Orlando Vacation pt 2

Vacation planning is tricky.   I had given the girls the choice of spending more time at Disney or a longer stay at Universal.   Because of money, we couldn’t do multiple days at both theme parks, so they had to make the choice.   I just wanted them to be happy.   That was and is always my ultimate goal.   

Of course, we’re talking about three very unique individuals (four if you count their mother), so finding a satisfying balance was not easy.   I’m still not sure that we found it, but at some point during the week I completely lost the ability to care.   There was no way that all four could be perfectly happy all the time.    I had to let that pipe dream go.   I had to search for the moments of joy in one face (while the others looked on with a mix of boredom or frustration that we weren’t doing what they wanted to be doing).   If all this makes them sound incredibly self-centered and lacking in compassion for their fellow family members, then I’ve succeeded in getting my point across.    

Just kidding.     (Not really)    No, of course I’m kidding.    They are not like that (all the time).

The decision was made to go to Disney’s Magic Kingdom for one day and then three days at Universal Studio and Islands of Adventure.    As the girls have gotten older, the big rides at Universal have gained more appeal.    Universal also has Harry Potter.   Never underestimate the power of the Boy who lived.

After experiencing Disney on Sunday, we had planned three days at Universal, culminating with Universal’s Halloween Horror Nights on Wednesday night.   We were hoping that the lines would be less at Universal than we experienced at Disney on Sunday, but they were still fairly long.    Apparently the entire world has read the guides that suggest going to Orlando in the off-season because eighty percent of the people were International.    Huge families ranging from grandparents on motorized scooters to children in strollers and babies breastfeeding roamed the parks in genial packs that could only communicate with us in smiles or friendly nods.    It was a fascinating smorgasbord of languages passing by at any given time, almost always speaking much faster and more animated than our slow, American drawl.  

That first morning at Universal we made our way to the back of the park, shed a little tear for the missing Amity Island section and the loss of the Jaws ride, to stand on the cobbled streets of Harry Potter’s London, gaze upon Kings Cross, the three decker bus, and find our way into Diagon Alley.    For Ashlyn, the semi-obsessive Potter fan, this was Nirvana.   For the rest of us, it was simply amazingly awesome.  

Better than just walking onto the set of the movies, we were dropped into an alternate Potter reality.  We were constantly struck by the detail and artistry on display.   Dark and spooky and magical all at once; overseen by Gringott’s Dragon that occasionally belched out fire so intense you could feel the heat 40 feet below.   

Shelby and Ashlyn got in the long line to ride “Escape from Gringott’s” while Connie, Taylor and I explored the side streets and dark alleys nearby.   We got the famous “butterbeer” that is in no way beer, but a syrupy sweet butterscotch concoction that I’m glad I tried but will never feel the desire to try again. 

 

Once back together we got in the long line to ride the Hogwarts Express from Kings Cross station and platform 9 ¾ to Hogsmeade and the other half of the Harry Potter experience.    They have gone out of their way to make you feel a part of the book and movie.   It’s incredibly immersive and (with apologies to Disney) magical.

At Hogsmeade we had a nice lunch at the “Three Broomsticks” restaurant.   I had heard from a friend that the Fish and Chips were good, but they were actually exceptionally good.  The design of a rustic tavern added to the appeal and you could almost imagine Hagrid, Ron or Hermione walking through at any moment.

Hogsmeade was designed with the cozy appeal of a Christmas card, where despite the Orlando heat; snow graced each roof and smoke drifted from chimneys.   Somehow, just seeing the fake snow made the heat slightly more bearable.   

Once we finally slipped out of Potter world, we stepped into the tropical jungle of Jurassic Park and then on to the streets of the Marvel Hero section.    From ride to ride we wandered, each girl stating a preference for one ride over another, but generally getting along.   Connie and I found an air conditioned bar to sit while they did the big Marvel rides (Hulk, Spiderman, and Dr Doom).    It was a nice break.

Fun as the day was, I was enormously grateful that the Universal parks closed at the reasonable hour of 7pm.   Unaccustomed to the heat or the walking, I was pretty tired.   It’s a shame what office work and a sedentary lifestyle will do to you.   My shin splints had shin splints.

The girls had wanted to spend an evening at our hotel pool, and it was a great night for that.    There was a café and a Pizza Hut poolside, so we enjoyed some pizza and a beautiful sunset.   A perfect end to a pretty nice day.

The next day we were back at Universal early, trying to catch anything we didn’t see the day before because of our Potter mania.  Connie rode many of the rides with the girls and they all agreed that the Harry Potter rides were the best they had ever ridden.   Repeatedly I was told how much I would love them, but they also were pretty sure that the motion would make me sick.   

It’s a bit of a cruel joke that someone who loves movies as much as I do can’t ride most of the movie rides, but if I had any moment of feeling sorry for myself at the park, I was immediately grounded back into reality by one of the numerous children being pushed in wheelchairs throughout the park.   Their faces had no room for self-pity.   Their eyes were wide with wonder at what they could see and not bitterness at what they couldn’t do.    They live their life on the terms they’ve been dealt.   It’s really not a big deal that I can’t ride a few rides at a theme park while on vacation.  

 

That afternoon clouds started to roll in ahead of the forecasted rain.   We slipped out of the park and walked over to Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville restaurant for an early dinner.   I won’t say how much I ate, but I’m pretty sure I blew out my flip flop and lost my shaker of salt.  

That night, we crashed hard.   As the rain poured outside, sleep took us one by one.   Each drifting off to dreams of dragons and wizards, princesses and heroes.   I was last to go, after watching them sleep for a while.   I was so tired that night that if I did dream, I’m sure I dreamed about sleeping. 

Orlando Vacation pt 1

We just returned from our third family trip to Orlando and I am sure it will take me a while to recover.   It certainly was not a bad experience, but I definitely returned home far more exhausted than when I left.   I don’t know what the original purpose of a “vacation” was supposed to be, but I don’t think it left you ready to return to work so you could get some rest.

It was 656 miles from our door in Oak Ridge to the hotel in Orlando.   Our plan was to leave at 4am, and since everyone was excited about the adventure ahead of us, we were actually packed and in the car, pulling out of the driveway at 3:59!     Somehow, the girls slept for 90% of the 12 hour trip; only waking for a Cracker Barrel breakfast stop and a few rest area pee breaks.   It was a quiet drive but tiring. 

That evening we went to the Florida Mall because there aren’t enough places to shop in Tennessee and we needed to walk a few miles under fluorescent lights for no reason.  

Sunday morning we were parking in Disney’s Magic Kingdom parking lot (which I’m pretty sure is bigger than our town) by 8:30am so we could get in the park when it opened at nine.   The line at the ticket booth should have been a clue for what the day would be like.   Then the line to get on the monorail should have confirmed it.     My hopes for minimal crowds because it was fall and the “off-season” were being slowly crushed in the shoulder to shoulder sardine can search for Disney magic. 

Shelby had a plan for attacking the park, and I was more than happy to give up control.   It’s kind of exhausting to be in control of everyone’s happiness.   Planning a trip and trying to satisfy everyone is like wrapping your arms around two dozen helium balloons and trying to keep any from flying away.    I told her to lead and I’d gleefully follow.   We hurried to the back of the park to experience “Splash Mountain.”    Since lines for it get longer through the day, it was wise to get there early.   

Let me pause here to give a brief explanation:   I love theme parks.   I love the logistics.  I love the design and structure of rides.   However, in general, I do not ride them.   I have battled severe motion sickness for my entire life, so even the use of Dramamine doesn’t always ensure my ability to ride anything that spins, drops, loops or shakes.   It’s a risk I’ve learned not to take, because I don’t want my illness to affect everyone else’s good time.   I enjoy the park through their experience.     I am also the designated “bag” holder, which is a very important role…(seriously).

Fortunately, I’m a major “people watcher,” and there is always a consistent and entertaining flow of people to watch at a theme park (Dollywood wins the prize in this field, but any theme park has its virtues). 

When they got off of Splash Mountain, all laughing and wet and happy, I gave them their bags and we quickly followed Shelby to the next target on her agenda.    I don’t actually remember the next hour because they were a blur of running from one end of the park to the other, finding attractions that were showing up on her Iphone App as having shorter lines.   I did ride the Haunted Mansion, because even little kids and people with weak stomachs can handle that one.  That and Pirates of the Caribbean are the only two rides I planned to ride that day.   They are my speed.

 By 10:30am Shelby realized that the crowds were so thick that any real planning was pointless.   Everything was busy.    The good rides had lines of at least an hour and usually 90 minutes.   Even the lines to lesser attractions were lengthy. 

I know this is hard to believe, but I became a bit surly.   I’m not a crowd person, and I don’t like lines.    Magic Kingdom is the oldest of the Orlando theme parks and it shows in the way traffic flow is designed.   I am sure it was inconceivable for Walt Disney and his architects at the time to imagine the incredible number of attendee’s flowing through their gates and walking their narrow paths in 2014.    They didn’t foresee double-wide strollers and oblivious people on their smart phones rudely stopping in a high traffic area to do a selfie.   

It is a beautiful place…a magical place…it actually brought a tear to my lovely wife’s eye as she walked in.    It is immaculately clean and staffed with consistently friendly, considerate employees.    Without a doubt, it is one of the best managed places I have ever been.  

But by 3:30 that afternoon, I kinda hated it.

Originally I thought the park was closing by 6pm…7pm at the latest.    But no…Disney does everything better than anyone else…so their day lasts until 1am!    While this is certainly a bargain for a family that has just paid out over $500 for five one day tickets, all I could think of as the hot afternoon drug on was how tired I was getting…and how bad my feet were hurting from that hard concrete…and how long those stupid lines were.   

Rather than walking around aimlessly from long line we didn’t want to wait in to another long line we didn’t want wait in, we decided to start going to attractions that were not as attractive anymore.   Despite the girls having said that morning that they didn’t want to do “Hall of Presidents” (because it was “boring”), they did not put up a fight when we said we could be out of the heat and in air conditioning for about 30 minutes.   I think I fell asleep for a few minutes during the Presidential roll call and robot head nod.  I’m pretty sure we all did.

After that we tried to do the Pirates of the Caribbean ride (one of the few rides I can do), but it had shivered its timbers somehow and was not available.   In desperation, we did “Country Bears.”    For nostalgia purposes, I hope they never get rid of Country Bears.  It is one of the original Magic Kingdom attractions.    Everyone should see it once out of sheer respect.   This was the third time in my lifetime.   It made me want to go hunting.

Despite their ages, the girls still get excited about seeing the Disney Princesses and characters.   They each have their favorites.   Shelby loves Belle.   Taylor loves Ariel.   Ashlyn loves Peter Pan.    We couldn’t hook up with Belle, but they did get their picture with Gaston (and in the tradition of good girls liking bad boys, they decided he was good looking enough to overlook his dark heart).   We also saw Ariel and Peter Pan, along with Donald Duck, Goofy and some others.    I loved watching their excitement as they stood next to a person pretending to be an animated character.   THAT is the real magic of Disney.   

As darkness fell across the park and cooler air replaced the oppressive heat, I found myself bearing the crowds slightly better.  The lines relaxed a little and the girls did Space Mountain while Connie and I waited on a welcoming bench. 

We tried one last time to ride Pirates of the Caribbean but it was still broken.   While the girls waited in another line Connie and I rode the steamboat around Tom Sawyer Island.   Away from the crowds and most of the noise, with the dark water beneath us and the lights of the park all around, it was my favorite part of the day.

Around 10 o’clock the crowd gathered for the Disney celebration light show and then the fireworks.   Like everything else they do, Disney excels at spectacle and despite my exhaustion and frustration; I looked up at the castle and the sky like a little kid.   Awed and amazed at the magic of imagery and music.   It was a great end to the day.

Yes, the end…because Bless their hearts…the girls said we didn’t have to stay until closing.   I think they were tired too, but maybe they just took pity on their old Dad.    Disney had given us a good long day.    Worth the money despite many rides unridden and many princesses unseen.     That night, after collapsing into bed and falling asleep instantly, I was haunted by dreams of strollers blocking me at every turn.   There was no escape. 

Facing the Stranger

This week I had my first job interview in over twenty-four years.    

It’s a strange thing for someone who’s fairly self-deprecating and relatively sarcastic to have to talk about themselves and give people the impression that they are somewhat mature, responsible and will somehow be an asset to the organization.   I can be that person, of course, but I don’t like to talk about it.  

I have to stop and think a lot before I speak.   My mind doesn’t coordinate as well with my mouth as it does with my typing fingers when communicating (and not always that well with my fingers either).   I have said stupid things way too often, and been burned by my rush to say what I think is on my mind.   I’m sure this comes across as indecisive at times, or rambling,  but I’d rather delay my answer a few moments than say something I shouldn’t say.

When I am asked the standard interview question, “Where do you see yourself in five years?” my initial thought response is, “I didn’t see “fortune teller” on the job description.  Should I go buy some Tarot cards?”  

Fortunately, my first level filter kills that idea.    My second thought response to where I want to be in five years is usually, “Gainfully employed.”  While this is a much more accurate gauge of my true feelings, it’s still not what I know they want to hear.   

Finally, I sputter out what I think will sound professional and attain the right level of enthusiasm, “In five years I would like to be recognized as a productive and valuable member of your organization.”  

In the end, what is said and done during the interview process means very little when it comes to the actual job.    I’ve seen lots of people who have spectacular resumes and give great interviews but fail miserably at performing the duties they were hired for.   I don’t want to be one of those people.  I’d rather lower their expectations and then surprise them.

Appropriately, I guess, the old song by David Bowie has been bouncing around in my head all week…

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the stranger)
Ch-ch-Changes
Don't want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the stranger)
Ch-ch-Changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can't trace time

I’m sure this means different things to different people, but when I “turn and face the stranger” I see the person that I  probably should be if I were more open to change.  

(Of course, I really would like to be a “richer man,” so me and Ziggy Stardust differ on that little nugget.   Besides, he was already rich, so it was easy for him to say that!)

Change is a constant in life, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.   I’m a prehistoric creature of habit.   Routine is my sanity.  

With so much “out of control” in my life, I cling to what is “normal.”   By that, I mean what is “normal” for me.    My “normal” would be strange to anyone else, and vice-versa.   In a world of bombings, global warming, car crashes, plane crashes, animal attacks, random gun violence, and Fox News…I find the comfort of my “normal” reassuring. 

People are always saying, “Get out of your comfort zone!”   They say it like all “comfort zones” are a bad thing.   I disagree.   It all depends on where that zone is located.    If your “comfort zone” is located in a bottle of Jack Daniels, then yeah, it is probably time to pack up and move out.   If your “comfort zone” is located in an unhealthy relationship, a miserable job, or a complete life of gluttonous sloth, then you should definitely, move on.

But there is a positive side to being in a “comfort zone” too.   If your “comfort zone” makes you happy, then you should stay there.   If leaving your “comfort zone” creates a high level of risk to yourself, your loved ones or others, then you might need to reconsider.    There is no shame in staying in a productive, healthy “comfort zone.” 

(I apologize for that meandering tangent.  I no longer feel like talking about “comfort zones.”)

Less than twenty-four hours after my interview, I was offered my new position.   In essence it is very similar to what I’ve been doing for the last 13 years, but with some added responsibilities and opportunities.   It means that I get to stay with the company that I’ve been with for most of my adult life.   It means I get the warm and fuzzy feeling of the familiar (no longer using the “C-zone” word) while also being offered some new challenges.   It’s a good thing.   I hope.

If nothing else, this returns me to a sense of stability, which I haven’t felt for a while.   That story is a page for another day, much like many of the other things that have happened to me and around me in the last couple of years.   Some things I’ll write about and some things I won’t.    Some secrets belong to the stranger and me.

The Far Better Half

One of the most difficult things for me as a father has been to balance what I want for my daughters with what makes them happy.   My primary goal so far has been to keep them safe.   I’m sure they think that if I had my way, they would all be living in a bunker deep in the ground, or in the tallest tower of a far away castle.   In truth, this would be appropriate because they are my Princesses, despite the fact that I am in no way a King.

One of our goals as parents has always been to give our girls a strong self esteem.   We didn’t want them to go looking for their self-worth in a man, because a lot of men prey on young women who crave even the slightest bit of attention.   These men can easily take advantage of that lack of self worth and eventually they take complete control.    This was not a life we wanted for our daughters.

As I look back on my life as a father, I realize that I have done a few things right, but many things wrong.   I was probably too over-protective (although, in my defense, they have been largely injury free!).  I did not set a good example regarding diet and exercise.  I was sarcastic when I should have been sincere.    I was jokey when I should have been honest.

It’s amazing, miraculous even, that they have turned out as wonderful as they have.   They are good kids.   Better people than me.  Better people than most (yeah, I am not very objective on this subject). 

I owe much of this to the Grace of God, who gifted me with them in the first place and then didn’t let me mess them up too much.    They also have a great support system in their extended family, who love and support them unconditionally.    Finally, they have their mother, the best choice I ever made both for them and myself.  

I see Connie in all the good things about my daughters, which fortunately outweigh the faults they got from me.  They are careful, but not paranoid.  They are sarcastic, but caring.   They can joke and play, but know when to be serious.   They like pizza AND salad!

A good marriage, and a successful family, is based on teamwork.    While I find myself usually out in left field, Connie is our most valuable player, and also our Coach, team doctor and our cheering section.   Without her, we wouldn’t know how to play.

I hope my daughters understand that why I love their mother so much is that she doesn’t need me.   That doesn’t mean she doesn’t love me, but that she doesn’t need my constant approval to make her happy.   She is her own person, and she has her own interests.  She doesn’t think she’s as awesome as I know she is, but she has a healthy self-esteem.   She stands up for herself when she needs to and she will sacrifice for others without giving all of herself away.  

She is comfortable in a crowd, and can light up a room, but her favorite place is sitting quietly in a field in the mountains.   She has an adventurous heart, tempered by logic not to do something insanely dangerous.   She hikes for the journey, not the destination.

I hope my girls remember that she is never too tired for them.  No matter how late it is or how little sleep she has had, she listens intently to whatever story they think is important enough to share.   As my “Dad Hearing” ability to tune out chatter becomes stronger with age, she hears everything they say and remembers.   She understands more than most of us that nothing is unimportant when it comes to your child.

In case I’ve made her pedestal a bit too high, let me say that she’s not completely perfect.   She doesn’t believe me when I tell her how beautiful she is.    She doesn’t understand that I think she’s one the smartest, most capable people I have ever met (and at my age, I’ve met a lot of people…and a lot of them have been VERY smart and VERY capable).    She doesn’t grasp how proud I am to be her husband and anytime I don’t show it is due to my issues and not hers.

So, as my daughters get older and are reaching crossroads in their lives, I hope they pray for guidance and listen carefully for the answers they should hear and not what they want to hear.   I hope they think about the example set by their Mother.   I hope they appreciate her as much as they should.  

It seems so little to say, but here it is,   "Connie...my wife, my love, the amazing mother of my children...Thank You…"

If it had been me...

It could have been that when I was 17 years old, I was walking home from my job at the library.   It was a cool evening and I was enjoying the darkening skies and the look of the glowing lights in the windows of the storefronts and my neighbor’s homes.   It was my favorite time of the evening, and knowing that a delicious Mom-cooked dinner awaited me added a little extra hitch to my step. 

Amid the thoughts that bounced around a 17 year old boy’s head (girls, school, girls, work, girls, etc.) I suddenly awoke to the sound of footsteps approaching behind me.   This was not unusual at this time of day, as others were getting off work, or walking their dogs, or just taking an evening stroll.   I didn’t glance back, and at the next corner, I turned to head east on Main.

In one of the angled windows of the Lerman’s department store, I caught a quick glance of a man walking about 15 steps behind me.   In the dimming light, he was cloaked in shadows, and I couldn’t make out his face. 

At the corner of 5^th and Main, I turned and headed toward home.   To my surprise, the footsteps followed and seemed to be picking up speed.   I began to walk faster myself, not really nervous, but curious.   I found it strange that someone would be making the same turns I was, but I would certainly lose them as I cut across the parking lot behind First Christian Church.

About halfway across the parking lot, I realized that whoever was behind me, was still right there, and as my concern began to rise, it felt like he was closing the gap between us rather quickly. 

I decided to make a detour, away from home and back up 4^th street to Main.   I still thought he might just be heading home in the same direction that I had been.    If so, he could go his own way and I’d breathe easier.    Besides, Mom was home with my little sister alone.   Dad was out of town and my brothers were working night shifts.   I didn’t want to rush there for safety and bring danger to my home.

Main Street was quiet and when I turned the corner I began to run.   About halfway down the block, I could see that the man had indeed followed me, and was now running to keep pace.   I turned and cut through a yard, hoping to lose him in the bushes.   I came out the other side into a parking lot that sat mostly empty, except for a few cars.   I thought for a moment that I should hide in one of the cars, and I tried a few doors, but they were locked.  

The man ran into the parking lot and I turned to look him in the face.   His eyes were wide with what appeared to be rage, but maybe just crazy.   I couldn’t tell.   I realized quickly that I was a little bit bigger than he was.   I was not much of a fighter, but I didn’t like my options.   The police station was many blocks away.   There were no big stores nearby to go to.   Nearby there were only houses, and I didn’t know these people.    

It was dumb, but I decided to confront him.  Seventeen year old logic isn’t always logical.  We jump bikes over quickly constructed wooden ramps.   We climb to the top of trees and stand on swaying limbs.   We don’t give a lot of thought to consequences.

 He wasn’t carrying a weapon, so I thought if nothing else, I could kick him between the legs and drop him to his knees.   It might give me enough time to get away.

I turned to him and said, “What are you doing?   Why are you following me?”

He said something that sounded like, “… are you up to,” but the pounding of fear in my ears made it hard to hear.   It was far and away the most frightened I had ever been in my life.  He took another step toward me, and I decided to attack with my right foot.

I took two quick steps and started to kick, but he jumped forward too quickly, and my foot hit his knee.   He groaned in pain and fell against me, knocking us both backward onto the ground.   As we were falling, I turned my body enough that I was able to roll him over and get on top.   I only wanted to stop him from following me, but in my panic I began to pound on him with both fists.   A flood of adrenaline washed over me and raged at the fear he had brought into my peaceful life.   I raged at the terror I should never have experienced.    I raged and screamed, “I’ll kill you…” but my hands were already aching and my onslaught was slowing.   I just wanted to get up and run home.

His hands slapped and punched at me, but he couldn’t get any momentum from his position.   Suddenly I saw his hand reach into his jacket and come out with something dark and shiny in the glow of the street lamps.    I reached to grab it and for a second felt the cold chill of metal before blast of light exploded from its barrel and hit me in the chest like a sledgehammer.  

I flew backwards and hit the ground hard.  The lack of pain surprised me.  I felt warm, as if warm oil was being poured over me, spreading across my chest and covering me like a blanket.    It wasn’t comforting at all.

I thought of Mom, standing by the stove and finishing dinner.   I thought of Dad, on the road and hours from home.   I thought of God, and asked him what I had done to deserve this.  

I opened my eyes, and as my vision cleared I could see a tiny star glowing above me.  My mind drifted back to my childhood, which in my fear and sudden smallness, I realized I was still in.   Star Light, Star Bright…First star I see tonight.    I wish I may, I wish…

It could have been me...but for pigment of skin.





 

Searching for Gratitude

 

If I seem to have been preoccupied with death and dying recently, I think it’s because death and dying have been preoccupied with me.   I have a tendency to be a bit morose on the best of days, so cover me in a shroud of mourning and mortality and watch me devolve into what can best be described as “the dark place.”  Since the first of August, my family has lost my sister, my mother, my uncle and just a week ago, my cousin.   Meanwhile, my Dad has been dealing with ongoing health issues and now my brother is in the hospital for the week of Thanksgiving.  

 

Yes, I’ve been in “the dark place.”    It’s not very pretty here, and I’m not very fun to be around.    I’ve been describing my thought process lately as “Swiss cheese,” with big empty holes where logic or short term memory used to reside.    My mind is muddy, and my self-pity has been keeping me from finding my way out.

 

I would be content enough to wallow in all this for a good long while, I think.    It’s an excuse for lots of things.    I can be anti-social, sullen, sarcastic, bitter…and it’s so easily explained by my loss rather than just being my “go-to” place when I’m not happy with myself.    Like the crutch of “comfort food” (and I went there too…with gleeful and gluttonous abandon), playing the “woe is me” card is the easy way to deal.

 

After the punch in the gut of a loved one’s death, sometimes you need another punch in the gut to wake up.   On Monday afternoon, Shelby called to tell us that one of her fellow music majors had died Sunday night in a house fire.   I had seen the news reports that day and seen the smoldering rubble on television.   The report was that three had survived but one had not.   Turns out that the woman had three children (ages 12, 8 and 5) which she got out of the house, but then she returned to save the family dog and never came back.     Horrible as this is, we learned that her husband had died in late August of heart disease.  

 

So now these kids have lost their father, their mother and all their earthly possessions in the course of 3 months.    The immensity of this just breaks my heart.   I know how hard it has been for me to deal with death in the last few months, but at their age…to watch their mother go back inside that smoking home and not return…the fear and pain must be immeasurable.  

 

For the first time since Mom died I was sincerely overcome by incredible gratitude that I had been able to have her in my life for as long as I did.   I was able to see past the loss of the moment and see how fortunate I was.   She was there for me through so many important moments in my life.    She was able to share her special kindness and love with my children, who are old enough to have those memories and carry her with them for the rest of their lives.   

 

Over the course of my life, I received so many smiles and so many hugs.  

 

I am grateful on this first Thanksgiving without her, that I have so many Thanksgiving memories of her.   Mom was the warm heart of our family, and she gave a piece of herself to each of us.   My self-pity would not honor her.   

 

Last weekend I was cleaning up messages on my phone and was grateful to find two with my mother’s sweet voice speaking to me.   One was wishing me a happy birthday last year and the other was from this summer when she was checking in to see if I was okay.    She always worried over us.   She worried about me travelling and flying so much.    I’m grateful she doesn’t have to worry any more.

 

This has been the hardest year of my life.   Sometimes it seemed like too much, but that’s only because when I look back, my burden had been pretty light for the most part and I hadn’t built up the strength to carry a heavy load.    I should be grateful for that.   I’ve had a great life.    I’ve been blessed with loving parents and siblings, an incredible wife, wonderful children, and good friends.   When I start to stoop from the load I’m carrying, they lift me up.   The faith my parents instilled in me lifts me up as well.    If I just let go, my burden will be light once again.

 

I have so much to be thankful for.   

What I didn't know...

The “Proscenium Arch” is a theatrical term for the framed area of the stage where the primary action takes place.   It is where our focus is drawn.   Actors perform for us within that arch and then go off stage, where they might spend their time refreshing their makeup or checking their scripts.   We don’t really know what they are doing, because we don’t see them…and frankly, when they aren’t in that arch, we quickly lose interest in their existence. 

In truth, we each live our lives like that.  Our vision creates our own personal “proscenium arch” on which the theatre of our life plays.   We see what is in front of us at any given moment, and those things that are going on behind us or far away from us (out of our line of sight) take on a far lesser importance.  

I had the crazy idea once that if I turned around fast enough, I might actually see that there wasn’t really anything behind me.   My theory (which is incredibly self-centered and kind of ridiculous) was that if I wasn’t seeing it, maybe it didn’t really exist.   It’s kind of like that old saying that “if a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it, would it make a sound?”  

My point in all this theorizing and postulating on what is real and what is not is that there are a lot of things going on in this world that I can never see or experience firsthand.    Still, just because I don’t see it within my personal “proscenium arch” doesn’t mean it isn’t taking place somewhere and might at some point have an impact on me or someone I care about.

Since my world revolves around me, I usually think I understand it pretty well.  I know those who have fallen into my orbit (family and friends) and I think I have them pretty much figured out.    Ask me about one of them and I can sum up who they are in a couple of common, simple words or phrases.   I can do this because this is “my world” and it’s all about what I know.

The problem, as I have become acutely aware, is that I don’t know that much…and what I do know, I don’t understand all that well.

Before she died, I would have described my sister with a few words:  “strong willed,..fun loving...stubborn.”  I would have told people that she “loved her family and friends” and I was “amazed at how resilient she was in the face of her physical challenges.” 

I would have said these things to encapsulate the entirety of her life.   Almost 44 years boiled down to 23 words.   Not even close to a word per year.

I loved my sister, despite some of our differences, and I thought I knew her, but I did not.   I knew what I saw, in that narrow window that I view the world through, but I did not see her off my stage, living and interacting with others. 

It was not until after her death that I began to get a better view of Tracy and who she was.   Through the words of others a picture of my sister emerged that was much more complete than the role that I allowed her to play in my life.  I did not see the impact her compassion and friendship made on others.   I did not see how her determination to live life on her terms was inspiring to so many.

I did not know.

Our life has many Acts, and sometimes characters that perform such an integral part within one Act will play a much less significant role in others.   Without a doubt my parents, my two brothers and my sister were the stars of my life’s first Act.  

Mom was the central character; my moral compass, my teacher, my healer, my therapist.   She defined my childhood with her unconditional love and her acceptance of who I was and who I wasn’t.   She was rarely off the stage, and if she wasn’t front and center, she was busy in the background, doing something to make my life easier and happier.

My life’s second Act began when I met Connie.   When she was on stage, she held my rapt attention, and when she wasn’t, she was rarely off my mind.   The stage was reset when we married and after moving to Tennessee, the sets and scenery changed.  Three new stars took center stage when our daughters were born, and the appearance of beloved characters from the first Act were far less frequent.  

You justify in your mind that talking on the phone once or twice a week or visiting three or four times a year keeps you involved in someone’s life, but that leaves a lot of time unaccounted for.   You don’t intend for those characters to stay offstage for so long, but there are so many things going on in front of you at any given time that it is easy to forget who is waiting in the wings.

We do not recognize that we are co-writers of our own script.  We have considerable control over who comes on stage and who doesn’t.   Since we are generally making things up as we go, most of the time we see what we want to see at that particular moment…and later we might wish that we had written things differently.   

As I look back on the staging of my life, there are many scenes I wish I had written differently.

I did not know that my sister would die on August 1, 2012 and that I would be fortunate enough to be there and say one last goodbye. 

I did not know that only six short weeks later I would receive a 2am phone call from my brother telling me that my mother was gone.   I did not know that I would never get to tell her “Goodbye…I love you,” or give her one last hug.  

I did not know, when I spoke to her in that quick conversation from the airport the Friday before she died, that it would be the last time I would hear her sweet voice.   I did not know that when I was busy on Wednesday evening and thought, “I’ll call tomorrow,” that Thursday would be my first day without my mother.  

There are so many things I did not know…

Mom was offstage for much of the Second Act of my life.   She was often on my mind, and always in my prayers, but I didn’t write her into as many scenes as I should have.  

I must also recognize that Mom was living her own play in which I was a character.   She did not write me out of her script, but set me free to live my own.   She did this because she loved me, and she never stopped.  I loved her too, and I am grateful that I told her that many times.  

Her final Act on this Earth ended much earlier than I wanted.   I thought she would be with me for many more years.  Still, I could not ask for a more wonderful passing for someone that I love so much than to go peacefully in her sleep in her own bed.  A better author than I wrote that part of her script.

There are times when I would like the chance to do a re-write on parts of my own life, but I know that is impossible and probably unwise.    I have to accept the simple fact that there was much I did not know, much I did not do, and much I did not say.   These are things which I hope will inform me as I enter the final Act of my life.   If nothing else, Mom would have wanted me to learn something, to find out those things I “need to know,” and to be a better person.

I have just begun the long mourning and the missing of her physical presence in my life.   To never be able to pick up the phone and hear her voice and her wise counsel again breaks my heart.   To walk up that path to the family home and not see her at the back door, smiling and ready with a hug, is almost unbearable to think about.  But as the wise young pastor, who spoke so eloquently at her funeral said, "she's now waiting at another door."  

I know that to be true...and I'll hug her again one day.

I love you Mom.