Tag: spirituality

Dad would love this

“Your father would love this,” my mother remarked as she nodded to the craziness occurring in the dining room. I nodded in agreement. We were cleaning dishes and listening to my oldest son, youngest daughter and her best friend abuse each other. It was a perfect night. Cold, windy and snow-covered outside; music playing, wood-stove burning hot and laughter galore inside. The house smelled great and our bellies were full. My Taco Tuesday feast (a day late) of Tacos, Quesadillas, homemade Spanish Rice, and Guacamole was a hit.

Mom was right, Dad would have enjoyed seeing this. He worked his whole life to build a home like this to retire in, entertain his friends and spoil his 6 Grandchildren. It is a true goddamn shame that he would not see this come true. We didn’t get together nearly as often as he, and I, would have liked. Shit happens and time flies. My situation did not allow me to come up. A difficult work schedule, a young family and a wife who resisted coming up (too buggy, too far, too much time in the car, I can’t sleep up there, and I’m too much of a rigid bitch to give you what you want) caused time to slip away far too fast. By the time our schedules freed up a little, Dad was sick and visits became difficult. By difficult, I mean it was hard to watch. I barely held it together, but the children had a visibly hard time with it. The once virile, humorous and incredibly active man was transforming into a shell of his former self. It was not unlike seeing the air escape a balloon in slow motion. It became increasingly difficult for him to go out of the house, he had a hard time getting in and out of cars, and once he couldn’t drive, any optimism he had was out the window.

The good and bad memories of my father surround me. His influence is everywhere. Pictures on the mantle, the flag handed to me at his funeral by a grateful nation, the hand made furniture are good ones. The safety rails in the bathroom and the disassembled handicap ramp in the back yard are not. I remember once, when he had a caretaker at the house, I walked by the bathroom and Dad was on the toilet. He needed to be wiped. I asked him if he wanted my help even as I realized that I had never thought of wiping my father’s ass for him. I also never envisioned a day he would need me to. Dad couldn’t talk but he mouthed the name “Arthur” (the caretaker) and I went to get him. I knew then that the last thing Dad wanted was for me to wipe him, he was embarrassed that I saw him like that. That was a tough day.

Still, I remember the few times that we did get together as a family. Fond memories of him manning the grill, making a campfire, toasting marshmallows, playing with the grandkids, having dinner and playing phase 10 after, these are all great memories.

Yes, he would have loved to be here tonight. I would love for him to be here as well. He really left us too soon. I really want to believe that he is here, somewhere in this house, enjoying the laughter and keeping a careful eye on us.

Miss you big guy

 

 

 

My Special Purpose…Part 2

Deciding to be more positive would prove to be less daunting than actually doing it. I was in a rough place. I was still jobless, broke and living with my mother. Not exactly the cover of Forbes Magazine. I decided that the first course of action would be to embrace my surroundings. Despite the hectic, chase- the-dollar-lifestyle I had been living (and dying from) I was always a lover of the outdoors, an avid reader and a fledgling blogger. I spent time outdoors, read voraciously and started this blog…often all while outside. I soon realized that this was where I was meant to be, I just got here earlier than I planned.

I also found myself thinking clearer and better than I can ever remember. I achieved a state of Zen in my thinking, I achieved presence. For the longest time I have felt that I was not living my life, but instead watching it play out in front of me. I had achieved clarity and a desire to be completely, brutally honest with myself. I looked at everything, the good, the bad and the seriously ugly in a harsh and unforgiving light. I sorted out what would never be possible again and cast it aside. I envisioned what I would be capable of and I game-planned it. I forgave myself for my mistakes and I asked God for guidance. I decided, as cliché as it is, that my two choices were to dwell on the avalanche of misfortune that had swept my life away or to move forward. My income would be modest, I would never have the career, lake house and garage full of muscle cars that I had been working for. But money has become less important to me. What matters to me is quality of life.

I decided that I would do whatever it took to get healthy and stay healthy enough to secure my legacy. I would master the one thing that I was able to do consistently, sometimes unknowingly and without effort…to inspire. With apologies to Steve Martin, I found my Special Purpose.

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It might seem corny but I have always had an underlying desire to help others. My original Graduate school curriculum choice was counseling. I wanted to either be an underpaid social worker or a School guidance counselor. It wasn’t until I got married and my life became all about paying bills that I grudgingly decided that I needed a “real job”. I decided even then that I would always do what I could to help others, as a job or as a calling. I always felt as if I could do more. Now it appears that maybe I have.

The one thing that got me through decades of illness, bad relationships, and financial hardship was a hard-headed denial. I refused to acknowledge those things that threatened my goals and I was able to downplay and often shut out thoughts that were “downers”. Starting with my chronic illness, I loved when someone said: “you don’t look sick.” Well, that’s good I would think to myself that’s the goal. As I got worse, and more and more people knew about it, the more determined I was to not show it. My doctors would later say that my denial worked for me. By not acting sick I actually stayed healthier.

With regards to my marriage and the money problems, well they were one and the same. My wife would constantly attack me about the finances, asking me if I knew what was going on. If I knew how much trouble we were in? Of course, I knew, but I asked her if she thought it was helpful or healthy to dwell on it. Perhaps I should stay home? Give up? Not try at all to make it better? I suppressed it and went to work, it beats laying down and dying. As with the illness, when people found out how much trouble I was in they would marvel and say “you would never know it by looking at you.” Once again, that’s the point.

My children are grown. My miserable marriage is pending divorce. My health is relatively stable for now. I am debt free. My mind is sharp. Nothing is stopping me now from utilizing my special purpose except time. How much life is left in my years? I’ll know soon enough. But until then I am going to be the best person I can be, and hopefully, instill hope and inspiration in others. Not to achieve accolades, my end goal is so much simpler than that. I only want to be remembered as a good person. I think it’s doable.

I have already started the journey. I have forgiven myself and let go of my grudges and anger. I have forgiven some people that held more of a hold on me than they deserved. I tell people how I feel about them. I take time to say thank you. I find a way to help instead of an excuse not to. I volunteer at the food bank. And I just submitted an application for financial aid in order to study to become a Substance Abuse Counselor. I’m on a roll and nothing is stopping me now. If there is a way that I can make someone’s life just a little better and I have the resources to do it then I’m going to try. Someday, someone will say to my stone “Yea, he was a good guy.” That is all I want. To be the best friend, father, son, cousin, and human being that I can be.

And maybe I will have inspired others to do the same.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My special purpose… Part 1

I’m not dying, I just live like I am.

This past July I wanted to die. I was so sick, so down and out that my will to live was receding like the tide. Chronic illness had hospitalized me before, kicked me pretty hard but never knocked me to the floor. I always managed to dust off, put on a good face and pretend everything was fine. But this past July was different, it was a perfect storm that came roaring in and left my life in a debris pile when it left. In the 3 ½ weeks I was hospitalized I would lose my job, my apartment and be forced to accept that I needed to go on disability. In addition, I learned that I had lost about 30% of my kidney function. The realization that my Kidney Transplant, the greatest thing to happen to me other than the birth of my children, was failing was more than I was prepared to deal with. I was losing my famous optimism. I could handle a few punches but not the barrage I had been dealt.

I would check out, pack my few remaining belongings into my civic and move to my mother’s house to recover and plan my next move. God bless my mother. She welcomed me into her home, without judgment and gave me all of the tools to recover both physically and emotionally. It would be weeks before I would get my breath back, literally and figuratively, and start to plan my next move. Priority one was getting out of my very uncharacteristic funk. It was bad, even my wife who I feel notices nothing about me, commented “you need to find the old you, the fighter. I don’t recognize this guy. Get him back.”

It would be Facebook, of all things, that would get me on track. Many years ago, when I was really getting sick and in need of a transplant or dialysis, I joined an online support group for Kidney patients. I made a few friends across the country, one of them was Jeanne from West Virginia. Jeanne was at the same stage I was and we often commiserated about our progress. I would get a transplant much earlier than she would and she followed my progress. For someone I never met we knew each other well and had a solid connection. Fast forward to August, Jeanne has since received her transplant and she is doing great. She posted on the 4-year anniversary of her progress and her new lease on life. I was compelled to comment and I posted that I found her “inspirational”. Her response floored me. “You were my inspiration, thank you.”

I was floored by this revelation. To think that my story had compelled someone, had given them hope was invigorating. I told one of my best friends about this, he agreed with her. I would learn that he and many others found my “push forward” attitude refreshing and motivating. That had never occurred to me and I was floored. I only acted as such to motivate myself to keep going. I knew then that I had to find my old mojo, if not for me then for others. I needed to, at this point the only thing that gave me any joy was my children who I never saw but loved more than anything.

To be continued

PC vs Common Decency

I do not stand with the people that insist that as a Country we should shout Merry Christmas from the rooftops. We do not need to assert that this country was founded by people primarily of Judeo-Christian faith.  Multiculturalism is a wonderful thing. There are approximately 29 Holidays celebrated within the month of December. It is culturally intolerant of us to insist that everyone says Merry Christmas. I believe that “Happy Holidays” is just fine. That is my bow to the age we now live in.

On the other hand, if someone, anyone for that matter, wishes you a Merry Christmas and it’s not your holiday…take it and say thank you. The overall point is that someone took the time and made the effort to say something nice to you. Don’t be offended. If someone offered me a peanut-butter and Jelly sandwich and I had a nut allergy I would say thank you for the sandwich. It’s common decency. Which, like common sense, is not common.

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Lighten up people, please.

Because it’s all I have

I was heading to the market this morning to grab some necessities. I take any opportunity I have to drive through the center of this little town and admire the old buildings. I have never spent a winter up here so it is still all new to me. It’s a beautiful town but it is very divided between old money and crushing poverty. For every restored farmhouse with smoke from the wood stove drifting lazily from chimneys, there is also one dilapidated house with one or more broken down cars in the driveway, also occupied by children without a proper winter coat.

As I drove by AD Auto Body I was prompted to turn around and say hi to Dave. Dave is another MA transplant who moved up here for a simpler life and eventual retirement. Dave is a friend of my mom and a close friend of my mom’s deceased second husband Frank. When I moved up here in August I had damage on my car that I needed to be fixed but couldn’t go through insurance. Mom brought me to Dave who said he would take care of it. He repaired over $1500.00 in damages for $286.00. I was amazed at this gesture, which he apparently does for everyone. “Never mind what the insurance estimate says, I will do it for what it really costs,” he told her. I was very grateful and thanked him repeatedly. Today. I felt compelled to stop in and say hi.

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I walked into the old, dusty shop and saw that Dave was with a customer. I waited patiently for him to finish (he is long-winded). When the customer walked out he looked at me and said “What’s up Bill? Crash your car again?” I laughed.

“I just stopped in to say Merry Christmas and acknowledge again how grateful I am for helping me out this year. You’re a real nice guy and I hope someone tells you that once in a while.”

He was touched,  but tried not to show it. A man like Dave deserves a thank you but doesn’t need it. And at this point in my life, I am unable to give him anything else but what is in my heart. It’s all I have.

Dave and I talked for a while, I shook his hand and left. “Say hi to your mom for me,” he said. I assured him that I would. I got in my car and felt whole. I could have committed to stopping in after I went shopping, on the way back. Or maybe later. But I might not have. I may have put it off. I’m glad I recognized that the time is now to say what is on my mind and acted on it. If all I have to offer is what is in my heart it is going to have to be enough. It can’t be bought in a store, and it can be given by many.

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No returns, please.

I just see trees

I had the wonderful opportunity to spend the entire day with my youngest daughter on Saturday. Since the separation, the physical distance between us has been a real barrier. When we do see each other, it tends to be rushed because of time constraints. Saturday, we had 2 hours in the car and a day of binge-watching Netflix ahead of us.

I love riding in the car with the kids, one at a time or all at once. I have a ritual with each one. With my oldest, it’s radio off and let’s talk. With my second oldest it’s sports talk and name the car. With my youngest son, it’s all music, comparing Spotify playlists and playing for each other our favorite new artists. With my youngest, we only have one ritual. It’s called put the damn phone down. She kills me with how she cannot pull herself away from the endless snapchats, facetimes, and texts. She doesn’t mean to be rude, she’s just addicted. She is one of the millions I suppose. I am probably being selfish, I want as much quality time with her as I can get, and I want her to see what I see.

The ride to my place in NH from hers is an increasingly scenic one. As the odometer increases the number of houses dwindles. Four-lane highways become 2 lane roads. Imported, high-end cars are soon outnumbered by domestically produced vehicles. I can actually feel the stress wash off my body as I reach the halfway point of the 100-mile commute. At mile 57 comes my favorite part. There is a long stretch of climbing road, the type that has a slow lane for trucks and heavy equipment. Once the peak of this stretch is reached and you top the hill you are immediately hit with a vast, panoramic view of the White Mountains. You can see for 50 miles on a clear day from that spot. Layer after layer of hills, snowcapped in spots, fading in clarity as you strain to see the end of it. It takes my breath away every time. As can be expected, I prepped her ahead of time that I wanted her to put the phone down when we reached it because it diminishes fast once you are down the hill. My daughter took a look, said “nice” and went back to her phone.

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It’s not her fault, her generation was raised on screens. All of my kids are like that. My mother with her new dating app is too. Smartphones and staying inside are here to stay whether I like it or not. That’s extraordinarily difficult for me because I love the outdoors. One of my favorite movie scenes is from the Great Outdoors with John Candy and Dan Aykroyd. They are in Canada on vacation, sitting on a deck overlooking a lake. Dan Aykroyd goes off on a tear about what he sees when he looks out. Future Industrialization, urban sprawl, forestry, medical waste dumps. John Candy’s character, when asked what he sees, says “I just see trees.” Then he is summarily insulted for being short-sighted and simple. Sorry to say, but that’s me, I just see trees.

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I want my kids to see trees. I want them to appreciate the power and beauty of nature. I want them to see crashing waves during hurricanes, starlit nights and sunsets, windy days and mountain views as I do; as a reminder of just how small we really are. To recognize the beauty, power, age and resilience of the tall mountain, the rushing river and the mighty Oak is to recognize our relative size and overall significance. No man is a match for the tide, despite his wealth, power and Instagram followers. It is a call to humility, a damper of ego and hubris, a wake-up call to recognize your smallness.

My children continue to marvel, and I suspect privately mock my newfound Spirituality. That’s fine with me, I was a pretty vocal agnostic for a long time so I have it coming. When I told them about my change of heart, it was a result of deciding between being honest, or not sharing something valuable for fear of being accused of flip-flopping. They are cautiously happy for me while still confused about my change of heart. I could explain it so easily if they let me.

Walk outdoors and look up. That’s all. Look to the top of the treeline, gaze up from the base of a mountain, stare at the stars on a cold winter night and you will see how small, not insignificant just small, we really are. When I did this, I offered myself up as a role player, a piece in the great puzzle. I made myself smaller so that my life could be bigger. I found the power to let down my guard and ask for help and guidance.

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Sure, I like screens. I’m working on one now. They serve their purpose. But given the choice…I still just see trees.

Talking to granite

I never thought I would be the guy to sit in a cemetery and talk to a piece of granite. I have lost many, too many, friends and family and I always make my visits to their places of rest. But I don’t sit and talk. That changed when I lost my Dad.

Yesterday was the 4th anniversary of his death. I wasn’t in the mood to write yesterday, it’s a tough day for me. Living in a house that he built doesn’t help. I see his touch everywhere in the woodworking, design, and collectibles. As I write this I’m sitting in his favorite chair with his beloved dog sleeping at my feet.

4 years later I still tear up when I think of him and when I attempt to talk about him I invariably choke up. I have been fortunate to have been asked to speak at some events I am a part of and have foolishly attempted to speak of my father and consequently blubbered in front of packed rooms. Historically, I am not a crier. But when it comes to Dad I can’t control it.

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As a guy with a long family tradition of “sucking it up and moving on” I am puzzled why it is not getting easier as the years pass. Time heals all wounds, but it doesn’t fill all voids. His loss occurred at a time in my life I probably needed him the most. I was finally coming around to understanding the things he said. Things that I rejected in my youth that I later learned he was dead on about. I had just started to appreciate his simplistic approach to life; be nice to people, tell the truth and work hard and the rest will come. I had just started to recognize that people with his value system and work ethic were slowly vanishing and his presence was a treasure. I was at a point when I needed his eternal optimism to fuel me as I entered the worst chapter of my life. He was minimalism at its finest…less is more. Less showboating, less ego, less drama, and aggravation.

I miss him. The world was a better place with him in it. He deserved better. He worked so hard for so many years to provide for his family and build a retirement. He retired early because his co-workers were all dying young. He enjoyed about 3 years before Parkinson’s reared its ugly head. It reduced a strong, proud man to a mere shell in a long 8 years. Those years took more than his mobility, they took his pride and his independence. Death was a relief for him, I saw his face when he took his last breath.

My life has been especially challenging lately. I am trying to maintain the family optimism and positivity. It’s getting harder. I wish I still had him telling me that everything is going to work out. I suppose while I’m wishing for things I wish that he could have enjoyed his retirement. I wish that he could have celebrated his 50th wedding anniversary. I wish I could tell him how many things he was right about.

I wish that I didn’t have to tell a granite slab things that I wanted to tell him to his face.

Tell the people in your life how you feel about them today, don’t wait. Tomorrow is not a guarantee. You may find yourself sitting in a cemetery talking to granite also. If you’re reading this it’s because I chose to share it with you. Because I care about you and I won’t wait until it’s too late to tell you. Regret is as eternal as granite.

Light at the end of the tunnel

So relaxed, like never before

My arms nailed to the bed

My legs won’t move

Too numb to speak

No desire to try

Peace hijacks my body

the pain has fled

Is that a light I see?

Am I moving toward it?

I don’t care

I’ve longed for this

Free at last, done with it all

I surrender

Take me now

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Bright lights. Screaming. Calling my name

Come back to us they say

Yelling and prodding at my mortal shell

Are you in there…What is your name?

He’s back! someone says. The questions ensue

I’m back from where? 

It felt so good…

One of my late Grandfather’s favorite jokes was “I’ve seen the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s a train.” He was a funny bastard. But I beg to differ, and here is why.

 

“Cellulitis. Isn’t that the stuff that you suck out of the Real Housewive’s fat asses?” My doctor was not amused. I assured her that I was joking, that I was already intimately aware of what cellulitis is. I had it once before and my nervous joking didn’t cover how alarmed I was at this diagnosis. I was prescribed an aggressive antibiotic and given a phone number to call if the infection’s redness crept past the outlines she drew on my wrist and leg. I was on my own for the weekend. Football and bed rest.

I couldn’t help but reflect on the last time I had it. I remember it like yesterday.

I woke at 5:30 AM one morning in July feeling awful. Nauseous, raging fever and confused. My children were small, I knew that they couldn’t be left if my wife drove me to the hospital so I called my father. He rushed over and took me to the hospital. As we pulled into the dropoff area I opened the truck door, fell out and vomited all over the parking lot. Emergency techs got me into the ER. I had a fever of 104. An hour later they still didn’t know why.

I was admitted. In order to get me to relax they gave me morphine. The nurse working with me joked that I, and all men in general, were “big babies.” I wasn’t in the mood to justify myself, I let the morphine do its thing. What happened next will stay with me forever, I will need that long to explain it.

I felt such peace. I felt more relaxed than I had ever felt. My arms and legs felt as if they weighed hundreds of pounds each, I couldn’t move them. And I didn’t want to. All pain left my body. I saw blinding white light and I’m pretty sure I felt as if I was moving towards a tunnel. It was amazing. Until I came back. See, everything I just detailed I recalled later. What actually happened was the morphine attacked my weakened kidneys and I went down. Unresponsive for at least 3 minutes. My heart never stopped but I know that I was dead or awful near it. My nurse had come back in and seen that I was slipping away.

I woke to at least 5 doctors and nurses yelling at me, bright lights and beeping machines, repeated inquiries of “can you hear me?”, and “come back to us”. After what seemed like hours I was able to tell them my name and date of birth. I could see my mother and father’s concerned faces in the sea of people surrounding me. I was back.

After everything quieted down my nurse came in and tearfully apologized for calling me a baby. I didn’t care. As she leaned over my bed she leaned on my right leg and I screamed in pain. She pulled the sheet up and exposed my leg; it was twice as thick around as my other. I was immediately transferred to the ER. Cellulitis.

I spent 8 days in the ER. I almost didn’t make it. They couldn’t stabilize the infection. One hazy memory is of my wife walking in with my then 8-year-old daughter as I vomited all over myself. A bad moment indeed. I spent most of my time in a haze, frantically trying to figure out what I had experienced. I asked my mother about it. She said that I was down for the count. As if I had been dead for hours. She was terrified. As I put the pieces together I realized that I had seen the other side. And I am not afraid of it. I know that I will feel relaxation and peace, 2 things I have never had enough of.

Of course, I recovered, I would not be writing this otherwise. But today I was jolted to think that I could go through that again. I just hope that this new antibiotic works by Monday. Otherwise, I’m getting admitted again.

Oh well, worst case scenario is that I compare notes with my funny grandfather about the whole tunnel/light thing.

 

 

Quality of life

“February?” I asked incredulously.

“Yup, that’s what they told my wife. They didn’t think I could handle it. She told me though”. He ripped open another box of frozen turkeys and moved them closer to the tailgate of his truck.”They was wrong. I can handle it.”

“I don’t suppose I should point out that it’s late November huh?”. Pete looked at me and shook his head. ‘Nuff said. This guy had stage 4 lung cancer, had less than three months to live and here he was; out in the cold at the local food bank handing out frozen turkeys with me to the less fortunate in our community.

After spending 10 minutes with Pete I felt that I was destined to have met him. He is the walking example of how I want to be when I have less than 3 months to live. He is aware, he is doing what he wants to do, he is following his doctor’s orders and keeping his house in order. He has focused on quality of life.

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With the exception of a few low points, I am not the feel sorry for myself type. I don’t believe in it. I continue to believe that if I take care of myself and do what the Dr’s tell me I may live long enough for a cure. And if one doesn’t come around, I will have inevitably added years to my life by not thinking negatively. I only have one caveat, I insist on having a quality of life. Until the day that I am not strapped to a dialysis machine 7 days a week, I will strive to have a quality of life.

I spent the entire 4 hours of the food drive with Pete. He told me his story in bits and pieces as we opened boxes and carried food to people’s cars. He never smoked, he was exposed to asbestos while in the military. He is a life-long member of the community. He is an avid game hunter and fisherman. He told stories of hunting in his backyard when he was 14  before all of the houses were built. He went hunting as recently as last week with his grandson. He still works in his yard. He hopes to take his motorcycle out for one last ride but it’s too cold. He’s taking a ton of medications that make sleep difficult but he doesn’t mind because he can “sleep all he wants when he is dead”.

I am so glad that I met him. He reminded me never to get sucked into the bottomless pit of self-pity. He won’t let his illness define him. He is doing what makes him happy for as long as he can. He is exactly how I want to be when I get to that stage.

It’s not the years in your life, it’s the life in your years.

 

 

 

 

 

Day 13…a letter to my body

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Dear body:

We need to come to some kind of an understanding. We can go around and around about who started it but it doesn’t solve anything. You were broken at an early age so I gave up on you. I didn’t ask for a failing body, I didn’t inherit it. I didn’t ask for it. It just happened. So as I ate junk food, boozed and generally abused you I did it out of sheer frustration for being dealt a shit hand.

You have to admit it, eventually, I came to terms with our differences and began to treat you better. I began to feed you better food, less booze and I even exercised you.

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In our 30’s I took great care of you. But you were already broken. When we were 31 we got cancer. We worked together to kick it out for good.

When we were 40 we got a staff infection that almost killed us. If not for a routine bed check on the 6th floor we would be worm food right now. Do you know that I actually left you for 4 minutes? But some yelling doctors got us together again.

In our late 40’s you decided that you needed spare parts in order to continue running, Somehow we got you a new kidney part and you loved it. Sure you tried to reject it a couple of times, that’s normal. But I fed you drugs that made you stop. For a while you worked with me. Then you allowed the original defect to come back in the replacement part. Even after being so nice to you for 4 years you let me down again. Now we are sick again. The Dr said today that the new part only has 30% functionality left.

I am proposing a truce. If I promise to continue to give you good food, plenty of exercise and sleep will you make an effort to make that 30% last as long as possible? You see, there are so many things that I want to do and many important occasions, still unplanned but I hope to see them in my daily planner, at which my presence will be requested.

I don’t like our relationship, but I’ve come to grips with it. As I said I don’t blame you. Please work with me, consider my proposition carefully. I am sincere on my end. All I need is time. Precious time. I can think of a few people that will also be eternally grateful.

Respectfully,

The soul