuinely happy to see me.

So, knowing HTTT was at work, I tried to be as calm as I could be, knowing he would probably not be in a place where he would feel comfortable letting his emotions go. I’m not going to go into any greater detail than that now. Since this is all flowing pretty quickly in the aftermath, I won’t have time to let him proof this and see if he’s good with it. So I’ll leave this part of it here.

But really, how do you tell someone you love that someone has died?

I’ll always remember telling my then three year-old grandson that his Nana was gone. Vividly. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of a room in my niece’s house, trying to explain to him that he’d never see the Nana that he adored, and that worshipped him, again. And that she was now with Aunt Caitlin. I used to tell that story at Victim Impact Panels and it was not at all unusual, even after telling it hundreds of times, for me to cry as I tried to relate what that was like. Telling him that was difficult, maybe the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. And it’s not that this time was easy, I’m not trying to compare the two, it’s just that after we got off the phone I did nothing but second guess myself over my phone call.

I’m rarely at a loss for words, it’s true. But I can’t shake the feeling that I failed him as a support person in this moment. I told him to call or text whenver he wanted, but…

So, I sit here at the computer; listening to “God” by John Lennon on a loop. And I think about the morning I got up for work to this song and listened in stunned disbelief as Terri Hemmert told her audience that Lennon had been murdered late the night before. And I think about how the dream is over for a family, a group of friends, so many people that were a part of this young man’s life for twenty years and I know that their dream is over. Dreams of a long, happy life. Dreams of children or grandchildren. Dreams that we all have for our loved ones.

Hold the ones you love tightly, often.

Tell them you love them, often.

Do nice things for them, for no reason, often.

And, when they want to do nice things for you, let them.

Because sometimes the universe is an asshole.

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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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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Dates

I know I’ve written about this before, I’m not sure if it was here or on my old site, maybe both, but once again the calendar has managed to tie a wonderful moment in the history of our family with a horrible moment.

Regular readers, or people that know me (us) IRL might recognize May 24th as the anniversary of the day Caitlin died from her injuries after being struck by a drunk driver in 2003. From this point forward we can add May 24th as the date the oldest grandchild graduated from high school.

There’s no small amount of irony to me here, as Caitlin was one week shy of her own high school graduation when she was killed. This whole senior year for the Heir To The Throne has been filled with bittersweet memories. As I’ve watched his accomplishments in this final year of high school; from Honor Rolls, to FFA Banquets, going to three different Proms, to Senior Night, to walk-off home runs, to being named All-Conference catcher, I find it’s almost impossible to not think about how thrilled Diane and Caitlin would have been to watch this year unfold.

I haven’t had that conversation with him, but a couple of the offspring and I have talked about how proud Diane would be, not just about HTTT, of course, but of all five of the littles. But she loved baseball. We went to as many of her nephews games as we could and she was always yelling her encouragement to them. And she always told them how well she thought they played whether they had an 0-fer or got a hit every at bat. The Oldest One tends to be a wee bit vocal at HTTT’s sporting events. That’s an understatement, btw. On par with saying the Titanic had a mishap with an iceberg. And I don’t say that to make fun of OO (well, maybe a little) but rather as a point of reference, because I’m fairly certain Diane would have boosted the decibel level significantly above that produced by OO. Had she been in attendance at the walk-off she may well have jumped the fence to greet him at home plate with his team. And to hear he made All-Conference? I truly believe she would roll down her car window in traffic to tell random strangers about her grandson’s accomplishment. For real for real. As I wrote that I got a vivid image of her doing that very thing. And I laughed a little (I try really hard not to literally lol when I’m writing in a coffeehouse) when that popped into my head.

So yeah, tonight will be another in the line of bittersweet days for us all. I mean, we’ll get through it alright, we always do, but it’s just another example of the ripple effect. They never stop coming, it seems. There may be lapses between them, but they’re always lurking. At least it seems like it.

Before I let this devolve into anything darker, I’m going to wrap the post up with a couple pictures

The first is the HTTT with his (unanimous) All-Conference pitcher, the second is the HTTT with Caitlin taken Mother’s Day weekend in 2003. I felt like they were a far better way to end this post.

And so I am.

Peace

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Twelve and Three

I debated with myself whether to do this today or not.  And I won.  And, I guess since it was with myself, I lost too.  It remains to be seen if you think I made the right choice or not.  Here goes…

Twelve years ago was very likely the worst day of my life.  The day Diane died.  Now, astute readers may recall me mentioning that that happened back in June.  That’s because occasionally, I’m an idiot.  The date in June was actually our wedding anniversary, not the anniversary of her death.  That faux pas would have cost me big time (rightly so) had I screwed up an anniversary while she was alive.

Three years ago was among the best days of my life as we welcomed the youngest of my five grandkids, the Little Diamond, into the world.  I wrote about this a couple years ago, in the aftermath of LD’s first birthday, the emotional turmoil I felt, albeit briefly.  We just FaceTimed (a wonderful bit of technology) so I could see her on her actual birthday and I’m heading home for a week, leaving in a few days, but I wanted to see her on her special day.  I know Diane would be thrilled with our grandkids.  And she would spoil them unrelentingly, and support them unhesitatingly, as any grandma should.  But it wasn’t meant to be.

While I have things to say, I chose instead to leave it at this and finish it with an excerpt from what I’ve been working on, this time from Diane’s stay in the hospital.  I may close it with pictures, I haven’t decided yet.

I went into Diane’s room, for what felt like the hundredth time since I tried to get some sleep.  She had almost constant nursing care due to the fragility of her condition.  I don’t remember who was there on the overnight shift.  I remember Dani, Manny, Laura, and Missy, but I know there were so many more.  The perfusionists too, Paul is the name that sticks in my mind.  These people were with her around the clock, working their butts off for all of their patients.  I don’t think I could ever express my thanks to them enough.  

There wasn’t much I could do except hold her hand and talk softly to her.  I know there have been studies done that relate how comatose patients can hear even though they can’t respond.  I was banking on that.  Talking to Diane about everything I could think of.  Telling her how much fun we were going to have with Elliott and our new grandson, just born in April, Damian. 

As Saturday morning turned into afternoon, the CCU waiting area started to fill with friends and family.  And again, the staff there was incredible.  They brought us food, made sure the coffee machine was full, in short just went out of their way (it seemed to me) to make sure we were as comfortable as we could be given the circumstances.  And I went back into “shuttle” mode just as I had when Caitlin was in the hospital.  I knew I could go in and be with Diane pretty much whenever I wanted, day or night, so I thought I should defer to friends and family that came to visit.  And this way Cassi could spend as much time at her Mom’s bedside as she wanted.  I shuttled people back-and-forth from the waiting room to Diane’s room.  By this time I’d already gotten to be on a first name basis with the nurses caring for her and they did a great job of keeping us informed of her progress.  

Or lack of progress.  By Saturday evening one of the nurses told me they thought Diane’s kidneys had shut down.  She had stopped producing urine.  The cardiac surgeon stopped in late Saturday night and we talked, for a while.  I told him about our family, about what happened to Caitlin and tried to explain to him how important the relationship between Diane and her daughters was.  He told me, in no uncertain terms, the seriousness of Diane’s condition.  He said in addition to her kidneys shutting down, her brain didn’t appear to be functioning.  

I understood.  Whether I had been conscious of it or not, whether I was willing to admit it or not, I could see her deteriorating.  I’m sure I wasn’t completely prepared to accept that she wasn’t improving.  And yet, I distinctly remember telling her; when we were alone, after I spoke to the doctor, that I got it.  That I knew she loved all of us.  And that I knew, more than anything, that she missed Caitlin.

So, yeah, I understood.  But I needed the doctor to understand too.  And I told him, how important it was to me that Cassi knew we did everything possible for Diane.  She’d already lost her only sister.  I needed her to know that everything that could possibly be done for her Mother was going to be done.  And he agreed.  He scheduled a consultation with a neurologist for the morning.  

The kids were waiting for me in the family waiting room that we had commandeered.  They knew I was speaking with the surgeon.  So I told them what the plan was.  The neurologist was coming in at 9:00 in the morning to examine Diane.  

We all settled in for the night.  I went back out to the main waiting area, ironically enough for privacy.  Actually, since it was well after hours I had it all to myself.  I settled in to my lounge chair and started reading “Marley and Me” again.  I was getting close to the end, I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping much tonight so I figured I could finish the book by morning.  I really enjoyed it to this point.  As I said, there were many similarities between Marley and our pup Sophie.  But the more I read, the closer to the end of the book I got, the more obvious it was to me how it was going to end.  I had to put the book down.  I just felt like I was certain Marley was getting to a point where I didn’t think he wasn’t going to be around at the end of the book.  And I had to stop reading.  I was getting too emotional to finish it.  Too many parallels between the book and what we were going through with Diane.  I put the book down and haven’t picked it up since.  It’s at home, somewhere.  Maybe on the shelf in her closet, I’m not sure.  I still haven’t seen the movie either.  And I won’t.  I mean, I heard it was well done; I just don’t have any desire to re-live that night.  I’m afraid that movie will do just that.

So I paced.  And I went in to sit with Diane.  I talked to her.  I talked to God.  I cried.  A lot.  It was my time for it.  The kids weren’t there; I didn’t have to put up a front of being strong, so I could let my emotions go where they would.  I knew there were huge differences in Diane’s condition.  In addition to what the doctor and I talked about, I could see the physical changes in her appearance. 

 And I noticed that instead of two nurses, like she’d had Friday overnight, there was only one.  

I was up before the sun again on Sunday morning; actually it was well before the sun.  I know I slept a little, but Saturday night into Sunday morning was a repeat of the previous night.  I finally got up for good, rolled up the blanket I had used, went into the back and got a cup of coffee.  Ryan joined me outside the entrance to the CCU a little after 6:00 AM.  As we sat there, making idle chit-chat, Dr. V, Diane’s cardiac surgeon, came in to do his rounds.  He was carrying a couple boxes of doughnuts for the staff.  I made a joke about him drumming up business.  He laughed and said he liked to do little things like this for the nursing staff since they all worked so hard to make the doctors look good.  I thought it was a pretty stand up move for someone that didn’t need to do it.  

Around 9:00 AM the neurologist came in for a consult.  We left Diane’s room so she could be examined.  A little while later the neurologist came out to talk to me.  She said she didn’t see any evidence of brain activity.  She said she couldn’t say Diane was “brain-dead” (a phrase I’ve grown to despise as you might imagine) because she had to do two distinct tests, separated by time.  

The rest of Sunday is kind of a blur.  There were many visitors; family members, and friends, trying their best to keep our spirits up.  I think we probably put up a good front, at least I’d like to think we did, but I’m not sure we pulled it off entirely.  I remember being in shuttle mode again several times over the course of the day.  I also remember thinking how noticeable the changes were now in Diane’s appearance.  Her face was starting to retain fluid, she looked puffy.  

When I had some time alone with her, I leaned in close and whispered to her, “It’s ok honey, I understand.  I love you and I’ll miss you forever, but I know you need to be with Caitlin again.  It’s ok.”  I had that “conversation” with her several times over the next 18 hours or so.  

It’s funny, as I’d looked at the weather forecast for the weekend; I thought Sunday afternoon would’ve been a good time to bring Sophie to visit Diane.  We could’ve sat in the outdoor courtyard right outside the Cardiac Care Unit and Diane could’ve showed off Sophie to everyone and anyone that showed an interest.  She was really pleased with what she accomplished with Sophie through their training.  She loved socializing Sophie around as many people as she could.  And Sophie ate up the attention.  But now, with the way things had turned, bringing the dog over was the last thing on my mind. 

As Sunday at the Cardiac Care Center progressed, we saw many people from across all of our various phases of life.  Family, both hers and mine, coworkers from jobs both current and past, and so many friends.  Once again, I was in shuttle mode between Diane’s bedside and one or the other of the waiting rooms.  And, once again, the staff was doing their best to make things as pleasant for us as they possibly could.  But as the day wore on, Diane’s condition spiraled down.  The kids did their best to take host pressures off of me, and it helped.  But we were all in the middle of the juggling act of keeping our best appearances up for the visitors while trying to get our heads wrapped around what was happening before our eyes.

This is an easy picture to post, from one of our best days after Caitlin was killed.  The Quiet Child’s wedding reception held in our back yard.

Obviously we had no clue what the future would bring, but this day, in particular, helped remind us that life still provided us with some good days.  And that, among those good days, you sometimes get visited by butterflies…

Peace

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For An Amazing Young Woman

Today, we should have celebrated Caitlin’s 33rd birthday.  I often wonder, as the Kenny Chesney (that’s right, I like both kinds of music, Country and Western) song says “Who You’d Be Today”.  As I wrote last year on the old site, our family looks to commit Random Acts of Kindness to honor her memory.  That helps with the day, it truly does.  And, of course, it’s always a good idea to be kind, but it just feels like the right way to honor such an amazing young woman, taken from us too soon.

The anger from that time, I think it is safe to say, has finally gone.  It took probably longer than it should have, and I don’t know, maybe not speaking about the events of that day (and the weeks, months, and years that followed it) regularly at Victim Impact Panels has finally allowed it to leave me once and for all.  I don’t know if that’s it, but that’s just the first thing that popped in my head as I realized I didn’t feel the rage (probably too strong a word but whatevs) rising in me.

The old saying goes; time heals all wounds.  But the truth, as Rose Kennedy said is more along these lines “It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”  As the matriarch of the Kennedy clan, she knew a thing or two about grieving, so I give her words a lot of weight.  She was right.  

Back to the opening paragraph; I wonder how our lives would be different had Caitlin lived.  I think I’ve mentioned here before, I keep in touch with some of her bff’s and now, fifteen years removed from the crash, they all have their own places in the world, many are married and some have children of their own.  

Would Caitlin?  

Even though Diane had an underlying and undiscovered cardiac issue, would she still be alive today?  I’ve always believed the stress from Caitlin’s death was a key contributing factor to her death.  And that without the loss of her youngest child, she would still be with us.  I think, from time-to-time, of how over the moon Diane would be with all of the grandkids.  How excited she would be (and how vocal, lol) at the Heir To The Throne’s baseball games, how fascinated she would be by the Boy Genius’ science and computer projects,  how she would be enthralled by the former Beatle Baby’s knowledge of all things Skylander, and how absolutely giddy she would be organizing a shopping trip for the Reigning Princess and the Little Diamond.  

I have a feeling I would have had to put off my retirement to bankroll those shopping trips, lol.  And there’s a really good chance I wouldn’t be in central North Carolina now.  My feeling is that she would have vetoed being that far away from the littles.  Although she did love summer and summer here is so much more, uhhh, summer-y.  

This week (this month, actually) tends to bring up thoughts such as these.  In addition to it being Caitlin’s birthday today, my Dad’s would have been the 6th, and the Oldest One’s is tomorrow.  And the 12th is the anniversary of Diane and I getting married.  So, yeah, my mind tends to wander in this direction this week more than any other.  And doing something along the lines of a RAoK helps me to keep my emotional shit together.

So, here’s my suggestion.  Actually I guess it’s more of a request.  Go out today and commit a Random Act of Kindness.  If you choose to do it anonymously, that’s cool.  If you choose to explain that you’re doing it in the memory of an amazing young woman, that’s cool too.  But if you do it, please come back here and leave a note, either on the social media that brought you here or in the comments section below, and let everyone know what you did and if you had any interaction with the recipient, what was their response.  i.e. last year, I pre-payed for a bunch of people at the coffeehouse I used to frequent.  One of the regulars, a man I’d often seen but never spoken to, got a free coffee.  The barista told him why and pointed me out, so he came over to thank me and to ask about Caitlin.  It was a pretty cool moment.

Also, if you’re so inclined, please feel free to share this however you like.  The world, imho, can always use a little more kindness, and maybe by spreading the word, more good things will happen.  It’s worth a shot.

Lastly, I leave you with this.  These two happy mugs.  Another example of pre-cellphone camera selfie to put a little smile on your face.  I’ll always remember the joy they shared, and that which they spread.  Like I said last time; love the ones you’re with and live each moment as if it were your last.  Now go be kind to someone, please.

Peace

Posted on

Immortality

I just got back yesterday, after a mad dash to Illinois and back.  Diane’s Mom passed away last week and the funeral was Tuesday.  Last minute airfare being what it is *hint- ridiculously expensive* the only choice was to make the drive.  So I left central North Carolina around 5:00 Monday morning and drove to the Greater Elgin area, paid my respects Tuesday to a truly lovely woman, and started making my way back Tuesday afternoon.

I have thoughts and comments about the driving portion of my week thus far, but before I bury the lede and wreak literary havoc upon the drivers sharing the road with me, I need to say a few words about my Mother-In-Law.

If you know any of us either IRL or at least on social media, you’ve probably seen the outpouring of emotions in describing what Laurelle meant to my kids and grandkids.  They all did a wonderful job painting the picture of what she meant to us and I’m not sure I can say anything that hasn’t already been said.  But I’m about to give it a shot.

I used the word “lovely” in the opening paragraph and I meant it.  From the start, Laurelle was exactly that.  She welcomed me, my kids, and grandkids into her family unhesitatingly and I don’t believe the word “step” was in her vocabulary. We were all part of her family and that was that.  And so much more.  She was, quite possibly, the only person that loved poor puns as much as I do and she threw them out with great flair and regularity.  She was not afraid to laugh at her own puns too and that just added to the enjoyment.  She enjoyed teasing, about any number of things, those she cared about and was always gracious on the receiving end when that time came.  She was a large, probably the largest, part of the sense of humor that endeared Diane (and her siblings) to me and even though their eyes weren’t a color match, they shared the same spark of pure joy that was visible from across a crowded room.  I have many fond memories of practical jokes played back and forth between Laurelle and Caitlin.  Like Caitlin hiding in a laundry hamper and jumping out at the last minute to startle her Grandma.  Or a long running gag that involved one of them being called “dumb” and the other being called “stupid”.

But Laurelle was so much more than just a comedienne.  She was, without question, the most devout person I’ve ever met.  Granted, I don’t spend a lot of time hanging around people of great faith, but I’d match her devotion to her faith with anyone, anytime, anywhere.  And while I didn’t share her views on everything, I always respected them, keeping my cynicism and skepticism at bay.  Whenever we met in the time I spent with the pirate and in the time since, she would always tell me she prayed for my happiness.  It always meant a lot to me (still does and always will btw) because I recognized the place it was coming from.  Absolute sincerity.  And the fact that, no matter what may have been going on in her life, she found the time to consider me and my emotional well-being in her private moments with her Maker was not something to be taken casually.

The service was much like any other, in the way that it was a chance to see old friends and family members and it’s an opportunity to be cherished even as we mourn the passing.  I saw one of Diane’s besties, Lorraine, for the first time in many years and she and I shared a couple laughs from the past as we caught up.  I also saw a few nieces and nephews that I hadn’t seen in a while and the changes over the years ranged from multiple (adorable) kids, to venturing out on new careers, to facial hair.  Nephews only on the facial hair part.  Just sayin’

One last thing about this week.  I don’t know if any of you share this, but I feel like it’s probably pretty common, so…

They make me flash back on final services for others I’ve either attended or been a part of.  Also, funerals tend to make me look at my own mortality.  And I spent a lot of time thinking about my own shuffle off this mortal coil.  Oftentimes there are things we know we should do, but for one reason or another, procrastination kicks in and we leave them undone.  Wills, for instance.  I know I should have one… but… yeah… you see… it’s like this… I don’t.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to me or my stuff after the fact.  So I sat down at the keyboard the other night and emailed a few thoughts to the progeny (which, btw, sounds so much better than “fruit of my loins” don’t you think?) to try to get some stuff right.  For example, I want to donate not just my organs, but my entire body.  I’m sure I’d make for an interesting trip around the cadaver lab at a medical school somewhere.  “Jesus, how did this guy live THIS long?” or something.  I want my memorial service to be light-hearted.  Or, at least as light-hearted as funerals can be, you know?  Tell stories of stupid shit I did and leave people laughing.  If you’re going to shed tears at my passing, I’d much rather they be tears of laughter.  I don’t know what awaits me (see my faith comments above) but I’m comfortable in the belief that whatever or wherever it may be, I’ve lived a great life.  I’ve experienced more love and joy than I was probably entitled to, so I’ll ask no questions when it’s time and gladly take what I’ve been given.

Nothing profound as I close, rather the familiar.  Love the ones you’re with and live each moment as if it was your last.

One day, for each of us, it will be.

Peace