Saturday, March 25, 2017

Missing You Again

Hey Greg,

It's been just shy of 18 months since you pulled the trigger, leaving your loved ones behind to come to grips with what you did.  The crushing sense of loss has mellowed, but I still miss you tremendously.

I had a major bout of... I'm not sure what to call it... it's not exactly depression, because that time has passed. Sadness?  Yeah, I guess that's the right term.  I had it a couple of weeks ago.  I really missed you, man.  Though it's not quite spring, I've been experiencing this feeling that the world is about to come back to life.  I guess it felt like you should be coming back to life as well; but I know that will never happen.  The emptiness built for several days... I talked to your brother... I talked to your mom... and still the emptiness built.  Eventually, I ended up crying in my wife's lap.  I know that the wife and I are supposed to support each other, and it was awesome that she was able to provide me a measure of comfort when I needed her, but I still couldn't help but feel weak.  It's my job to be the rock, not the one in need.  I was fortunate to have her shoulder to cry on, but it still felt wrong somehow.  F*cker!

Last night, I was watching 'Longmire' on TV.  In this episode, the main character scattered the ashes of his deceased wife.  I watched him as he reached into the plastic bag that carried her ashes... when the wind carried those ashes away... and when he broke down and cried over the experience... I couldn't help but remember when I did the same thing with your ashes.  I recalled how your entire life experience was distilled to a few pounds of carbon... I remembered how a handful of ash felt so light... so fine... almost like talcum powder... but the heaviness of the overall bag of your remains...

I've resigned myself to the knowledge that I will never truly "get over" your death, which is kind of funny, because managed to get past my divorce -- the only real comparison to your death.  I found genuine happiness after my divorce, but I've come to accept that when you committed suicide, you not only took yourself from this world... you also permanently removed a measure of my own joy.  I'm fortunate to be an overall happy man, but you should know that you managed to steal a small piece of my happiness.  F*cker!

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Back in Shape

In 2012 I made a few lifestyle changes and started getting into shape.  My original goals were relatively modest, with the primary one being the desire to pull off a First Class Marine Corps Physical Fitness Test.  At my peak, I pulled off a First Class PFT two age brackets below my own, and was in striking distance of hitting a First Class PFT for the 18 year old age bracket.  I injured myself in 2015 and stopped going to the gym for over a year.  I finally started hitting the gym in December of 2016.

Today, I did my first PFT since getting back to the gym, and I'm pleased to say that I managed to pull off a First Class PFT.  I was four points away from a First Class in the age bracket below me.  I've got a ways to go before I was in the shape I was before injuring myself, but I'm happy to have made this much progress in a few short months.

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Feeling Hopeless

Over the past several days... weeks... months... I've been feeling kind of hopeless about my country.  I want to feel positive, but it's growing increasingly difficult.  Everywhere I look, gone is the spirit of cooperation.  All that's left is bitter divisiveness.  I see it in the news, and I see it in social media.

I see Democrats and Republicans both choosing the least qualified, most divisive candidate possible for the highest office in the nation.

I see a very devout follower of Christ, saying that Trump's election is evidence of God's will, while ignoring our President's obvious distortion of facts and questionable behavior in the past.

I see friends saying if you voted for Trump, unfriend me because he's racist or sexist or whatever, while ignoring the possibility that a person could vote for Trump without being racist, sexist or whatever.

I see the liberal media excoriating Trump without considering the possibility that he might actually have some good ideas.

I see the conservative media extolling Trump's virtues without acknowledging that he's making questionable decisions.

I see outraged liberals rioting and indiscriminately destroying private property.

I see law enforcement arresting the media who were only reporting these aforementioned riots.

I see increased instances of overt discrimination.

I see liberals ignoring the fact that illegal immigrants, by definition, are breaking the law.

I see conservatives ignoring the fact that illegal immigrants generally take jobs that no American will take.

I see liberals saying that it's unreasonable to restrict travel to the US from certain countries.

I see conservatives believing that it's reasonable to restrict the rights and liberties of law-abiding Americans in the name of security.

I see conservatives saying that all liberals are whining, entitled children who need to grow up.

I see liberals accusing all conservatives of being heartless and thoughtless.

I see liberals wanting to increase my taxes, ignoring the fact that I work for my money.

I see conservatives wanting to eliminate welfare without considering that some people need, and are worthy, of our assistance.

I see both sides pointing to the behavior of the few bad apples and believing that it's par for the course.

I see radicals on the left burning our flag with the goal of inciting outrage.

I see people on the right ignoring the fact that flag burning is protected speech.

I see people on both sides saying oh look, when your guy did the same thing my guy is doing now, you supported it, while ignoring the likelihood that they engaged in the same hypocrisy.

And here I am, stuck in the middle, feeling hopeless, because both sides are adamantly refusing to even consider that the other side might have some legitimate issues with what's going on in our society.  I hope that we can get past this one day, but it's increasingly difficult to hold out this hope.

Sunday, January 8, 2017

Back to Your Cave, Mama Bear

Yesterday I read a story about a B-52 bomber that lost an engine in rural North Dakota.  Nobody was hurt, and no property was damaged.  The B-52 was based in Minot, ND.  It so happens that a high school friend of mine has two sons, both of whom are in the Air Force, stationed at Minot.  When I saw the original story, I seized an opportunity to have a little good-natured fun at the boys' expense.  I logged on to Facebook, posted the article on my page, and essentially said that it looked like the boys had their first run at jet engine maintenance and repair.  (This, by the was patently not true.  One is an MP, and the other is a Parachute Rigger.)

Within an hour, there was a comment from the boys' mother saying "Not Funny."  I took a brief moment to sarcastically apologize to their mom, who apparently appointed herself as the supreme arbiter of all things funny.  She didn't reply, but I think that I've got a bit more to say to her, so here goes...

-Ummm, yeah, it is funny, so shut the fuck up.

-I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to your boys, so shut the fuck up.

-Your boys are no longer children.  They are grown men.  So, unless you want them to be emasculated boy-men, you should -- you got it -- shut the fuck up.

-Having never been a male (unless there's something I don't know), you will never, ever understand that men bond by insulting each other.  Therefore, you should just let the men have their fun.  This, of course require you to -- yep -- shut the fuck up.

-You've also never served in the military.  I, on the other hand, spent six years in the United States Marine Corps.  I have spent a lot of time giving your boys some good-natured ribbing over their decision to join the Air Force instead of the USMC.  That's what military veterans do.  My original smart-assed comment was as much about a US Marine teasing a flyboy as it was about one man teasing another.  Since you don't know what's what, I would like to once again suggest that you shut the fuck up and let the big boys play.

It kind of chaps my hide when people place themselves into conversations to which they were not a party.  That's what happened here.  I was talking to, and making fun of the boys.  Next thing I knew, mom was throwing out her comments, getting all offended on the kids' behalf.  Ummm... I know these kids... these men.  And they know me well enough to know that I was not being serious.

Don't get me wrong... I get the whole mama bear instinct.  I understand the innate desire to protect your young.  I'm a parent.  Hell, I'm a grandparent.   But there comes a time and a place for mama bear to acknowledge that the cubs are grown, and return to the cave.

Sunday, December 25, 2016

One of Life's Little Ironies... A Christmas Observation

It's Christmas morning, and I'm sitting in front of the computer.  On my days off, this is one of my morning rituals... Get up, put on my bath robe, stroll to the computer and read for a while.  It's a soothing way to wake up at my own speed.  This morning I was up at 5:30 AM.

As I sat down to the glow of the computer monitor, and took that first sip of my morning coffee, I saw the Christmas tree lights blinking in my peripheral vision, and had a flashback to a time long passed, and experienced one of life's little ironies...  I thought back to my days as a young parent, when my children would come into my bedroom well before the sun came up, full of excitement and anticipation...  "It's Christmas!  Can we open our presents?"  Though I look back with fondness now, I very well recall how annoyed I was at the time.  Dammit kids, I just got to sleep, I'd think.  Don't you know that?

I remember one specific year, when my older daughter came into my bedroom in the middle of the night, full of wonder... "Dad... it's Christmas!  Let's open presents!"

"Kid, it's still night time.  We can't open presents until your sister wakes up."  In the fog of my half-sleep, I thought I was being pretty clever, and expected that my command would purchase another couple of hours of well-deserved rest.

Moments later, I heard the same daughter in the next room, whispering "Sissy, wake up.  It's Christmas."  That didn't work out exactly as planned.

Over the subsequent years, I developed a ritual that was tantamount to torture for the children.  I told them that daddy got to sleep in until 7:00 AM on Christmas.  This, of course, never exactly worked out, because invariably the little ones would start creeping in around 5:00 asking "Dad, is it 7:00 yet?" or "Dad, can we pleeeeeaaaaassse open presents now??"  But I did stick to my guns and make them wait.  Basically, we all suffered... they suffered with anticipation, and I suffered from lack of sleep.  But make no mistake, I'm grinning as I relive those days, and write the memories down.

Then I briefly thought back further... to my own youth, remembering how I would wake up before dawn, full of excitement, and how I did the same thing to my own parents.

Now the kids are grown and making their own memories.  My older daughter has a child of her own, and there's no doubt in my mind that he was up very shortly after midnight, saying "Mom!  It's Christmas!  Can we open presents?"

Meanwhile, I've now been getting up early for years.  I've been doing it daily for so long that even on weekends, I'm usually up before the sun.  THIS is that life irony I mentioned earlier... when I was a young dad, I wanted to sleep in, but the excitement of the children prevented that from happening.  Now that the kids are grown, I have the opportunity to sleep in, but I can't.

Saturday, December 24, 2016

Farewell, Uncle Jack

Just shy of two weeks ago my uncle was airlifted to an area hospital.  He had a stroke and a "cardiac event."  Doctors determined that he had an infection on a heart valve.  Part of the infection broke loose, causing the stroke.  He fought the good fight, but he passed away early this morning.

My family is not a tight-knit family, though I wish it was.  Regardless, I have fond memories of my uncle Jack, my aunt Judy, and my cousins, Jennifer, Bill and Richard.  I'm saddened that they will now associate Christmas with the passing of a family member.  But I will say that God answered a prayer.  I asked that my uncle not die on Christmas day, and that's how it played out.

My most vivid memories of Jack revolve around my days as a young boy, when we would visit the farm he had at the time.  I remember him as a happy, boisterous, strong man.

I am happy -- though "happy" isn't exactly the right word -- that Jack had a relatively peaceful, pain-free passing.  He died peacefully in his sleep, and he spent the overwhelming majority of the last weeks unconscious.

Please don't feel bad for me.  I'm okay with this.  It's how life plays out.  I will, however, ask that you pray for my aunt and my cousins.

Farewell, Uncle Jack.

Sunday, December 18, 2016

What Did I Say?

Just under fourteen months ago, I delivered a heart-felt eulogy for my friend Greg, who took his own life.  The eulogy was done in three parts.  It started with me reading a letter that his parents wrote, mourning the loss of their son and begging those in the audience to seek help if they were depressed.  From there I talked about Greg, and how he impacted my life.  We then played a couple of songs appropriate for the occasion, and I closed with some fun memories about him... stories that would have most certainly embarrassed him if he'd been physically present.

Though I wrote the main part of the eulogy, I very much spoke from the heart, essentially using my written words as a frame of reference and speaking extemporaneously.  I printed off the prepared eulogy after I finished writing it, and from there I expounded and added new thoughts with quick notes in the margins.  It was this combination of prepared speech and handwritten notes that I used to memorialize Greg.

The thing is, I don't really know what I said.  After everything was said and done, I went back to the podium to retrieve my notes only to discover that they were gone.  To this day, I don't know where the notes went.  (If the person who has those notes reads this post, I'd love a copy... you can keep the original.)  I did, however, find the next best thing yesterday.  On my computer, I stumbled across the file that contained my prepared words.  Reading those words for the first time in over a year brought back a flood of memories, including a flashback to me standing at the podium summarizing 35 years of friendship.  It was good to finally recall what I'd said in remembrance of my chosen brother.