His presence filled our house,
His absence overwhelms our home.
Friday nights are hard. The last three weeks have been loaded with distractions. I've been swimming up stream attempting to be where I should be. On Wednesday I felt a feather light brush of air swipe my face inside of the house. Strong enough to know it was moving air, the gust tailed out to a faint whisper. Where the air came from I didn't pause to consider. The puff lit a thought of Aaron.
Where did he come from, why did he go? He was so here and now he is so far gone.
"Run like the wind, Air Bear!" The world as we live it stopped at the moment I felt the brush, and my mind replayed those memories people say "at least you have". The memories of my young son saying in a too husky voice "Doin' Dad? Goin ta woahk?" or the tall, strong young man trying to get a start in life saying in resigned disbelief, "Man Dad, I can't believe I can't get hired at Milios".
The gentle touch of those memories can knock me down. Memories of Patrick's younger days bring smiles, laughs and end in content comfort. Memories of Aaron who I can't hug, bring comfort, smiles, and laughs until they end in the ache pounding in my head, chest, and eyes. Pressure releases through tears and I move away from my memories. They are air.
From where the wind comes and goes, no man knows.
Remembering,
Tom
Friday, January 26, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
Nights of Wonder
Sleepless nights were part of the life of being Aaron's mom and dad. May 5, 1987 and January 22, 2005 are two exact dates we will always remember. Both nights preceded Aaron's arrival; May 5th, his first and January 22nd, his last.
Cathy and I were 27 years old and soon to be first time parents. All of the excitement of anticipation vanished around 5:00 pm on May 5th, 1987. We ate dinner at a restaurant in somber silence. Maybe one of us was afraid of the impending delivery, and one of us might have been fearing the imposition of a shorty. I can't say who feared what, but we both knew with the end of Aaron's 9 month and a couple of week extended stay in the cozy confines of his mother's womb, our days of independence were OVER.
Two years ago tonight our Aaron was coming home again. This time a full grown 6'-2" 185 lb young man was entering our world of peace and harmony courtesy of Northwest Airlines after a 13 month stay in the cozy confines of Mount Bachelor Academy, Prineville, OR. This time Air Bear was 7 weeks early. He was expected to finish MBA in March. I was ready for a March arrival.
Cathy and I went to sleep worrying about the furture and the future was tomorrow. Cathy was the first to wake up on the 23rd. She had a brilliant moment of clarity and Cathy was excited to share her awareness with me: We were fearing the future, thinking about the past, and forgetting about the present. Trepidation was conceived by living in everywhere but the present. We needed to live in the moment; be glad our son was coming home. Be grateful he had a year of beautiful growth and learning. Be happy his brother was getting his brother back. Be present for Aaron and Patrick. Be in the present with our thoughts. Savor the moment.
I remember how bright the morning was that day two years ago. The afternoon came soon enough and Cathy and I went to the airport to meet our big boy. Patrick took a baby sitting job at the neighbors. Aaron arrived, on time or not, I don't recall. He did have less luggage than I expected. "We'll have to go back to get the rest Dad, this is all I could pack." His bags were full of souviner dirty underwear and socks from friends he left behind. They sent some of their most personal belongings along with him. Of course, Aaron had no room for my Pentax SLR camera I loaned, the favorite books I shared, or his better clothes we bought. I understood he couldn't carry his snow board, boots, or ski jacket. OK, we'll go back to pick those things up in the spring.
Cathy's moment of zen gave us just what we needed to feel the way parents should feel; the way parents should greet their children. We joked about the prodigal son returning home. Aaron wanted no fan fare. He was glad to be home. Right away he walked across the street to see his brother. I think the little boys Patrick was in charge of were surprised by this jean jacket, moccassin wearing, shaggy haired guy with a strange accent coming into their home.
Within a couple of hours, Patrick and Aaron walked into our house through the front door. Neither a shorty anymore, both boys held an admiration for the other. Our boys were home. We were in the present and life was good.
Aaron would say---Peace and Love.
Sleep in peace
Tom
Cathy and I were 27 years old and soon to be first time parents. All of the excitement of anticipation vanished around 5:00 pm on May 5th, 1987. We ate dinner at a restaurant in somber silence. Maybe one of us was afraid of the impending delivery, and one of us might have been fearing the imposition of a shorty. I can't say who feared what, but we both knew with the end of Aaron's 9 month and a couple of week extended stay in the cozy confines of his mother's womb, our days of independence were OVER.
Two years ago tonight our Aaron was coming home again. This time a full grown 6'-2" 185 lb young man was entering our world of peace and harmony courtesy of Northwest Airlines after a 13 month stay in the cozy confines of Mount Bachelor Academy, Prineville, OR. This time Air Bear was 7 weeks early. He was expected to finish MBA in March. I was ready for a March arrival.
Cathy and I went to sleep worrying about the furture and the future was tomorrow. Cathy was the first to wake up on the 23rd. She had a brilliant moment of clarity and Cathy was excited to share her awareness with me: We were fearing the future, thinking about the past, and forgetting about the present. Trepidation was conceived by living in everywhere but the present. We needed to live in the moment; be glad our son was coming home. Be grateful he had a year of beautiful growth and learning. Be happy his brother was getting his brother back. Be present for Aaron and Patrick. Be in the present with our thoughts. Savor the moment.
I remember how bright the morning was that day two years ago. The afternoon came soon enough and Cathy and I went to the airport to meet our big boy. Patrick took a baby sitting job at the neighbors. Aaron arrived, on time or not, I don't recall. He did have less luggage than I expected. "We'll have to go back to get the rest Dad, this is all I could pack." His bags were full of souviner dirty underwear and socks from friends he left behind. They sent some of their most personal belongings along with him. Of course, Aaron had no room for my Pentax SLR camera I loaned, the favorite books I shared, or his better clothes we bought. I understood he couldn't carry his snow board, boots, or ski jacket. OK, we'll go back to pick those things up in the spring.
Cathy's moment of zen gave us just what we needed to feel the way parents should feel; the way parents should greet their children. We joked about the prodigal son returning home. Aaron wanted no fan fare. He was glad to be home. Right away he walked across the street to see his brother. I think the little boys Patrick was in charge of were surprised by this jean jacket, moccassin wearing, shaggy haired guy with a strange accent coming into their home.
Within a couple of hours, Patrick and Aaron walked into our house through the front door. Neither a shorty anymore, both boys held an admiration for the other. Our boys were home. We were in the present and life was good.
Aaron would say---Peace and Love.
Sleep in peace
Tom
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Half Acre
Cathy and I bought a house in 1991 and acquired a wonderland. Our little half acre has: two football fields, a 112 tree forest, a coaches-pitch diamond, a ghost in the graveyard, a play-ground, a basketball court, a mountain, a jungle, a mud-hole. A pit, a swamp, a river, an ocean, a tower, a fort, a hideout, a dirt bike track, a daredevil jump, a ski-hill; this place is an overall land of a million adventures.
Tonight I was roaming the land with Doc, our goofy Chesapeake. First he ran around with one of Patrick's old basketballs and then he traded it for one of Aaron's old rubber footballs. Aaron and I played seasons of football in the front yard stadium--the south endzone was Patrick's coach-pitch field. Tonight I tossed the football and Doc was my receiver instead of Aaron. How the boys managed to play all those years without running head first into a tree I don't know. A twinge of sadness struck me so I left Doc with the football and made my way to the back yard.
Going down suicide hill I came to the North football field. I was standing in one endzone looking toward the other when I noticed the swing set. Aaron referred to swing sets and sandboxes as "Playgrounds" as in "Look Mom, they have kids- see their play ground!" Aaron and Patricks playground has toys in the sandbox and swings adjusted to the height of Patrick--closer to the ground, and Aaron--several notches higher. The rings are adjusted many notches higher so that they would have to jump up and could keep their feet off the ground.
The tear jerker for me tonight was the stairs Aaron and I nailed to the tree in 1996 when we built the tree house. Actually the house was more of a platform eight feet off the ground surrounded by flimsy railings. We built it against Cathy's wishes with the promise that "nothing was going to happen". We tore it down in the fall on '97 after Kristopher was killed at age 15. Innocence died that fall. The steps are still there. The nails little Aaron hammered crooked are still there and they remind me of what's gone: his determination for adventure-never perfect but effective.
Tonight I leaned against the Cherry tree and felt the scars I inflicted on it. May 11, '05, I took an axe to that Cherry tree and told God I was going to take down his tree because he took my son. I left the tree bruised and battered. It stood, I fell. Which of us was hurt the worst? Touching the deep scars I could feel where the axe chunked out pieces of bark and wood. The jagged edges are as sharp today as when I my pain was so fresh a 20 months ago.
Crying is good. Doc must have known I could use a pal. He came running to me from the basketball court. Doc jumped off the cliff, ran across the ocean and skidded to a stop by my feet. The next thing he did was something new. Doc tried to go up the slide to the top of the tower. Once, twice, three times he tried to go up the slippery slope; each time he slid down butt first to the ground. His determination turned my sobs into laughs. I gave him a boost and Doc made it up the ladder side to the platform from where Hook captained his ship on the high seas. Doc jumped disembarked the ship the only way any salty dog worth his weight in buried treasure would--he jumped.
I'd seen the boys climb up the slide side enough to know it could be done, so I showed Doc the way. He attacked the challenge and continued to end up on his backside. Once more I gave the boy a hand and Doc was again perched high atop the ship. Having seen me slide down the silver slope, Doc gave it a try himself. This time he planted himself nose first into ground a came up with a muzzle full of white, cold snow. A slow learner or a glutton for punishment he gave going up the slide side more tries on his own.
Patrick turns 16 on Wednesday. He takes his driving test this week. This summer I will take the play-ground apart and give it to somebody for their children's adventures.
Tom
Tonight I was roaming the land with Doc, our goofy Chesapeake. First he ran around with one of Patrick's old basketballs and then he traded it for one of Aaron's old rubber footballs. Aaron and I played seasons of football in the front yard stadium--the south endzone was Patrick's coach-pitch field. Tonight I tossed the football and Doc was my receiver instead of Aaron. How the boys managed to play all those years without running head first into a tree I don't know. A twinge of sadness struck me so I left Doc with the football and made my way to the back yard.
Going down suicide hill I came to the North football field. I was standing in one endzone looking toward the other when I noticed the swing set. Aaron referred to swing sets and sandboxes as "Playgrounds" as in "Look Mom, they have kids- see their play ground!" Aaron and Patricks playground has toys in the sandbox and swings adjusted to the height of Patrick--closer to the ground, and Aaron--several notches higher. The rings are adjusted many notches higher so that they would have to jump up and could keep their feet off the ground.
The tear jerker for me tonight was the stairs Aaron and I nailed to the tree in 1996 when we built the tree house. Actually the house was more of a platform eight feet off the ground surrounded by flimsy railings. We built it against Cathy's wishes with the promise that "nothing was going to happen". We tore it down in the fall on '97 after Kristopher was killed at age 15. Innocence died that fall. The steps are still there. The nails little Aaron hammered crooked are still there and they remind me of what's gone: his determination for adventure-never perfect but effective.
Tonight I leaned against the Cherry tree and felt the scars I inflicted on it. May 11, '05, I took an axe to that Cherry tree and told God I was going to take down his tree because he took my son. I left the tree bruised and battered. It stood, I fell. Which of us was hurt the worst? Touching the deep scars I could feel where the axe chunked out pieces of bark and wood. The jagged edges are as sharp today as when I my pain was so fresh a 20 months ago.
Crying is good. Doc must have known I could use a pal. He came running to me from the basketball court. Doc jumped off the cliff, ran across the ocean and skidded to a stop by my feet. The next thing he did was something new. Doc tried to go up the slide to the top of the tower. Once, twice, three times he tried to go up the slippery slope; each time he slid down butt first to the ground. His determination turned my sobs into laughs. I gave him a boost and Doc made it up the ladder side to the platform from where Hook captained his ship on the high seas. Doc jumped disembarked the ship the only way any salty dog worth his weight in buried treasure would--he jumped.
I'd seen the boys climb up the slide side enough to know it could be done, so I showed Doc the way. He attacked the challenge and continued to end up on his backside. Once more I gave the boy a hand and Doc was again perched high atop the ship. Having seen me slide down the silver slope, Doc gave it a try himself. This time he planted himself nose first into ground a came up with a muzzle full of white, cold snow. A slow learner or a glutton for punishment he gave going up the slide side more tries on his own.
Patrick turns 16 on Wednesday. He takes his driving test this week. This summer I will take the play-ground apart and give it to somebody for their children's adventures.
Tom
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Snow Daze
These winter days without snow don't bother me, in fact I am content not shoveling snow more than I enjoy watching Cathy not shoveling snow.
I've picked up a few sno-blowers over the year from clients who were moving to warmer clients or smaller driveways. Every Dad probably looks forward to handing the job over to the younger generation and I was no exception. Aaron felt good about getting the keys to the sno-blowers. He didn't object to shoveling provided he could shovel with the sno-blower. Fine grading the "finished" work was left to Cathy. Aaron did the job to my level of satisifaction--Blow it off the driveway and walk and let the sun do the rest. Cathy, a perfectionist, would scrape the chunks.
When Aaron was away at MBA in the winter of '04, Patrick stepped up and took over. I don't think he liked being covered head to toe in blown-snow the way Aaron did, "That's a good look, Frosty", but he did the work with the enthusiasm of a young boy with keys to any machine.
Our winters are mild as far as snow goes and that's not a good thing for two boys who live winters for a----Snow Day!!!! YESSS!!! Nothing gave our boys morning energy like a Snow Day. ......DEFOREST SCHOOLS CLOSED..... The DeForest School Superintendent's approval rating would sky rocket--- Thank you, Thank you!!! I take back all the bad things I said about you!!!! Hot chocolate and marshmellows, Peanut butter and Jelly, fresh baked cookies, were the foods of choice. Cathy was at her best in the worst weather. Snow forts, snow-men, (later some anatomically correct sno-women) and sno-angels filled our yard. Aaron and Patrick went through the usual dozens of mittens in a typical snow day. Lots of boots full of snow and frozen snow cling-ons made their way into Cathy's kitchen. How this house was built without a mud-room was never more on our minds than in those days.
In January '05 Aaron was 17 and home with time to take on the snow-blowing job again. A good sized storm filled our yard and driveway with deep, wet snow one night. In the morning, Cathy and I went someplace, leaving Aaron home alone. Aaron was used to lots of snow in Oregon, but he was not comfortable with the cold of a Wisconsin winter. Eager to get back to helping around the house, Aaron called to ask me for a refresher on starting the sno-blower. I guided him through and I heard the engine fire up.
Cathy and I finished our errands and returned home to a perfectly SHOVELED driveway. Right down to the asphalt and concrete--just the way Cathy liked it. Aaron was lounging on the couch. "Hey. I thought you were going to use the sno-blower?" I asked. "Somethings wrong with it. Oil was leaking all over the place." Really? "Yeah, it worked for a while and then it started to make a loud noise, smoke was pouring out and then it quit. Oil all over the place." was Aaron's explanation.
I looked at the machine and noticed the oil, a crack in the metal, and the shifter in 5th gear. Aaron had a knack for breaking things through good intentions. I knew Aaron was back.
Our driveway has not seen a sno-blower since that day. The few snows have been hand shoveled by a combination of Cathy, Patrick, and me since. ( I should qualify that, Mr. Bradley probably cleared our driveway in a big snow.) The broken sno-blower was given away to someone who might be able to repair it. I never wanted to use it againa nd didn't want to see the crack which would be too much of a connection to Aaron.
I did purchase another old sno-blower from a client who moved to a bigger driveway. That sno-blower sits idle. A little piece of insurance. I'm OK with that.
On a sunny 33 degree January Sunday morning--no snow in sight,
Tom
I've picked up a few sno-blowers over the year from clients who were moving to warmer clients or smaller driveways. Every Dad probably looks forward to handing the job over to the younger generation and I was no exception. Aaron felt good about getting the keys to the sno-blowers. He didn't object to shoveling provided he could shovel with the sno-blower. Fine grading the "finished" work was left to Cathy. Aaron did the job to my level of satisifaction--Blow it off the driveway and walk and let the sun do the rest. Cathy, a perfectionist, would scrape the chunks.
When Aaron was away at MBA in the winter of '04, Patrick stepped up and took over. I don't think he liked being covered head to toe in blown-snow the way Aaron did, "That's a good look, Frosty", but he did the work with the enthusiasm of a young boy with keys to any machine.
Our winters are mild as far as snow goes and that's not a good thing for two boys who live winters for a----Snow Day!!!! YESSS!!! Nothing gave our boys morning energy like a Snow Day. ......DEFOREST SCHOOLS CLOSED..... The DeForest School Superintendent's approval rating would sky rocket--- Thank you, Thank you!!! I take back all the bad things I said about you!!!! Hot chocolate and marshmellows, Peanut butter and Jelly, fresh baked cookies, were the foods of choice. Cathy was at her best in the worst weather. Snow forts, snow-men, (later some anatomically correct sno-women) and sno-angels filled our yard. Aaron and Patrick went through the usual dozens of mittens in a typical snow day. Lots of boots full of snow and frozen snow cling-ons made their way into Cathy's kitchen. How this house was built without a mud-room was never more on our minds than in those days.
In January '05 Aaron was 17 and home with time to take on the snow-blowing job again. A good sized storm filled our yard and driveway with deep, wet snow one night. In the morning, Cathy and I went someplace, leaving Aaron home alone. Aaron was used to lots of snow in Oregon, but he was not comfortable with the cold of a Wisconsin winter. Eager to get back to helping around the house, Aaron called to ask me for a refresher on starting the sno-blower. I guided him through and I heard the engine fire up.
Cathy and I finished our errands and returned home to a perfectly SHOVELED driveway. Right down to the asphalt and concrete--just the way Cathy liked it. Aaron was lounging on the couch. "Hey. I thought you were going to use the sno-blower?" I asked. "Somethings wrong with it. Oil was leaking all over the place." Really? "Yeah, it worked for a while and then it started to make a loud noise, smoke was pouring out and then it quit. Oil all over the place." was Aaron's explanation.
I looked at the machine and noticed the oil, a crack in the metal, and the shifter in 5th gear. Aaron had a knack for breaking things through good intentions. I knew Aaron was back.
Our driveway has not seen a sno-blower since that day. The few snows have been hand shoveled by a combination of Cathy, Patrick, and me since. ( I should qualify that, Mr. Bradley probably cleared our driveway in a big snow.) The broken sno-blower was given away to someone who might be able to repair it. I never wanted to use it againa nd didn't want to see the crack which would be too much of a connection to Aaron.
I did purchase another old sno-blower from a client who moved to a bigger driveway. That sno-blower sits idle. A little piece of insurance. I'm OK with that.
On a sunny 33 degree January Sunday morning--no snow in sight,
Tom
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Eddy and Signs from Above
Somewhere in July or August of '06 I wrote about Numbers and their significance. 15 and 29 are Aaron's football jersey numbers. The combination of these numbers made up most of Aaron's passwords and significant codes. His cell phone was 772-1529.
Today I heard from a Mom who's son Eddy attended UW Madison. You probably remember Eddy. He came down with Meningitis and died terribly quick--I believe his mom, Gail, wrote "in 16 hours".
The smiling young man was a statistician for his brother Brett's football teams. I didn't tell Gail this but Aaron was never a numbers guy. A favorite saying between he and I was "Two plus two? Don't know, don't care." When the lunch money ran out, Patrick took the check in to the school. When they went anywhere together, Patrick 12, would pay otherwise everything would cost $20.00 and--- no change back. (Pizza delivery people were often tipped whatever the difference of a $12.00 order -- just easier that way)
Without knowing anything about Aaron's football past or number fixations, Gail sent this picture of them in Goodtimes. My heart fluttered and my head tingled when I opened the attached photo. 15.
Well hello Aaron! I see you've made a new friend. If numbers matter in heaven, you've got the right friend! Thanks for checking in, son.
Peace to all who miss someone.
Tom
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
What Do I Want to Be?
When my first thought in response the question, "What do you want to be?" was was not a link to a certain career or occupation title, I felt I had made some spiritual growth.
Many months ago I wrote a note to Aaron which read, "Play the guitar, the world has enough business people." At the time that simple sentence was just an acknowlegement, from a Dad who was pleased with his son's contentment, that the battle was over. He should go to where he found peace and life. The long struggle had taken a toll.
Today I have one son with life ahead of him. Patrick turns sixteen in two weeks. When I think of what he will be, I pray that the only-- what he wants to "be" that matters to him does not include that what gives him a page check.
Peace
Tom
Many months ago I wrote a note to Aaron which read, "Play the guitar, the world has enough business people." At the time that simple sentence was just an acknowlegement, from a Dad who was pleased with his son's contentment, that the battle was over. He should go to where he found peace and life. The long struggle had taken a toll.
Today I have one son with life ahead of him. Patrick turns sixteen in two weeks. When I think of what he will be, I pray that the only-- what he wants to "be" that matters to him does not include that what gives him a page check.
Peace
Tom
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
Posts
