The consolation prize for losing a son or daughter is the memories. They come in a variety of facsimiles of life. Pictures, videos, writings, movie reels in our minds to name a few. There is a memory trigger I'd like to know a name for; it's the one where you see a person doing an activity your child once did well and your heart aches and your eyes burn.
I returned from a visit to Antigo where I spent time with family. The young kids have some features similar, naturally, to Aaron and Patrick. Facial expressions, eyes, eyebrows, ears, body language, voice inflections, skinned knees, hands, everything reminds me of my son. I see memories in all of the kids. Some make me smile or touch a tender nerve and burn my eyes.
Water skiing is something I never accomplished. Aaron's uncle Paul did. He grew up skiing and passed his interest and ability on to his children and in-laws who cared to learn. Aaron jumped at the offer as a little boy. Aaron was one of the first of the kids to be introduced to water skiing by Uncle Paul. Somebody else showed him tubing. Aaron had the right ingredients to become a good skier--a desire for excitement, no fear, strength and balance, and a good coach in his uncle. I watched him progress. Incapable of getting out of the water myself, I was proud to see my son learn to drop a ski and glide around the lake looking strong and confident on one ski. Any fall was attributed to driver error (me) never operator error (Aaron) "Dad, you slowed down too much...Dad you went to fast! Didn't you see me signal?"
Aaron's cousin Alex is a teenager now. He was 11 when Aaron died. He was nine the last time they attacked the lake together. They didn't just swim, or ski, or tube. Alex and Aaron created turmoil in the lake. Alex has grown into a strong young man and a terrific skier. Last evening I rode in the boat watching Alex.... and seeing Aaron. My heart beat hollow thumps seeing one boy where there could be two. Seeing Alex do what Aaron would want to, my eyes welled with tears behind my sunglasses.
Today I came home after three days of enjoying the neices and nephews and remembering.
The kids are special and I enjoyed them all. The memories are special and they all hurt.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
No Running. No Diving.
The only swimming pool Aaron loved more than a pool full of friends was a pool he had to himself and his brother.
Today I attended a seminar called Boys at Risk. This is the second year of the annual event. I've attended both and if I had not been Aaron's Dad, I would not be here. I'm 20 years too late to help my sons but so is the information.
Listening to the Doctors and professionals describe the findings of studies of the brains of children over the course of 30 years gives me great sadness. The enthusiasm Aaron had for going to Kindergarten and his loathing for school soon after getting the slap of reality plays over and over in my mind as the speakers describe the experiences of so many little Aaron's all over the country. I could hear Aaron objecting and me ranting. I added to the chaos of the failure and Aaron disengaged from learning. Absolutely. Why bother. I thought Aaron was unique in his lack of concern for learning.
I can't change the past, but I can affect the day. That's my mantra and I needed it today. I wanted to cry but I toughed it out for a while. Until I got to the pool.
After years of sedintary activity, I was motivated to run. First a clumsy chug part way around the block. Now I'm up to 8/10's of a mile with a fair stride from start to finish. I stayed to the end of the sessions today, changed into running shoes and shorts and hit the street. My lungs don't hurt too much and my legs aren't killing me. I finished with some pretty good swimming in a huge pool which I had to myself.
Aaron and Cathy are the best swimmers in our family. Patrick is third. I'm OK. Floating in the pool, I could see Aaron diving in. Regardless of the contortion he put his body through in the air, Aaron ripped into the water. When he would emerge, as he taught Patrick, Aaron shook his head to free his locks from the soaking water. If I tried that violent move my brain would strike the sides of my cranium and I'd black out, or my neck would snap and leave my head resting on my spine. I leave my hair plastered to my scalp which leaves me looking like Grandma Lucy getting a perm.
I had the pool to myself and my tears. It's the movie thing again. I'm here in 2007 and my eyes are seeing all the years back in time, 2004, 03, 01, 00, 99, 95, 93, 90, 89... Alone in the deep end I watched Aaron take a deep breath and slide under the water to do handstands, pick up whatever was on the bottom and emerge with a swoosh and a shake. Running were words on the floor said NO RUNNING, and diving wher someone wrote NO DIVING. ("Why Not???" Because you could get hurt. "No I won't") I thought those words were warnings, not reminders. I saw 2 year old Aaron holding my thumbs and steering us around playing motorboat. Crashing into the walls and bobbing in the water, then going full speed after Cathy. "Mom look, I'm a boat!"
So much laughter. "Again! Again! Again! " Please God, Again.
Today I attended a seminar called Boys at Risk. This is the second year of the annual event. I've attended both and if I had not been Aaron's Dad, I would not be here. I'm 20 years too late to help my sons but so is the information.
Listening to the Doctors and professionals describe the findings of studies of the brains of children over the course of 30 years gives me great sadness. The enthusiasm Aaron had for going to Kindergarten and his loathing for school soon after getting the slap of reality plays over and over in my mind as the speakers describe the experiences of so many little Aaron's all over the country. I could hear Aaron objecting and me ranting. I added to the chaos of the failure and Aaron disengaged from learning. Absolutely. Why bother. I thought Aaron was unique in his lack of concern for learning.
I can't change the past, but I can affect the day. That's my mantra and I needed it today. I wanted to cry but I toughed it out for a while. Until I got to the pool.
After years of sedintary activity, I was motivated to run. First a clumsy chug part way around the block. Now I'm up to 8/10's of a mile with a fair stride from start to finish. I stayed to the end of the sessions today, changed into running shoes and shorts and hit the street. My lungs don't hurt too much and my legs aren't killing me. I finished with some pretty good swimming in a huge pool which I had to myself.
Aaron and Cathy are the best swimmers in our family. Patrick is third. I'm OK. Floating in the pool, I could see Aaron diving in. Regardless of the contortion he put his body through in the air, Aaron ripped into the water. When he would emerge, as he taught Patrick, Aaron shook his head to free his locks from the soaking water. If I tried that violent move my brain would strike the sides of my cranium and I'd black out, or my neck would snap and leave my head resting on my spine. I leave my hair plastered to my scalp which leaves me looking like Grandma Lucy getting a perm.
I had the pool to myself and my tears. It's the movie thing again. I'm here in 2007 and my eyes are seeing all the years back in time, 2004, 03, 01, 00, 99, 95, 93, 90, 89... Alone in the deep end I watched Aaron take a deep breath and slide under the water to do handstands, pick up whatever was on the bottom and emerge with a swoosh and a shake. Running were words on the floor said NO RUNNING, and diving wher someone wrote NO DIVING. ("Why Not???" Because you could get hurt. "No I won't") I thought those words were warnings, not reminders. I saw 2 year old Aaron holding my thumbs and steering us around playing motorboat. Crashing into the walls and bobbing in the water, then going full speed after Cathy. "Mom look, I'm a boat!"
So much laughter. "Again! Again! Again! " Please God, Again.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Father's Day
A photograph always captures an instant. Sometimes that picture holds eternity.
I see the smiles, the football Aaron earned from his peers, Patrick's contentment, Aaron's playful confdence, I'm complete. The tree forms a Peace sign. August 2004.
For a guy who always wanted and never got a brother, to have two sons was a blessing I felt was overdue. God owed that to me--at least that was my honest feeling 16 years ago.
When we lost Aaron the first time, I was angry with God. Where was God when drugs entered Aaron's world. He was 16, just a boy and evil consumed our world. A year later, when this picture was taken, I was thanking God for returning my son to my side. I was not grateful for what I had learned, as I had not really paid attention to the gift.
Today I have Patrick and God has Aaron. My one arm is empty without Aaron. I feel it physically and emotionally. But to dwell on that emptiness is to reject God. God's mercy is found in grief. To acknowledge the loss, and wrap the free arm around Patrick is to honor God's mercy.
On Father's Day today, I feel the emtiness and sadness. I can feel the pain and be grateful. My empty arm will hold Patrick close and remember he too misses Aaron today.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Sirens and Waiting
Sirens scare me. Ambulances make me cry.
Squad cars turning slow around our corner hurt my chest, until the car passes.
Twice this past weekend I heard the sirens, saw the ambulances and squad cars. My heart raced and my mind shot directly to the worst scenario. I didn't worry. I feared. Patrick answered his phone. Relief. Then I worried. I worried for the family of someone I didn't want to know.
The daily news must be sirens for families of service men and women. Unavoidable, always screaming. They can't call to know their loved one is safe. I pray for them.
Do we live to go about the business of the world until tragedy strikes. Are we all victims in mourning or waiting?
Squad cars turning slow around our corner hurt my chest, until the car passes.
Twice this past weekend I heard the sirens, saw the ambulances and squad cars. My heart raced and my mind shot directly to the worst scenario. I didn't worry. I feared. Patrick answered his phone. Relief. Then I worried. I worried for the family of someone I didn't want to know.
The daily news must be sirens for families of service men and women. Unavoidable, always screaming. They can't call to know their loved one is safe. I pray for them.
Do we live to go about the business of the world until tragedy strikes. Are we all victims in mourning or waiting?
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Let It Be
Rising out of the fog I am seeing the world with me in it again. I don't feel attached to this planet as I once was. I'm a visitor and only a guest at best. I'll participate as much as is comfortable. I'll leave when asked to. Either way is OK.
People ask, "Are you excited about _______?" I'm content. It occured to me that I am never excited. Sometimes annoyed, at times happy, other times sad to deeply sad, rarely angry, but never excited. Never afraid. In my past I was always excited or worked up about something. Content is better. Even deeply sad, I am content.
I'll participate in the world, but I won't get caught up in the world again. I'll let it be.
A documentary on Tupac is on TV tonight. I caught some of it because Aaron and Patrick were into the Tupac story. I of course was judgemental and discouraged their interest. I just found myself agreeing with what I heard this man saying, "We should be teaching kids about police brutality, aparthied, poverty, slums, real life sex, drug addiction, drug wars, but instead we make the kids take Gym. We teach kids to play volleyball." The interview I was watching was of a 17 year old Tupac. He grew up in the ghettos. I should listen to my kids. They were reading about Tupac, not Bill Clinton or George W. Bush. I was lucky and I didn't know it.
What is more imporant in Iraq and Afghanistan than the lives of American men and women?
Why are American soldiers tried as criminals for killing out of revenge and anger when the President and leaders of this country are still in office after starting war out of revenge and anger?
I don't remeber reading any stories in the last twenty years about people in Iraq wanting democracy.
Dads and sons playing catch or pitch and hit in the parks always catch my eye. Twenty years ago I could hardly contain my excitement about one day playing catch or teaching my son to hit a baseball. I was over anxious to teach them to catch a football. Those days came and went in a flash. Same as in a movie, when I stop to watch the young dads and sons my mind sees little Aaron and Patrick. Me with the bucket of baseballs. Aaron would grumble about the "wrong glove" or "stupid bat you bought!" Equipment Failure I would say to Aaron. Patrick would just hit the ball again and again. Little sweat beads on his nose. Aaron would get mad about Patrick smacking the ball around. Apparently I always through easy pitches to Patrick and gave him the hard ones. Operator Error.
We played in the park like that for years. Football took over for baseball for Aaron. In the end, I coudn't throw a football over Aaron. Everything, it seemed, he could track down and catch with ease. Better equipment I guess. September '04 was our last time in the park.
The neighborhood park is a sad place for me. My eyes burn.
People ask, "Are you excited about _______?" I'm content. It occured to me that I am never excited. Sometimes annoyed, at times happy, other times sad to deeply sad, rarely angry, but never excited. Never afraid. In my past I was always excited or worked up about something. Content is better. Even deeply sad, I am content.
I'll participate in the world, but I won't get caught up in the world again. I'll let it be.
A documentary on Tupac is on TV tonight. I caught some of it because Aaron and Patrick were into the Tupac story. I of course was judgemental and discouraged their interest. I just found myself agreeing with what I heard this man saying, "We should be teaching kids about police brutality, aparthied, poverty, slums, real life sex, drug addiction, drug wars, but instead we make the kids take Gym. We teach kids to play volleyball." The interview I was watching was of a 17 year old Tupac. He grew up in the ghettos. I should listen to my kids. They were reading about Tupac, not Bill Clinton or George W. Bush. I was lucky and I didn't know it.
What is more imporant in Iraq and Afghanistan than the lives of American men and women?
Why are American soldiers tried as criminals for killing out of revenge and anger when the President and leaders of this country are still in office after starting war out of revenge and anger?
I don't remeber reading any stories in the last twenty years about people in Iraq wanting democracy.
Dads and sons playing catch or pitch and hit in the parks always catch my eye. Twenty years ago I could hardly contain my excitement about one day playing catch or teaching my son to hit a baseball. I was over anxious to teach them to catch a football. Those days came and went in a flash. Same as in a movie, when I stop to watch the young dads and sons my mind sees little Aaron and Patrick. Me with the bucket of baseballs. Aaron would grumble about the "wrong glove" or "stupid bat you bought!" Equipment Failure I would say to Aaron. Patrick would just hit the ball again and again. Little sweat beads on his nose. Aaron would get mad about Patrick smacking the ball around. Apparently I always through easy pitches to Patrick and gave him the hard ones. Operator Error.
We played in the park like that for years. Football took over for baseball for Aaron. In the end, I coudn't throw a football over Aaron. Everything, it seemed, he could track down and catch with ease. Better equipment I guess. September '04 was our last time in the park.
The neighborhood park is a sad place for me. My eyes burn.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Four. OK. Eyes.
Everywhere, four chairs.
Our tables have four sides
and we only use three.
---------------------------
Feet in the sand,
eyes closed I asked,
"Aaron, are you OK?"
He answered,
"Better than OK.
There are no words to explain.
They use a different language."
Sun on my face.
A butterfly landed on my shoulder
to spread its orange and black wings,
then flew away.
It's OK.
----------------
Before the tears flood
my eyes burn.
Our tables have four sides
and we only use three.
---------------------------
Feet in the sand,
eyes closed I asked,
"Aaron, are you OK?"
He answered,
"Better than OK.
There are no words to explain.
They use a different language."
Sun on my face.
A butterfly landed on my shoulder
to spread its orange and black wings,
then flew away.
It's OK.
----------------
Before the tears flood
my eyes burn.
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