Tangled Up in Blues

 

Andy Taylor and Opie had the best father and son conversations at their favorite fishing hole on Meyer's Lake. Throwing a line, sharing wisdom and wonder, watching bobbers, and catching fish. That's the way I imagined life would be for my sons and me. As a little guy, I spent a good amount of time doing exactly that with my dad. I forgot that he spent most of his time fishing with me not fishing, but untangling my line. "Now how did you do that??" I can hear my dad's bewilderment at the spider web mess dangling from the end of my rod. Twenty five years later I was just as bewildered seeing the tip of a son's rod and tangled web inches from my face.

Duck hunting and fishing have tangled lines in common. No matter how careful I am to wrap the anchor lines before returning the decoys to the bag, I find the lines snarled at 5:00 AM in the dark marsh. To love hunting and fishing you have to take tangles and snarls in stride. I suppose as a younger dad I was more eager than wise. The inevitable rat's nest of lines was a major inconvenience to me. I had my vision of what the day should be, Aaron and Patrick surely had their's and I know mine didn't include spending the day untwisting, cutting, re-tieing, re-peating.

Fall is my time. Thursday I left for a weekend of hunting where I grew up. I don't get excited about things the way I did before, but I still look to the northern area duck season opener with anticipation. Going north to hunt or fish to me means going to the Wolf River, or as I called it The Root Beer River. Lots of memories there going back to when I was six, on to when Aaron and Patrick were young, and in the last three seasons alone with memories and time to contemplate.

The early morning moments on the water are special. The images are without detail but crisp and sounds are clear. Few guys hunt alone. Alot of fellas are out with their sons or daughters. In a canoe or boat the silouettes are distinctly father and child. The voices are big and small. The conversations are entertaining, sometimes funny, and sometimes a tear trickles down. On Sunday morning I heard a dad say to his son, "Joey, Dixie is my dog when she hunts well and she's your dog when she needs to be fed." Joey's answer was too quiet for me to hear but they asked Dixie to decide.

My canoe is a two man craft. Aaron was with me when we picked it out. He owned the bow. There he could sit or sleep comfortably. The little boat looks so long without my buddy snuggled up in the dark. Patrick took the position for one day last year. I believe he would agree the canoe is a good sleeper.

This weekend it occured to me that I don't get too concerned about tangles and snarls. The time I spent with my tangled messes was time remembering watching my dad do magic and being watched by my boys as I tried to perform the same tricks. I think I cut the line more often than my line was cut.

I'm grateful my emotions aren't dominated by anger. Blues, as I feel blues, are not despair. Blues are sad. Despair is physical, emotional, and mental hell.

The picture above is a painting by David Macri. The dog is Molly remembering.


We never met or talked. We exchanged some emails and he read the early days of this blog. Notice the silouette of the Dad and son. I love this painting and I see more of my life in it every year. Sometimes the image is my dad and me. Then it's Aaron and me or Patrick and me. Today the hunters are people I don't know, never saw, and barely heard.

Jenna Is Married

September 2004, Homecoming. Jenna and friends came by to see Aaron before going out for the evening. The girls were going to homecoming dinner and dance boy-less. Aaron was home from MBA for one more night. He was glad to see everyone and he was getting himself mentally ready to return to Mount Bachelor. The girls all had their pictures taken with Aaron. Moms came by to get in on the photo opportunity. The kids were 17 and 18 three years ago, almost to the day. How precious the day would be we did not know.

I knew the day would come when Aaron's friends would begin getting married. Living day to day it's healthy to not project into the future but of course I always did. "What is it going to be like in 4 or 5 years when the kids are getting married? Will we fall apart all over again? God, it'll be sad to see everyone without Aaron."

Cathy and I grew up in Antigo. We didn't have a community swimming pool, we had The Mud Hole. There was sand on the edge and mud beyond the rope. A diving board was a hundred or so feet above the water in an area with a concrete wall and wire fence. You couldn't, or in my case didn't have to, jump off of the diving board until you swam across the pond, beyond the rope, where you couldn't touch bottom and wouldn't want to. I watched kids take the challenge. They slipped into the water on the east side, swam behind the boat while the rowing life guard used the paddles to splash water at the swimmer and the guard in the back of the boat berrated the swimmer with taunts about drowning. That's the way it looked to me from the shore. The stories told by the big kids convinced me that I was seeing what I heard.

I never went into the mud hole without testing the water with my toes. Everyone of my friends would race down the hill, jump off of their bikes, drop their towels and sprint into the water. I did all of that except at the edge, I tested the water. At best I could do a quick wade. Sometimes, I would back-up and run in lifting my feet out of the water as if I could prevent getting into the cold pond by running on top of the water.

There was no reason to ever jump off of the 10 story board. Some guys could do amazing dives. I can still see them motoring down to the end, bouncing, springing into the air, the board would go BA-RROOOMROOOOMROOOOOOMROOOMRooooomm, and the kid would summersault and splash head first into the water. Cool. As we got older and more of my friends made the swim, fewer of us were left watching at the fence. I never left the fence.

I was probably 12 or 13 when I jumped off of the diving board. Sleep-outs were the best way to explore the city as a pre-teen. We went everywhere after midnight. With six years of preparation, in the middle of a summer night, I jumped feet first off of the board. I was swimming to the surface before I hit the water. I don't know if I touched the bottom, but I did reach the surface and made it to shore. It wasn't that bad. The board was closer to the water than I thought. The Mud-Hole was filled in long ago.

The wedding was beautiful. I enjoyed seeing the kids having fun and being dressed up for real. Their lives go on and that's a good thing. I'm grateful that Aaron's friends are living life.

I'm Going to Aaron's House...

With courage to accept things I cannot change, I happily told Cathy "Hey, I'm going to spend the night at Aaron's house." I like the way that sounded. ...going to Aaron's house. As if our Aaron was "kickin' it" at his own place and I'm going over for a little father/son time. Cool. If he would remember that I was coming I suspect Aaron would even clean up the place--a little.

We would have pizza delivered because going out for dinner would take too long..."But, Dad if you wanna go out, that's cool. We can do that. It's up to you. Whatever you wanna do. Should we order pizza?"

The Gorham St. house is sure a comfortable place. Wonderfully serene. The colors are perfect. Finishes are terrific. We have a boiler heat system. Late Wisconsin weather changes from 90 degrees two weeks ago to 33 tonight. The boiler isn't fired up yet. I hope the 33 stays outside.

Cathy and I have been talking about being open to feeling Aaron's presence. I've been feeling a connection. What I do is project thoughts to Aaron in the way I would talk to him in the matter of fact way we talk to people we expect to see tomorrow and forever. I see Aaron as being content and present. He's gone but not out of my life. I know he's gone. That's not OK. I feel as if I have moved to a differnt place with Aaron---not life and not death. Not half-way, but somewhere in the vast void where not life and not death exists. I'm here. He's there. We are right where we should be.

Aaron's House exists, not because Aaron died, but because Aaron lived.

Meaning to Take Action

Somewhere back in the early days of this Blog are references to Viktor Frankl's book Man's Search For Meaning. In a dark time Mr. Frankl gave me perspective. Outlined in red and highlighted in yellow, it was read more than once, on page 85 is this direction: We need to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to ghink of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life--daily and hourly. Our answer must consist, not in talk and mdeitation, but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking the responsibility to find the right answer to its problems and to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual. In six words: "What do I mean to life?"

Cathy and I were invited to attend a one year memorial celebration to the life of a young man we never met, but probably know. Dr. John Jung. A forever 28 year old UW Madison graduate who in his too short life acquired an MBA, became a Doctor, and gave the UW the All Campus Party. John was a young man of immense talent who valued sober fun and sewed the seeds of goodness from here to New York City. Those seeds are growing into something of gigantic goodness because of what John meant to life. In the same way that we feel Aaron making vibes in the world by continuing his idea in Aaron's House, John's family and friends feel his presence in the world by continuing their special bond. They are taking action to give what they know.

Cathy and Patrick are taking right actions to live above their circumstances. I see Patrick rising above himself, growing beyond himself at a young age, and turning a personal tragedy into a triumph. Patrick is surviving the unthinkable and developing a healthy compassion to go along with a hard earned insight into life. Cathy is able to be the Mother Patrick needs because she refused to be taken--in life and in spirit--from her surviving son. Friends gave her the safety to grieve and they were there when she was ready to laugh. She's modified her concept of what she means to life after having life violently obliterate what Cathy thought life was about. Cathy questioned herself. Doubted herself as a person and a mother. With the help of exceptional grief therapists and serious soul searching, Cathy is right where she should be. Confident in her ability, humble, and full of grace.

Depression, aggression, and addiction are due to feelings of emptiness and meaninglessness

That sentence was highlighted too. Because my memory is what it is, I should have tatooed those words on the palms of my hands. Then in moments of despair I'd see what I need to see. Maybe because I have lived it I will begin to learn it. When I demand life have the meaning I want, deep sadness and anger dominate me. I'm in the right place when I take action to give. God's work is always a better job than Tom's work.

The last few weeks I wore a suit of lead. It was heavy and restricted my movements. We had an amazing session with Bobbi and Mourad last Wednesday. These are two souls of angels. They are able to make the lead melt away. I'm wearing boxer shorts and plain white t-shirt three days after facing my anguish honestly with humility.

Facing a fate that cannot be changed, I will ask myself again: now that this has happened, what am I going to do about me? I'm going to continue to mean something about gratitude to life.

Final thought: I drove past the DeForest Youth Football field today during games. Glancing over my eyes immediately picked out a lanky fellow in a DeForest helmet and yellow jersey. His right leg was bent so his toes of his right foot were touching the ground and his heal was on his left shin. There would easily be 22 kids on that field and dozens more scattered about. The only number I saw was 29. Aaron's number, his height, and his way of standing. Probably an angel.

Nothing Good Comes From Evil

Bad shit has absolutely no redeeming value. Nothing good comes from evil. I've heard the cliche "Well, maybe something good will come from Aaron's death." What good could possibly come from the death of a young person? Good is a relative concept. For something to be "good" it has to hold up as equal or better than the event or object it is compared to.

God did not intend for man to die or suffer. It is by choice of man that we experience death and pain. The evil which takes a young life in war or illness, accident or misfortune is worthless.

Evil and bad shit gets credit they don't merit when we say "Something good can come from this." Good can't come from evil anymore than a healthy meal can come from a dead fish. An action has to be taken in a good way by good people with good intentions. The dead fish just stinks.

When shit happens, placed before us are two hands. In one hand is evil, the other good. We choose which offering to accept. Now that this has happened, what am I going to do about me? Somewhere around 850 days later, I'm asking myself that question for about the 850th time. What am I going to do about me? What do I want my life to be in the world? I want to be compassionate. I'd like to go through life not hurting anyone and not taking. I used to pray for things like health, wealth, and happiness. Humility and compassion are more than anything else and they're enough.

School started yesterday. Patrick drove himself to school in his car. Cathy makes a big deal out of the first day of school. She has pictures from every year. This one was the last year that the boys went to the first day of school together. September 2003. They are walking to Aaron's truck. He died in that vehicle. In September '03 we had hope. Ninety days +/-, after this picture was taken Aaron was on his way to Oregon.

Pictures for Terri

Cathy spent the last week in Idaho renewing her bond with three of her BFF's from high school. Terri, Kim, Holley, and Cathy might have been apart for most of 30 years but their hearts and minds were always connected. The four days together was powerful medicine for Cathy. Terri came up with the idea of having Cathy come visit her for some rest and relaxation. Cathy does not like being away from home and the trip through Minneapolis was last made with Aaron by her side so she was anxious about going. Had she found a way out, Cathy said she would have cancelled. She didn't and Cathy will be forever grateful. The trip was the absolute best.

Friends from our youth are special. They are part of who we are. These three friends live in Idaho, Oklahoma, and Florida. They could not be here for Aaron's funeral and now was the right time for them to be there for Cathy. I know that friends come in at just the right time. Last year would not have been the right time for Holley, Kim, and Terri to be there for Cathy. The year before was not the right time, but this year was perfect. Four days of laughing, crying, remembering, making new memories, and planning new adventures with loving friends opened a new door for Cathy. She's holding her head higher today. Cathy doesn't know what it was about the visit that made such an impact on her but she knows going there was the right thing to do and she feels the love of her friends healing her grief.

Terri told Cathy that she reads this blog and likes the "ones with pictures the best". So, Terri--I give you pictures. Aaron at the rushing water was taken in OR in April '04. The platform is a memorial to a young man who had died. We wondered what had happened. Was it a kayaking accident at the rapids? We didn't find out. Aaron probably knows today.

The other two pics are from August '04 at MBA. Notice how Aaron is holding his pants up with one hand and a book in the other. This was a time when Aaron was doing a lot of reading and personal growth. Aaron was a content young man that weekend. He was breaking from his past and was contemplating his life. The picture of Cathy leading the boys on the path is priceless. Cathy and her boys. I thought they would be together forever.