Undead

Labeling a complex concoction of emotions, ideas, conflict as survivor's guilt denies a person the dignity of their feelings of sorrow and frustration of living when they would die to undead another.   Guilt is one component of a survivor's grief the way rain is a component of a hurricane.

Milk, place settings, and silence

"We don't need two gallons of milk." Patrick walked toward his mom and her grocery cart with a gallon of milk in each hand. His mom's words brought him face to face with the new reality. I may long remember Patrick's body language at that moment. I can't forget Cathy's expression. Pain at the moment o realization can contort a body. Facial muscles tense and  eyes narrow as if to stop the flood of tears rushing to burst free on the energy of suppressed grief.

Meal time is an everyday pain. The empty chair at the table, the place not set I can not face. The break in the flow of passing food around the table showed the family circle is over. Leftovers were food not eaten by the one who is not there.   Silence from the chair tortures me. You don't eat as much as you choke down tasteless food and then walk away from the dead space.  And it waits for you. The chair stays under the table and waits. Look at me. See who isn't here.

The table and 4 chairs are gone. I don't know what became of them. And I still run from the empty seat at the table.

Life At It's Pinnacle

We see them in the distance after they have passed. They stand still and solemn. The peace filled time our memory tells us was the day. The pinnacles of life. We don't know the precariousness of the moment. There was so much more above. From here we could see forever, and forever was a dream. The limitless sky was what we saw.  We never imagined a tremendous fall. At the bottom would be the wreckage of the energy of life. Shattered in a mathematical equation. At the speed of life squared, the ending comes quick.

From a distance the pinnacle reminds us that life is only a moment. We stood here once. The other side of the peak was not visible that day. We only see the precipice from here, and wonder how we, or even if we, survived the fall. And where do we go from here? To another pinnacle?

Feathers In The Wind

A man walks onto a roof of a tall building in a busy downtown. He's holding a goose down pillow in his left hand. In his right, a long, sharp, pair of silver scissors. The air is swirling. You're looking up from the sidewalk. You can see his hair  tussled by the breeze. With a quick jab, slash, and cut, one end of the white pillow is opened. The man drops the shears and frantically shakes the pillow. Feathers burst out into wind, some covering the man, the rest ride the current. Floating and falling the feathers drift over a city block attaching themselves to men, women, children,  and other animals. Some are trapped in the draft of vehicles rushed further along to other parts of town. Years later you're walking in another part of town and you spot goose down on a ledge, in the park, and on the brim of a cap.

And a rumor spreads that easily and is never completely dispelled. Yesterday, while making a presentation to a group who invited me to their meeting, I was reminded of the impossibility of gathering feathers. The first question posed was "Did Aaron crash on purpose? I thought I heard that he did."  Somewhere there is a  Dane County Sheriff, and deputy coroner who's names I forget every chance I get.

Later in the morning I took a call from a 29 year old dad. His son died 2 days after birth. He wanted to talk. 

Thrown by those who wished for something else...

Well Of Grief. 

If Only

Ever wonder what life could be if only the wall had never been built instead of removed 11 years too late?

Twelve

Twelve years ago today.

Impermanence. Evanescent.

Ev-an-ESC-ent. I like this word for how it looks, how its enunciation feels.  Evanescent looks, feels, sounds like what it is in the same way orange looks and feels juicy.  The beginning is soft, then moves  sharp to my lip, and vanishes off of the tip of my tongue. Like a scent of perfume, a whisp of smoke from a spark, evanescence is completely present and gone. In the impermanence of life all that vanishes remains once was.

Invisible Evidence of Wishful Thought

"Had we made the first down I really believe we would have won. We had the momentum. The better team did not win that night." ...Head coach of losing team in a high school state championship game.

After defeat-grief there comes a springtime; a season when improbable outcomes based on the invisible evidence of wishful thought bloom into real fantasy. Only on the low rung of second place is the view so fantastic that we can see reality pretty well and still blur it into if-only dreams.

It's probably theraputic to imagine outcomes would be different if the if-only was replaced with  "but-for". The problem with really believing the better team did not win is you avoid accepting your inferior team lost. Until acceptance is achieved the truth will gnaw at your soul and "leave you with nothin mister", not the first place of the victor or the second place you earned. 

Weddings

Ave Maria has its place on the wedding and funeral play list. Amazing Grace is pretty much an end of the road story. I like the Amazing Grace words and Ave Maria for its acoustic sound. 

Music has a way of transporting our attention to another time, another place, anolife. I went to a wedding today and drifted through life 13 years ago. If i knew then what i know now, I'd be right where I  am right now. 

The Man In The High Castle

If not for the brave and heroic.

David Whyte, The Well of Grief

The Well of Grief, David Whyte on Youtube

Slip beneath the surface. When we begin a journey of grief we fight an inevitable. Who wants to go where we will be seperated, even isolated, from people who live where you no longer belong? You've gained a perspective and lost membership in the world of magic. At the bottom of the well are the coins tossed by people who wish to never go where those who grieve drink from a secret fountain of insight.

Beneath the surface is nothing, and everything.

119 Hours

How many times have we gone to bed on a Sunday night, turned out the lights on the weekend, and fell asleep with expectations of the week ahead? Hopefully many more than times with dread. What kind of life would it be if we couldn't look to the future with anticipation of joy and good times? We live in a place where anything good can come tomorrow and tragedy isn't lurking outside our doors. And yet, we don't know where we will be come Friday night.

Eleven years ago, about right now, Aaron's friends had just walked with him out of St. Albert The Great Church in Sun Prairie one last time. Eight or ten young adult high school seniors held the handles made for six. Many dozen more young people gathered around, and moved to the doors. Maybe one day I'll forget the closing of the door. The slow drive away; brake lights in the dusk, and the white Cadillac making a right turn at the corner. The driver knew where he was going. I couldn't say the same for myself.

 One hundred and nineteen hours earlier I said good night to my sons. That was the last time I saw Aaron. When the car was gone I turned to the west to see Patrick and the friends. Behind them was the red hue the sun had left to prove she was here. (As I finished this, it occurred to me that 119 could be seen as 29...there it is again. Goodnight two nine.)

From a letter written by his Mentor Kori, this is a list made by Aaron's friends at Mt. Bachelor Academy:

THE GIFTS OF AARON
May 2005
The gifts of Aaron...
Joyful spirit,
Jamaican soul,
Wisdom of the ages,
Gentle kindness,
Smiling eyes,
Warm hugs.
A peaceful warrior,
Bridge-builder,
Dreamer,
Mountain climber,
Child of the universe...and
Friend.
May the gifts of Aaron live on in each of us.

And Their Son Came Home...stopwatches and clocks

"And their son came home".  How often have you wanted to turn back time? Or perhaps just stop time?

Wikipedia says the stopwatch has more than one inventor and it dates back to the 1700's. As the story goes the tool was created because King George wanted to know how fast his horses ran around a track. Sounds reasonable as stories go but I think the stopwatch was the product of a person's attempt to stop time from slipping away.

In The Curious Story of Benjamin Button, a heart broken dad builds a great clock to turn back time so sons lost in the war might return home to live. This is a wonderful metaphor for all we have created in an effort to retain what we have or bring back what we've lost. I suppose Aaron's House and Grace House are a stopwatch or backwards running clock. It's 11:26 May 10, 2016 and there's less than 60 minutes of life as it once was remaining in May 10, 2005. Stop or turn back. Don't slip into the future.

Go Fish

Fishing season opens on Mother's Day weekend every year I believe.  Last week a mom I know went fishing with her two boys and their dad. The fellas caught mom's fishing pole after one of her aggressive casts launched the pole into the pond. The floating bobber marked the location of the submerged rod and the boys were able to hook the line. No fish were caught but the boys have a memory to last a lifetime.

I remember a Mother's Day on the boat with our boys. Fishing, wading in the water, nothing exciting. Just memorable.

A dad told me today he has a tradition of going trout fishing on the opener with his 18 year old son. It seems the tradition will be broken this year. The son is going alone and the dad is going to work on Sunday. Of course, there is always next year. When we don't know, it all seems so limitless.

Go fish.

For Years and Years

Aaron's House Residents and Staff Speak at the Capitol

For 12 days Aaron lived clean and sober again after a relapse on April 22, 2005. I like to believe he would live clean and sober for the rest of his life spanning years and years not just 12 days.

Maybe in a way Aaron's recovery continues long terms in the lives of the young people who have called Aaron's House, Grace, House, Connect House, and Next Step home. For nine school years, since 2007, the Aaron J. Meyer Foundation's collegiate recovery housing options have been an integral part of the recovery solution for college students in Madison. Well done everyone.

Days

Where do they come from, where do they go?

Tomorrow is the day people one hundred years ago pondered as the Titanic was just beginning to rust.  Forever there has been an April 26, 2016 in the future. In 3 hours and 20 minutes the day that never was, will be. Today, and all it promised will be a has been. Where will today go when it makes way for progress?  Do the days go by? I saw a calendar from 1964. Future events were pencilled in. Important commitments were written in ink. Some of those past future days held more necessary expectations of those people. Eventually necessity ended.

Did today live up to expectations? Will this day be remembered? Should it be forgot?

Tomorrow always looks better. We look forward to the new day. And then we sleep through the first six hours and the last two or three.  The day we looked to with such hope is a quarter past before we even know it's arrived. Did I use all that she gave? I gave her again, not more than twelve hours before I  called her a day. What i didn't get today, I'll get tomorrow. I had more and less at the start of today.  At the end of tomorrow I'll have more and less of the same.

Considering the alternative, this was a very good day. I'll let her go into the night, three hours early.

Overdue at The King County Library

In the lower right corner of page 9 the simple hand stamped ten words proclaimed her emancipation.

                  This is no longer

                        property of

                King County Library System

Red letters of a rubber stamp  assure me I am not in possession of stolen property, or worse a runaway from a library 1,924 miles away from here. Lt. Joe Bookman will not knock on my door to question me about instant coffee and what I know about the missing book, How to Write A Sentence and How To Read One. 

She is  free to roam the world and never be over due to return to her Dewey Decimal System place on the  metal shelf of a concrete building in damp, misty Seattle. This work of art of Stanley Fish, Professor of Law, will live in the morning sunshine, on my wooden bookshelf, patiently available to inspire me to aspire to craft a fine  sentence.

Mulch Season and Not In My Yard

Same time each year my mail box receives the same reminder as my mental in-box. It's mulch time. There is a place for mulch ...at least 50 feet from a road, and not behind 4 ft high 2 ft thick immovable concrete walls. Mulch has its place in my memory; and not in my yard.

Opaque Membrane of My Mind

The Damage is Done

Imagine 

They're connected. A hole in the wall and a crushed wall; the beginning and the end. One doesn't happen without the other.

April fools day is tomorrow. Tupac is alive. Spring is here. Every memory from then sits behind an opaque membrane my mind created to keep me safe and the contents secure. The courage to open a door escapes me. I know what's in there; I want to stay away, and I know I won't. Maybe I have to go inside to see it's all still there. As if it would ever leave. Idle and content were the contents and in the spring they stir.

The hole was patched and painted over, and it's still there.  The wall is too late gone, but it's still there.  It will always be there where it should have never been. As time goes by, there will never be an end.

Here we go again and I can't imagine.

One, two, three, what are we fightin' for?

Country Joe McDonald at Woodstock 1969

What are we fighting for? We've been here before and we so soon forget. In 1961 a rich kid president with no son to sacrifice blustered this country to the brink of nuclear war and settled for opening the gates to Vietnam hell. Of course the next two Commanders In Chief had no sons to sacrifice so they served up more war for your sons and daughters. We learned what we needed to know by 1975 and by 1983 we were blustered back to nuclear brinkmanship aboard the SS Bed Time For Bonzo.
But there was no were to war to so we waited.

The wait ended when George W. Bush was safe and sound from military duty and his daddy sent your kids to the middle east to flex US muscle.  By 2003 Vietnam was history and the lessons were forgot. Iraq, Bush The Younger, tool to President Cheney, said is not another Vietnam. We disagreed. He was right. Iraq is different. It's a worse nightmare.

 The horror will not end. And here we are, right back to where we've always been. The next generation of sabre rattlers is ready to send the next generation of American's somewhere, anywhere, to die to prove once again, we never ever learn, and we never ever have a president who has sons or daughters in harms way.

Feeling a Word

Packers. The word looks green and gold, black and white; it feels young and old. Packers sounds like an AM Radio station in a 1960's brown Chevrolet. I hear the flick of a Zippo lighter, a fooopff of the flame and clink of the silver steel lid, and then the aroma of a freshly lit Winston followed by the first twinges of car sickness.

Packers. Mud, rain, snow. Sunny warm Sundays. The boys. There are those old feelings of my youth where the Packers are black and white on television and the middle years where they're brilliant green and gold and the fun would never end.

I like the word, Packers. All by itself this word, Packers, takes me places.

Warning Labels on Sad Country Songs

It's the one you didn't hear that gets you. Soldiers have said that about bullets in battle. I wouldn't know and I have all the respect in the world for the men and women who do, so I'll believe them. In a story told by author Tim O'Brien, a soldier in Vietnam is struck down by a bullet and more astonished, angry actually, that he heard the shot than that he'd been hit. There would be some solace in my mind to believe the shot is unheard. I don't ever want to know.

Coming home from the office today, energized and feeling good about an upcoming trip with my son Patrick,  I put on AM 1550.  Love this station; they play classic country songs--the ones that tell a story and you can identify the singer by his or her voice. (Willie Nelson, Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, George Jones, Cash) Two blocks from my office I'm listening to
Warning Labels on Sad Country Songs. Got me thinking that would be a good idea. Don't want to hear a sad country song today.  I like the story so I didn't change to Triple M.

Roll On Eighteen Wheeler, a song I've heard and never listened to got my attention so I listened. Near the happy ending the song tells us the "Big Guy upstairs was listening" and he sent our daddy home safe and sound.  Daddy, not the police, called the family. God answered that family's prayers and it struck me in the center of my chest six inches below my throat. Another family who knew the magic words. Right here is where I should have taken cover. But I didn't. Don't Take The Girl was  the bullet you don't hear that gets you that got me. A little boy is begging his dad to not take the girl fishing with them. "Take my best friend Beau, take any boy in the world, but don't take the girl". You know where this is going, they get married, have a baby, and something goes wrong. She's fading and the once a boy dad is praying "Please don't take the girl", We don't know if she lives, the song ends and I  turned into my neighborhood.

Now I've got that ache in my chest and in my head above and behind my right eye. Son of a bitch.  I don't know war and I don't know what it's like to be under fire. This is no comparison but it felt like I was frozen in the open with no place to take cover.  I reached the safety of my garage feeling a little wounded with my mind now in a place I didn't want to look just right now. And then, because it seemed like just the right wrong thing to do, I went to You Tube and searched
Sad Country Songs. Who'd You Be Today looked like the most painful title. Peculiar thing about pain, it, like love demands to be fed.  My morphine is writing down the experience. I'm good. That little episode is in the past and carved into this blog to stay forever. Yes, they do need warning labels on sad country songs, but only so we know which ones to turn up.

Seven Days

A guy wrote a book claiming he'll change your life in seven days. A Belmont, MA woman ran seven marathons in 7 days.  And God created heaven and earth in seven days; actually six, he took the seventh day off.  What a difference a day and six make.

Seven months ago I read The Secret. You may recall this book, it was a big deal in 2006.  Do you believe the law of attraction? Do you know what the law is? I can tell you because I have access to Wikipedia. The law is this:  Like Attracts Like.  Positive attracts positive, negative begets negative. Zig Zigglar said, "Positive thinking won't let you do anything. But it will let you do everything better than negative thinking will." I always trusted Zig.  Zig was from Tuepolo, MS the birthplace of Elvis. (306 Elvis Presley Drive in case you want to go there.) Tuepolo, by the way, is 231 miles from Hattisburg, MS birthplace of Brett Favre. Oprah and BB King are from Mississippi. So is Jimmy Buffet.  Guy Bush of Tupelo gave up Babe Ruth's last homer. Guy was probably thinking he didn't want to be known as the last guy The Bambino took downtown, and then just like that, he's an answer to a trivia question rarely pondered.

I was asked  a question eleven months ago, "Why are you not seeing anybody?" Now that's a question I had pondered. I had no  answer that I would accept, and then I read The Secret. If like attracts like, the theory goes, if we ask "why not?" the universe will give us "not". The universe it turns out is alarmingly dense. "I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention. I only heard you say "not".  Good Lord. God gave the universe everything but a brain.

Fortunately for those  who were paying attention, the big secret in moving heaven and earth is to be specific. Do not think in double negatives. If you think about it, that last sentence is a mind bender for the universe. She's lost at the first two words, "Do" and "not". "Wait, what? Do I do or do I not? Help me here."  I had enough experience with the universal problems of specitivity to get the point of The Secret which is, "Ask and you shall receive." How about that?  About the time God was making earth, wind, and fire, he put those 5 words in his own book; the one that's talked about more than read.

Skeptical of the idea of the Universe as a genie but willing to give it an honest chance, I changed my thinking from "why not?" to "I will" as in "The right person has been born, she does exist, she is near, and I will be available when she appears."  Seven days and 15 minutes ago she walked out of somewhere and into my life. That's positively perfect. Go figure. She's not even from Tuepolo.

Numbers and Thinking Ahead

Fifty seven. I believe I will be 57 in exactly one hour. As numbers go 57 is not a favorite. But 5 and 7 make 12 and that number has been good to me. Today I'll think of 57 as a number and the number it will be is 12.

There is no desire to be 12, although 12 was a good age. Old enough to roam the city and country on my bike and young enough to mostly fly below my parent's radar. Oh at 12 there was definitely an expectation of me from my dad to "Think Ahead". Interesting that mindfulness emphasizes being in the present and at 12 that was easy, and not thinking ahead is what got me into tight spots.

I do not want to be 12; in fact each year as my birthday approaches I don't want to be that number either. By the end of each year of life I'm perfectly fine with the age I am. Fifty six ended with a much wanted and seemingly unlikely experience happening. For a few years I've been thinking ahead to what or who should be in my life. Each of those years ended with me still looking ahead.

This last year something changed. Not by chance but by choice. I went against my dad's mantra and endeavored to be in the present. The idea of another way has been passed along from wise people for generations. At least as far back as when humans began contemplating the meaning of their existence.  Being in the present, I came to understand allows me to be available for what will come.

Staying in the present prevented me from chasing what I could not catch and falling back to what wasn't there. Being present, I was told in meditations, permitted me to be available for what will be. Not on my time, but in time.

Two employees of the restaurant Bonfyre Grill let the moment last for 40 minutes longer than than they were to be open last night. During  the three hours of the end of the day, it was becoming clear to me that my future was changed.

I fell asleep last night thinking ahead.  My dad would be pleased.

Reconstruction

What follows is an observation of outcomes of a compilation of choices I made when I knew what I knew but didn't know what I know now, about ME. Awareness is the beginning of change. Sincerity makes it easy for me to be responsible for my part in outcomes. So, I write for myself what I believe I should remember.

A person with a choice will seek solace from distress. To me solace is a place of peace, some solitude where I can do what my body and soul want of me. My mind says "You Can Fix It". I think I see something I've seen before. I think I see where this thing is going. The pain ahead for another person, the pain I felt, I want them to avoid. This fix it drive is not a bad attribute. Social change doesn't happen until someone picks something up to fix what is broken or breaking. It can't be wrong to see a danger and use experience to make a favorable difference. But, I need to first understand what matters most to other people besides myself.

One summer when distress consumed our family, I tried to fix it. I didn't seek to understand. I held to a position in conflict with the sides in conflict; they had their idea of where to go or what to use to attain solace, or what permanent exit plan would be simple. My opinion was requested but not accepted.  I couldn't be on the crisis repair crew if I wouldn't agree to the only solution that, in the end, really mattered. I stepped away and turned my fix-it attention to a lonely building. Long neglected, this shed was holding its own against the elements. No windows, no door, no swinging double doors. This building wanted to live. I understood the building had a purpose it wanted to fulfill.

In the time it took to restore life to the building, life slipped away from love and cooperation. It left when dialogue was not considered an option.  I didn't seek to understand the pain of the person who needed me most.  I do not know what is best for anyone, and it's possible, anyone who is committed to a direction will pursue that course regardless of my input. Acceptance without resentment is the higher ground I hope to attain.

By June the shed was complete. Lawn mowers were finally stored out of the elements, yard tools  had their space, the restored building was an eye catcher again. It's funny that I expected to use this building, see it every day when I came home,  and be proud of my work for years. But I neglected a responsibility. Respect, dialogue, trust were damaged. I can only account for my part. I know there is more responsibility to go around, and it's not for me to look anywhere but at myself. The compassion of a relationship I thought had no end died easily. Resentment, judgement, fear has a way of finishing good things swiftly.

I held the love we built as a most cherished possession until it wasn't and then  I moved my life away. And so it goes. I have more proof  that leaving what troubles me is actually leaving what I love and packing the the burden of darkness to tote for the road. May I not repeat that decision.

Walk Away ---An Observation About Myself

I tell myself I walk away to distance myself from what hurts.  In all these years, I've never out walked pain. No, I walked away from the abundance of joy. I walked away from reliving mind altering happiness, love, compassion, serenity, peace, tranquility.  The dark days I ran from fade to pale grey but they don't go away. My mind looks me back to where I don't want to be; replaying unfriendly events. Unlike turning back time to choose another course, this look back doesn't allow for course changes. Not even slight alterations. No, instead I see the  darkness, my weaknesses, opportunities missed and they're all so patient.

I can't walk away from turmoil without taking some with m. What I walk away from are places, and people. The possiblity of another beautiful day. The people I left live on. The joy still happens. The laughter,  the stories, the heartache, and love are all still there.  I run from what hurts and all I accomplish is to walk away from what fills my heart with happiness.

The sorrow, the weight of turmoil, the ache in my psyche, the anger of others directed at me, those are the things; they are what I intended to walk away from. Sorrow, pain, turmoil walk stride for stride or they lag a little behind.

Observation for Myself: Before walking away, ask what I am expecting to leave behind. Ask what I expect to bring with me. Ask what life experiences I won't share after I walk. Ask if it's worth it to stay and be part of the solution, and keep the joy. Ask if the the darkness will stay behind. If I think it will stay and let me go, I had better discover evidence  to prove sorrow will let walk. The darkness may only fade to grey, but the door to what is good closes and can never be opened. May I grow from this awareness.