Re-do This Year With One Last Do-Over

Photo is Cathy and Aaron, Christmas day 2004.

The note on my computer says "Today is December 31, 2005". Tomorrow we start a new year. If given a choice, I'd like to start an old year. A "do-over" or "re-do" as Aaron and Patrick used to refer to second chances.

Each January 1, I wonder to myself "What big event will happen during the year?" Something will be an explanation point on the year. When the big event happens, and it always does, we know it. The it is typically something that will get it's own mention in the next printing of history books. Books will be written about it, maybe movies or HBO specials will explore the events surrounding it. The nation or world will share in understanding it.

When the it, is personal, the world goes on and a few people sit wounded by the wayside. Music continues to be written, jokes are made, inventions come to market, football games still matter to someone, and on and on. The persons who are injured watch and remember.

Today is a day of strange vibes. I wonder if it has something to do with leaving Aaron in 2005 where he will be 18 forever? Already too much has happended and Aaron would be surprised by the changes in the world he left in May.

When he was a little boy Aaron used nearly every car ride as an opportunity to frustrate his brother, mother, and father to the edge of patience and beyond. More than once I pulled over to offer him the opportunity to travel on his own to our destination. One evening in Ripon, Aaron was probably 12, I extricated him from the back seat and set him on the sidewalk. I can still see Aaron in my rear view mirror as I drove as far from him as I could...about a half of a block, stopped the car and let him back in. That was a half a block further than Cathy could tolerate. Leaving Aaron in the dark and swirling snow was not within Cathy's concept of rational parenting. Aaron was granted a do-over and he made the last mile or so to our destination with no more trouble. A little surprised that I would drive away, Aaron probably voiced his objection to my stunt. Patrick, who saw me once pour oatmeal over Aaron's head, would have been the only child detered from ever repeating one of Aaron's actions. Aaron likely thought "That was wierd, what will he do next?"

The year 2005 started with great promise and died with great sorrow too early. Can we have a do-over just this once? I'll stop the world and let you back in son. You left the world and became a memory whenI know you'd prefer to be a young man.

Living in the present; with the past tugging at my heart,

Aaron's Dad

Patrick in Aaron's World

These are photos of Aaron's world in Mount Bachelor Academy. Patrick is one of the guys for a couple of days. The difference being, he knows he's going home soon.

Looking close at these shots I notice Aaron's bulletin board included photos of his brother and significant achievement notes. On his bed is the football he was awarded for being Most Valuable Intervention participant. More than any other award, that football meant the most to Aaron. It was with him in the casket and the boys from MBA took it back to Oregon. I wonder where it resides today.

I think the middle photo is PT looking at a book in Barnes and Noble. (That was an experience) On his neck is Aaron's favored necklace. AJ gave it to PT during their brother-bonding hike and camp out. On his nose and upper lip is whipped cream.

The backpacking photo is one of our favorites. In fact, the boys took several photos of eachother during that special time and we love them all.


Tears in Tampa

On another matter, I read the news about Tony Dungy's son and the funeral today. The headline on the story reads: Tony Dungy Buries His 18 Year Old Son. Having done the same, I can still not say I know his pain but I do remember mine. My heart aches for him and the rest of the family. God, please grant this family peace, if only for moments, and compassion for themselves, in their hearts.

Peace to all who mourn losses,

Tom

A Year of Living Peacefully

Anyone who has lost a person they love, might want to read Unattended Sorrow, by Stephen Levine. Sorrow is a dangerous experience to venture into. Unfortunately, we don't get a choice to take the first step.

Cathy and I were directed to this brilliant book by a grief counselor. So much of what we think is right about mourning conflicts with attitudes we had from our earlier grief experiences and sometimes its in contrast with opinions of well intentioned others. Unattended Sorrow assures us that giving time and honor to the sorrow is healthy and right. That assurance is a comforting, warm blanket in a time when it seems this heavy chill won't leave our bodies.

Levine puts words to the page the way an artist deliberately strokes different colors to a canvas to turn an idea into a picture. Here are a few brushes from his pen:

We even find the heart to gradually meet the mercilessness of others with mercy.

We are members of the community of impermanence.

The more unexpected the wound, the longer it may take us to make peace with it.

Healing is replacing our merciless reactions with a merciful response.

In order to open our hearts to our pain, we must be willing to experience it wholeheartedly.

The less we investigate our state of helplessness, the greater the potential we have for self-destructive behavior.

Injured by the wayside... ( I especially like this one. Many days I've felt "injured by the wayside" watching the vehicles of life chase the wind. I know the life I once knew is going on, and its OK to go on without me.)

What we liked becomes uninteresting, but what we loved becomes everything.

At chapter 7, I'm just beginning to get a grasp of the author's compassion. I'm supposed to read the book slowly; one or so chapters a day, so I have to stop and pick up a different book or I'd be re-reading the book by now. I'll take the advice of one who knows best and go gently. Its that important.

Living with peace

Tom

I'll be Home for Christmas, if Only in Your Dreams

Nine years ago, probably right about now, the group photo of the six children was taken at Aunt Carol and Uncle Pete's house. Aaron, Melanie, Amanda, Patrick, Jaclyn, Kristopher.

We pulled the cousins together from their activities to take some family photos. I recall Aaron was watching Kristohper play a video game and Patrick was hanging with them. The girls were likely in and out of the game room mixing time with adults.

Aaron remembered how Kristopher let him play the game too. Aaron was a novice to the video games at the time. Patrick was a non-player I'm sure.

For each Christmas from 1997 it was difficult to imagine Kristopher was no longer with us. Eleven months after this photo was taken, Kristopher went to heaven, an innocent victim in a senseless car crash. The loss of Kristopher has been felt deeply by each of the children in this photo. Alexa was born shortly after this photo and she never got to know her biggest boy cousin, although there are photos of him with her. Noah and Alex can hear stories of Kristopher but they never had the chance to play with him. That's a big loss because, today he'd be 24 and, I'm sure, still very interested in playing with the boys.

I know that to be true because Aaron and Kristopher shared a common interest in using their imaginations. They both played with their favorite childhood toys into their mid-teens. Or, as Aaron would say when found setting up his figures "I'm just looking at them!" Christmas would be really something with 18 year old Aaron, and 24 year old Kristopher sneaking the boy's toys today. It would be a wild time. Who would be having the most fun with Noah and Alex's toys. Oh, I almost forgot, Melanie and Jaclyn have children themselves. The big boys would surely be fawning over those babies.

Patrick, Aaron and Kristopher would definitely have some sort of video game extravaganza under way. Patrick is now a full fledged video player...no sideline player any longer. (The photo of Patrick and Aaron playing video games is from Christmas Day 2004.)

If heaven's gate swung out for a day, Aaron and Kristopher would be home for Christmas Day. Tidings of comfort and joy are our gifts from heaven instead.

Kristopher John Greening and Aaron John Meyer-- Peace and all our love to you in Heaven.

Peace and Goodwill on Earth,

Tom, Cathy and Patrick Meyer along with Dave, Kathy and Amanda Greening

We Wish You a Merry Christmas

We worked on getting a Christmas card out in the mail and came up short of our objective. That's OK. The process brought us face to face with "our work".

Last Christmas Aaron was home for a one week home visit. His return flight was early on December 26th. I remember the week well.

There was a day in the week when Aaron announced he would not be on the flight back to Oregon. Cathy and I had learned plenty in the year and I'm glad to be able to say we did not overreact. In fact, our response was a united reply telling Aaron the choice was his. "You mean you're not going to make me go back to Mount Bachelor?" He asked. "How could we make you get on the plane?" Was my answer. Aaron having a good enough memory of December 2, 2003 replied "Same way you did last year, hire those sheriff deputy escorts." Money's gone, I told him. If Aaron was going back to complete his work, he was going voluntarily. If not, he was going to have to figure out his plans to finish school here.

One day he was staying here, the next he was going back to Oregon. I was not sure what he was going to do on the day after Christmas until the moment arrived. Aaron went back to MBA with confidence.

But, before he left, Aaron changed our family in a way that would not have been possible without the emotional and spiritual growth work he did for himself in the prior 13 months. What I didn't know before Aaron came home was that in order to change our family dynamics and the relationship we had with Aaron, I needed to change too. Cathy needed to change. Patrick needed to change. Aaron sent me off on a path of growth I never would have done unless he had the courage to speak to me honestly. What a gift.

We all remember Aaron saying to us at one time or another "You know what your work is." I know he heard that ALOT at Mount Bachelor. Today we remind eachother and ourselves to "keep on keepin' on" as Aaron wrote, with the phrase: What's your/our work?

To know our work is to face our challenge and take action. Sometimes that action is to be weak. In being weak we accept God's tenderness and compassion. The three of us do our grief work every moment of every day. When we face the sorrow of Aaron's death we honor that sorrow. We choose to give sorrow it's time now. We know grief has no time or season. It is what it is and we can not change, slow, redirect or eliminate it. We must honor it.

We are convinced, there is no other way to healing and growth. The option of denying the sorrow is a sure path to deeper hurt and imprisonment of our souls. To help us accept this truth, our counselors suggest a brilliant book: Unattended Sorrow, by Stephen Levine. It's being well read in our home.

As a family, we can say with gratitude, we are honoring sorrow and growing in peace.

This December is a blessed Christmas season for the three of us. We have an abundance of gratitude for you and appreciate your prayers and well wishes.

(The picture of Patrick and Aaron from Christmas years ago is one of our favorites. After many, many photos, Aaron was at the end of his patience. Patrick, who had the patience of a saint back then, followed his brother's lead. The look says it all. No more smiles!")
Merry Christmas to you. And, Peace on earth. With smiles.

Tom, Cathy, Patrick and the spirit of Aaron

Leaving Aaron

In August 2004, eight months and a few days before we said goodbye forever, we returned Aaron to Mount Bachelor Academy after a fabulous family weekend. Aaron did not like long goodbyes and he was ready to return to campus earlier than expected. With a bag of dirty clothes, a collection of new books, and a few extra clothes for the fall, Aaron said his goodbye and walked back to check-in.

The drive down to Bend from the hills outside of Prineville, OR was quiet. We stopped at a roadside viewing site to look back toward Prineville and the hills where Aaron called home.

Looking at the photos today I see we were reflecting. For years we had Aaron as a complex, funny, serious, creative, carefree, athletic, and playful boy. In less than 9 months in 2003 we lost him. By August 2004 we had Aaron back. From 8/19-23, Patrick experienced a real brother-brother relationship. I think he was somewhat astounded by the experience...he finally had a brother who could be a big brother. Cathy had her son back. They shared laughs, hugs, tears, and honest conversation. She was seeing her boys be friends and brothers.

My son was safe, articulate, and honest about his insecurities. He was full of a wealth of knowledge about behavior and led us to understand some family dynamic changes we could make. We all saw Aaron was showing a confidence in his self that we had not seen for some time. His mentor told us "No young man has walked onto campus with more integrity than Aaron." We all wished he accepted that assessment as much as we all knew it was true.

On the ride home, I was being "The Dad". Confident, stoic, sure of my actions. Looking through the lens of the camera at Cathy and Patrick reflecting on what they were leaving behind in a son and brother, I thought this might be as hard as it gets for them. In May, 2005 I found out I was wrong. Very wrong.

Wishing I could go back to Prineville and bring Aaron home,

Tom

Gratitude for People Who Inspire

The picture to the left is Patrick, Aaron, and Dave Johnson, Aaron's mentor at Mount Bachelor Academy. He's sending Aaron and Patrick out on an overnight hike and camp out. Dave's giving the boys "their work". The result was the beginning of absolute success in building an unbreakable bond of brotherhood.


Cathy and I took a walk today before picking out a Christmas tree this afternoon. The crisp, clear day is refreshing. Twenty four degrees feels comfortable. On the last day of fall, we've adjusted to winter. Its easier to adjust to winter with the right equipment: jacket, hat, boots, and mittens.

Walking in the squeaking snow, Cathy and I talked about our feelings. The same way you can be comfortable in cold weather, our hearts are warm in deep sorrow. We are sincerely grateful for compassion and tenderness; ours, Patricks, and others.

We picked up our tree from Capaul's Tree Farm. Aaron was a student in Mr. Capaul's English class at DeForest High School and did some work on the tree farm a few summers ago. Once Aaron and his friend Erik did a "persuasion speach" presentation for Mr. Capaul's class. I think they created a classic, teenage boys creative approach to a simple assingment. The Persuasive Speaking presentation these guys made was sort of a How-To video on getting phone numbers of girls. I never saw the video, but I recall they went to East Towne Mall and video taped their efforts. Cathy remembers she thought the idea was inapropriate. A note Aaron left, and Cathy cherishes, says the teacher approved. "...P.S. Mr. Capaul LOVED the persuasion speach!!"

Teachers like Mr. Capaul inspired Aaron to write, speak, and use his creativity. I'm grateful for all the people, (and there are many from here to Oregon and Idaho) whom Aaron met and who brought out his best character. Memories of their gifts to our son are so comfortable to our hearts and minds. These kind of memories are the right equipment to wear in the long season of mourning.

Living a Blessed Christmas Season,

Tom

Christmas Card on the Drawing Board

Mailing our annual Christmas card to friends and family is a challenging project this year. Today is a week from Christmas. Cathy, Patrick, and I started the job this afternoon.

Cathy competes with Hallmark from her private hobby room (Patrick's and then Aaron's former bedroom). The room is stacked with clever and cute card making stamps and tools; a favorite place for the nieces when they visit. We've got the tools. For several years, Cathy has made our Christmas cards and she usually includes a photo of the boys. Before digital, we'd take 24 or more pictures to hopefully get one. Aaron's patience was good for about 2 or 3 flashes and then he would begin to object. Patrick would do whatever his Mom asked...until Aaron went overboard. At that point, Patrick would side with Aaron and begin to show his displeasure with the process--just like big brother, but with the same degree of commitment.

Weeks ago we talked about a card idea. Now we better get busy on the creation or the cards won't go out in time for delivery by Friday. The effort is bound to be stop and go. The happy/funny memories are interrupted by sad realities. In this first year of mourning, we are not experienced enough to know or in shape enough to go too long. I read an insightful account from a man who lost his fiance to a car crash: We're new at this grieving thing, we'll learn as we go.

In our card, which I expect to post, I hope people sense our gratitude and recognize some spiritual growth. We had a life changing choice presented to us this year. The choice was to grow or regress; Good or evil. I know we each accepted growth.

The three of us are missing Aaron. We've never depended on eachother more. We've never been closer, we've never searched deeper into our souls or further into heaven.

Living the Spirit of Christmas in Memory of Aaron -

Tom, Cathy, and Patrick

Patrick at 14

In one month Patrick will turn 15. Seven months ago PT was a little brother. In an instant on May 10, 2005 he became a young man.

What we've seen of Patrick's growth in seven months has been a blessing. In the shadow of Aaron, Patrick was well grounded. I always felt he knew his place and at the same time was confident to express his integrity based opinions to us and to his brother. As a young teenager I'm sure many ideas and beliefs are fractioned; you know something feels right, you just don't know exactly why. Patrick didn't struggle, he did his best to make sense of what he believed.

Outside of Aaron's shadow, Patrick picked up the baton of the oldest son and is growing beautifully. Physically, Patrick went from being a squirt at about 5'-3" in May to a shade under 5'-11" in November. If we include the mop of hair he may be a solid 6 feet. Emotionally Patrick has the heart of his Mom. Closing in on 15, Patrick is as considerate and loving as he was at 5 years old. Like Aaron, PT loves being with his Mom. Unlike Aaron, Patrick is more selective about his attire and that's the way he has ALWAYS been.

I have many everlasting impressions of my young son. Three involve the times I delivered heart breaking news. The first was the morning of November 2, 1997. Patrick was six. All night Cathy waited for me to return from Iowa so we could be together to tell the boys that their big boy cousin Kristopher had died. We woke the boys at 7:00 am. After hearing the news, Aaron went to take a shower and cry by himself. Patrick sat on the bed with Cathy. His bare feet hung down a good foot or more from the floor. PT's head was down and he was sobbing "I'll never get to play basketball with Kristopher again." Cathy had her arm around him. Giant tears were falling from his eyes to his cheeks and on. I was kneeling in front of Patrick when I saw this tear fall straight from his eye and splash on his right foot. Those are tears of grief. They actually splash like rain drops. Like rain they have a way of cleansing.

On May 10th this year I walked into the middle school. Patrick was pulled out of school and waiting for me in the school office. I walked in and Patrick looked at me, "What'd I do?" he asked with a chuckle.

Later that evening after a person in the coroner's office had jumped to a erroneous conclusion and had me thinking Aaron's death was not accidental, I sat down to explain to Patrick what I was coming to believe. "What are you trying to say, Dad? That's bull----. Aaron didn't do this on purpose. I know Aaron." Patrick jolted me and cleared my mind. Integrity, honesty, and loyalty to the truth and his brother kept Patrick open to search for the truth of his brother's death. At that moment we started to look closer at the facts and eventually discovered the truth. Sure, it was too late to stop rumors, but in time for our family to have peace.

Last night we had a loving family discussion about the Christmas season. We all agree this is the most Christmas of Christmas for us. The spirit of peace and caring has never been more full in the three of us. The calm and honesty Patrick has when sharing his feelings, gives Cathy and me peace. It's not within my vocabulary to completely express our desire and fears for Patrick's health and well being. To hear him share, grieve, laugh, reflect on his life, his brother, his family, his friends reveals God's compassion. Surely I know that if things were different with PT it would not be God's fault. But, we see that Patrick is open to God's will, whether he says it or not, and therein is God.

At Aaron's funeral, when people thought they would need to support Patrick, he was the one who comforted them. People who thought they could handle what they were about to experience told me how they broke down. It was Patrick who reached out his hand and held people close until they could compose. Father Mike shared with us what he saw in the church that night: God was in Patrick. Patrick was God.

When we pray for God to give us things (the way we ask Santa for a new basketball or money for a vacation) we are often dissapointed. When we ask God for strength to show mercy and compassion, our prayers are answered. Patrick was open to God's will from the start of this journey in May. He never closes his heart.

Patrick is our true blessing this Christmas season. We thank God for his spirit and honesty. We lost a son this year to heaven. We gained a son with heaven's blessings in his soul. That gift does not come with a ribbon, but it is well wrapped.

Peace and Merry Christmas

Tom

Photographs and Memories

The week was good but now I feel tears building. Nothing good comes from fighting emotions. We have almost no photos of Aaron from 2005. Here are a few from the summer and fall of 2004.

Peace
Tom

Man, Grief is a Journey

Robert J. Miller is the author of a fine book on healthy male grieving; Grief Quest, Men Coping with Loss. I read the book once in late summer. When I took it off the shelf two days ago, I was intending to loan it to a friend. Maybe I will order a copy for him. The last chapters address cultivating an attitude of integrity, re-evaluation of priorities, openness and honesty. My attention is deep into these topics right now.

I can speak for myself when I say a man's integrity takes a beating in the grief process. Most everything I thought I learned about being strong, masculine, confident, resilient was proven to be counter productive in my experiences with grief. This latest loss, the one more painful than all others combined, is the one time I gave in to the pain and admitted it was more than I could handle alone.

In 1975 I was 16 when my father died. "Be strong and move-on" was the wisdom of the day and I tried to be a poster child for strong, father-less kids. What I developed into was a callous, cynical, resentful, pitiful young man. No one had a pain that was greater than mine. "Too bad for you" was the best I came to offering compassion.

In 1997 my first nephew, the boy I long wanted to be part of our family, was killed at age 15. A victim of a reckless act, Kristopher was killed in a one car crash as a passanger in a car where three of the four walked away with minor injuries. My reaction was to Fix IT. What IT was I don't know, but by God I would do what ever I could to find the fix; even if that required bearing the grief along with my sister, her husband, and their daughter. Anger and resentment made up my dominant character traits. Very masculine. I was going to fix this problem by fighting and battling something.

Fast forward to May 2005. With a few months of honest assessment of my place in the world behind me, the first thoughts I had after hearing the news of Aaron's death was: Get your attitude right. Don't strike out. Be ready to give comfort to Cathy and Patrick.

Once home I fell to my knees and prayed to God that I would be able to do this with integrity. Someone said to me: You have to be strong. I replied something like: I'm going to be weak and fall down if I feel like falling down. To me that is in fact strength. I tried the "Strong" route twice before and it didn't work.

Now I know and various books, and counselors confirmed, to be "weak" is to be honest. Honesty is strength. Strength is integrity. You never have to apologize for integrity. The standards for American males does not include showing woundedness. That may be fine for the athletic field, and battle field. But grief is not a game and it is not war. Grief has no opponent. Grief is not an opponent. You don't battle grief. You journey grief. Where and when you get on the journey is not always up to you. Where you go on the journey is. I don't know about where or when you get off; not even sure if there is an exit. The journey will change you. Cynical. Resentful. Angry. Broken. Those are choices of feelings, but not ones I will own. Borrow from time to time, OK. I'm human. But I'm not owning them.

To quote the author, "Accepting the harsh reality of the need to change...is intrinsic masculine energy at its best. It is courageous, bold, humble, honest, and stronger because of its "wounding" than it could ever have been before. "

Being strong is accepting loss. Loss of control. Loss of dominance. Loss of a loved one. Loss of one's previous priorities. Loss of old attitudes.

This is a consise statement of my attitude and it's taken from an interview by the author with Joe Bernardin, Archbishop of Chicago: I don't intend to fade from sight. I don't intend to retire. But I do intend to do the best I can during the day and be satisfied. And that's all I can do...(I will) use my experience to help others who are undergoing the same difficulties.

From an unidentified writer, this last sentence is my last motto: I desire to live usefully and walk humbly under the grace of God.

Tom

McCreary Place, North Dakota

Maybe it was February of this year when I found the McCreary Place in North Dakota on-line.
http://www.mccrearyplace.com/index.html
What I was looking for was a place for a father and son North Dakota duck hunt. Aaron was home from Mount Bachelor Academy and the winter had run its course as far as I was concerned. Time to start thinking about fall. Aaron had heard many stories of duck hunts he had missed out on while away, and while occupied with high school football in other years.

The owner, Fred Sauby, had returned my call and gave me vivid descriptions about what to expect on his 1700 acre ranch. The refurbished farm house and land photos had my attention. Our conversation about the value of a father and son getaway had me eager to commit. Aaron agreed to be in...although he wasn't sure where he would be traveling from (he was going to be in Oregon, NJ, Maybe TX, or CO. Possibly California). I do know Aaron told Patrick "You're going with us and you ARE going to hunt ducks." (PT is a non-hunter)

What transpired next I'm not sure. Maybe it was the Mid-March career change that caused me to tell Fred I couldn't commit. Whatever it was, I didn't book the trip. By May 10th, the first of what should have been many father son extravaganzas was a non-event.

I was flipping through my list of favorites and saw "McCreary Place". My list of favorites is in cronilogical order reading the list of sites tells a story in itself. I remembered how pleasant the owner was so I sent him an email to let him know what had happened and that I often recalled our coversation where he told me how special father and son time should be.

Today I received a call from the man I've never met. Our conversation was one of comfort and assurance. You know I couldn't pick Fred out of a two person line-up, but I feel he's known me. I'm forever amazed of the people who come into my life and make a difference. Some people can't, understandably, enter into the drama of our life at the Meyer home. Others, like firefighters into a burning building, walk right in and make a difference...even if for only a little while. I believe the common trait they share with those who save people for a living is the right equipment; Faith. My faith is strengthened by the acts of brave people. In the end, that's going to be most important.

I'm going to go to North Dakota to meet Fred and see his ranch. Cathy, Patrick, Molly and Doc will make the trip too. I think there is something at the McCreary Place we should see.
In the fall, maybe Patrick will go back with Doc and me. He doesn't have to hunt, but we do have to have father and son time.

Humbly walking,

Tom

Starting to Look Alot Like Christmas

AJ and PT 12/94

My best recall of Christmas past seems to be of little snow outside and just the right amount of lights with fun decorations inside the house.

Cathy always made sure to decorate the house with good taste... never Griswolding the light thing. I should clarify that I have never, ever strung a single exterior light. Our house never was without lights, but none were hung by me. Cathy is the decorator and she LOVED getting the house ready for holidays.


Inside, you might be appalled, we once (OK twice) went the entire Christmas season without a tree. No I'm not a Scrooge about Christmas; we travel to visit family every Christmas and for one reason or another (death of Kristopher and Aaron gone to MBA) the days of December went by too fast and we passed on the tree. I hope that was OK...our boys almost always found their Christmas presents on Christmas day under the trees of relatives.

Decorating the house and tree(s) (a few times we had more than one tree) was Cathy's special time. Looking at Christmas photographs and videos of the boys and us from years ago was fun. I'm not sure that will be the case this month. Someday again. But not now. Our hearts ache to see Aaron's smiling or frowning face and Patrick's shining eyes; he was just happy to be there.

Looking outside tonight, I see the same blue lights on the neighbor's pine tree. They shinesa beautiful color in their woods and the tree has always given all of us a sense of Christmas peace. Each of us look forward to those lights going on after Thanksgiving. Patrick and Aaron could see the tree from the room they shared. The blueish lights can be seen from our living room and from our bedroom too. I've layed awake many nights over the years wondering and worrying about silly things, looking into that blue shimmer. Across the back yard the Bradley's white lights on their raindeer glow and cast long shadows from the bare trees. Those shadows and light filled Aaron's view from his room. He felt very comfortable in his basement "suite" at Christmas time. When Aaron was young he surely appreciated the extra light for his snowy night Johnny adventures. (Someday I will write about the adventures of Johnny and his sidekick Tommy.)

Tonight the fresh snow falling on the five inches of powdery white snow from last weekend is soft. The dark sky with cold air is solid metal, and the ground is so light and pure. Fascinating, I think that's how we are feeling. The pain of missing Aaron is steely. The comfort of God's mercy is light and pure. Simultaneous opposing feelings.

It looks like Christmas. It feels nothing like any past Christmas. Definitely not a material Christmas. But, a blessed Christmas.

Peace and Goodwill,

Tom

A Child's Psychology

A good friend of mine shared a wonderful story and I'm going to pass it on. The story is true but the names might be changed, but... maybe not.

Here's my version or what I heard.

Steve, the Dad, is out of town on an overnight trip. Back home, his wife Julie is contending with the four young children on her own. The youngest, Nolan, is pushing Julie's buttons the way a four year old boy can. Steve, in the comfort of a five star hotel calls home to check in on his loving wife.

Julie tells Steve of Nolan's uncooperative, disruptive, misbehaving ways of the day. Julie laments that she has had all she can take of little Nolan. She needs a break. "You talk to him, I'm done" Julie tells Steve and she hands the phone to Nolan. "Your Dad wants to talk to you, Nolan."

Picture a four year old, blonde haired little boy sitting the toddler rule of thumb, one foot per year of age away from the TV watching Barney, or Sponge Bob Square Pants, or whatever show those tiny people watch. Knowing Nolan, he's probably fighting off the body's urge to sleep, and has the best part of his lunch on his sleeve and cheeks. He's done his best to keep up with his older siblings or ruin their activities the best he can, non-stop all day.

Steve, having the opportunity to be the good cop, (safe and sound in another zip code) and suspecting maternal rants and threats have had no affect, uses his best psychology (which he definitely could not have learned from his father). "Nolan, Mom told me about your day." The ground work's been layed. Steve's ready to mix some well intentioned guilt with a fair measure of reasoning. "I feel really bad that you were misbehaving today. Mom feels bad that you would act up when I'm away from home. I'm going to be gone until tomorrow night. It would be nice if you could be good. Nolan, it hurts me to be so far away from you and hear that you're not being a good boy." For good measure Steve tells Nolan once more, "I feel bad and sad about the way you behaved today."

Nolan, having taken in all of what Dad said about feeling bad and sad has the perfect reply to Steve. Holding the big phone in his sticky little hand, Nolan asks, "What's that got to do about me?"

Ahhh, the brilliance of a child. I will be sure to use Nolan's escape the next time I'm too close to life's drama; "What's that got to do about me?"


Thanks Nolan. I'll get lots of use out of your beautiful question.

Tom

The Wisdom of Tenderness

Reading, listening, reflecting...learning. I'm learning to live differently by growing in acceptance of God's will; a titanic concept hidden right in our soul. That, according to Brennan Manning, author of The Wisdom of Tenderness.

My book collection has grown considerably with writings by people who have traveled similar roads of sorrow. I like this little book by Manning. We have some common life experiences. One is our view of (dis) organized religion.

Manning concludes his 179 page book with a fantasy exercise where St. Paul appears in America today. After buying a lunch of a sub sandwich and a wine cooler, Paul makes a passionate plea to church leaders to return to the roots of Christianity, sacrificing growth for quality of faith. Paul challenges the Church: Where did we lose understanding that to be a Christian is always a process of becoming one? Why are Christians better able to tell one how to be one than we are to show one how to be one? What happened to tactful silence in the presence of unbelievers? Love and mercy were preached by Jesus, not success, ambiguity, and arrogance.

Some of the feelings I have struggled with since Aaron's death are, I am learning, American inspired and self-will fed feelings of failure. How was I not able to keep my son safe from danger and alive? Could I have done a better job teaching him to drive? To be careful? Did I fail to teach Aaron prudence? If I had done better, could it have made a difference? Would Aaron still be alive?

I know this day that the answer to those quandries is a gentle "it does not matter". What is is. What it could be, could have or should have been, are dreams for releasing healing tears and deep emotion. Oh, it is good to cry. Sadness is a wonderful emotion which God gave us. Maybe more wonderful than happiness, as nothing brings us closer to God than pain. Nothing makes us more merciful than pain. Manning says "There is no gentle road to tenderness. Pain is the crucible in which one is made tender". Certainly many people who have lived a tough life grow to be unmerciful, callous, and insensitive.

I believe God has questions for each of us when tragedy strikes or hard times prevail. Those questions are something like: Now that this happened what will you do? Will you choose evil or good?

On page 132 Manning writes:

Isn't failure worthwhile if it teaches us to be gentle with the failure of others, to be patient, to live in the wisdom of accepted tenderness, and to pass that tenderness on to others? If we're always successful, we may get so wrapped up in our own victories that we're insensitive to the anguish of others; we may fail to understand (or even to try to understand) the human heart; we may think of success as our due. Then later, if our little world collapses through death or disaster, we have no inner resources.

With a heavenly share of mercy to accompany my failures, I am in the process of becoming a person; a Christian. I thank God for what I have left and I pray for all Dads, Moms, siblings, cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles who have lost sons and daughters. May you open your hearts to God's mercy and find the tenderness to accept God's will for your life.

In Peace,

Tom