Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Urgency

To my son Tommy,

The dead regard the living with a mix of pity and laughter as the living go about their "oh so important" tasks with such urgency and fervor. Your Grandpa Leo is in his next place laughing as I try to get an "oh so important" piece of paper that all those "oh so important" companies and "oh so important" government agencies need to do the "oh so important" job of handling the affairs of those who passed on to that next place. Between Gilchrist and the Maryland State Anatomy Board and Maryland Vital Statistics and the Maryland Department of Health and Mental Hygiene, I play a sad little slave to bureaucracy and frustration and building anger as I try to get a death certificate, just to go deal with the next line of companies and institutions of bureaucracy and their problems. Lord, give me patience. Lord, give those who don't do their jobs properly hemorrhoids. I kid, I kid. I  wish no one harm. I will just climb my mountain top, yelling of these minor injustices to whomever will listen, until I stop and calm myself and realize my own "oh so important" sense of justice may be hastening the time you will have to get that "oh so important" paper for me. If that time comes, I too will be laughing in that next place and giving you a 10% chance you receive my death certificate, 60% chance you receive the certificate of your Grandpa Leo, 30% chance you receive that of your Great Grandpa Leo. Aren't you glad I didn't name you Leo?

Sincerely with love from your dad,
Leo

Monday, April 3, 2017

Grief

To my son Tommy,

I put you to bed last night with an ad hoc prayer before our normal structured prayers . In it I mentioned the word grief. "Daddy, what's grief?" When I explained it to be a deep sorrow for something lost, you immediately added, "Oh so our special thing we lost is Grandpa Leo and we all feel sad and that is grief?" Basically. You are so smart.

I wish there were a way to shield you from grief, not that I would be doing you any favors if I were to do so. Life is filled with grief and sooner or later you are forced to learn to deal with this emotional cocktail. Still your mom and I kept you home from school today. Later in the night, after we put you to bed in your own bed, you got up to use the potty and then before heading back to bed, you came in to our room crying. You sobbed, "It is just not the same without Grandpa Leo." Your mom held you dearly in her arms and we all cried together. When we offered the reprieve from school for today you said, "Will I feel better Tuesday?" Oh sweet boy, no. We explained that this sadness might be with us from time to time for a very long time and might pop up at the most inopportune times. You weren't thrilled by this prospect. "Then I guess I should just go back to school because it won't do any good to miss." Of course, when you said this, we were already approaching if not passed the midnight hour and your mom and I had made up our minds that you should stay home.

I don't know how to explain that time won't necessarily heal this sorrow that you feel, but like I have said before, it will allow us to learn to live with this sorrow and many others in our heart as we once again allow ourselves to live with joy and happiness in that same heart. Like I mentioned yesterday, our hearts are incredible machines that can fit all these emotions and not even come close to capacity. Still the pain and sorrow and grief we feel now has just been poured into our hearts, and it may take some time to settle before we pour too much else on top.

Sincerely with love from your dad,
Leo

Sunday, April 2, 2017

Stages



To my son Tommy,

Each person processes death and grief in their own manner. The professionals can't even concur how many stages of grief there are with some listing five...denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance...and others further separating categories to include shock and guilt each as their own stage. They can't even tell us how long each stage will last or which order they will come. Some move directly through the list in order and quickly while others hop around the list in varying levels often returning to a stage they thought they already managed. I don't know if even classifying the stages help; it almost seems dehumanizing and all too clinical.

One stage your Grandpa would not want you, or any of us for that matter, to feel is guilt. He would not want us mad at ourselves for carrying on. He would not want every smile on our face or laugh in our voice to be questioned. He would not want us wondering if we deserve happiness again or if we gave a proper amount of time to being sad. He would delight in each of us living our life in the fullest and ask us to continue to search among friends and families for those moments that seem to thumb their nose at stages and categories and other such classifications. He would remind us life is messy so get out there and live the mess. For me, it is easier said than done. I have to compartmentalize and separate my sorrow from my fun as I try to move on without my father. For you however, you have an uncanny way to manage your sadness and your joy, the past and the present, our loved ones gone with our loved ones here, in some type of homogeneous existence and celebration of life as you soldier on through it.

Last night, life continued on for you. Your mom and you had won four tickets on the radio contest called "The College of Knowledge" on 101.9. The tickets were for the ballet "Excalibur: The Sword and the Stone" put on by the Ballet Theater of Maryland at the Lyric. Well you only know one young lady extremely into dance, so you invited Rhiannon to attend. Chaperoned by your mom and your Aunt Kelly, off you guys went while your dad and Uncle Eric vegged out at the house with Wyatt and Garrett. We all joked that it was your first official date.

The ballet went off without a hitch. You had good seats that were in row O (that is the letter O and not row zero like your mom originally read). I think your mom learned to appreciate musicals that have speaking, more words, less interpretation, as she questioned her appreciation for ballet in general during the show. Your Aunt Kelly, who has learned a thing or two behind the scenes with Rhiannon's dance productions, said the show was great! You described it as a wonderful time and only regretted not having enough time to play with Garrett and Wyatt. Your dad and Uncle Eric talked and watched silly tv shows and tried (unsuccessfully) to limit the amount of toy chaos caused by the two boys at home.

And so life goes on. No need to feel guilty for having a wonderful time with a brand new experience. The ballet stage is a stage of grief that your Grandpa Leo would want you to experience. That is what life is about. And during each of these moments to come, your Grandpa Leo will be there in your heart. Sometimes a memory might pop up and bring you some sadness when you least expect it, but that is okay too. It doesn't mean you are wrong for enjoying life, enjoying the moment, it is just our loved ones passed trying to enjoy it with us. Our hearts are incredible machines with the ability to fit all this emotion in it and not even begin to stretch to capacity. Our hearts can handle both or all these emotions at once. We just have to learn to allow that to happen. Sometimes that can seem incredibly difficult and sometimes it even hurts, but, if we can learn this lesson, we will be better off for it. So be it by putting a colander on your head, or attending the ballet, or just soldiering on and showing up for each day, we each process things in our own way. This one thing is for certain, life does carry on.

Sincerely with love from your dad,
Leo




Saturday, April 1, 2017

To Understand The Colander, You Have To Wear the Colander



To my son Tommy,

Well, there are weird going-ons in this house. Yesterday, we discovered the basement foundation leaking in a spot square in the middle of the back storage room's west wall.

Water was pouring in. Seems the contractor your grandpa had out years ago to water proof the foundation did a crappy job of patching a pipe through the wall. It wouldn't be the first time we had found how crappy this contractor turned out to be, but it might have been one of the most non-appropriate times. I'd say he never really ever succeeded in waterproofing the foundation and we have been fighting these skirmishes with water for some time now. Of course I have no idea why that pipe exists, as it connects to nothing, perhaps just an unused foundation sleeve. Your Grandpa Leo would know. And why did it leak yesterday? I bet it has been leaking for some time but yesterday the stars aligned and showed it to us. Or perhaps Grandpa Leo lead us to this? Or perhaps Grandpa Leo is just screwing with us? One of his favorite sayings to me during troubled times was, "Don't worry. It will get worse."

This morning the electric in the house flickered off. Hasn't flickered in ages. It was only out for two minutes. Long enough to wake me because my CPAP went off. Long enough for Grandpa Leo's soul to say, "Let's see how you handle no electric in the...oh wait you already have the tubs filled with water in case of that? Good job boy. I'll turn it back on."

Of course, his soul has more to worry about than the earthly worries of this world. I know any coincidence or causation I attribute to him is more me reaching and trying to find him here with me in another sense. But if I want to find him here with me, all I have to do is reach in, not out. All we have to do is reach deep within ourselves and see the love and the memories and the teachings he left all of us. Like the lesson of the colander.

One of the most common questions I get about your Grandpa Leo is "What is up with wearing a colander?" They have so many theories even going as far to suggest he was part of the parody religion of the Pastafarians. Well, I can tell you...your Grandpa Leo was wearing a colander on his head way before any jackass started worshiping a flying spaghetti monster to make fun of religion. In fact when Grandpa Leo found out of that cult, he almost put an end to colanders, but alas beer mugs don't fit on heads. So what is the meaning?

The meaning is different for everyone. To understand the colander, you have to wear the colander. Of course there are some basic principles in the colander-head relationship. Donning the colander recaptures your youth, when a child would wear pots and pans and pretend she (or he) was an armored knight of yore fighting a dragon. Wearing the colander makes sure you and others don't take life too seriously and embrace the absurdity of it all. It fills a void, the need for silliness in our life, a need which grows larger with every passing year into adulthood. It is tough to wear a colander without wearing a smile and the world needs more people to wear smiles.

Now over the years, your Grandpa Leo would argue the practicality of colander wearing as opposed to the existential benefits. He would tip his "hat" to the foil wearing conspiracy theorists through out the world and argue it protects his brain waves from aliens or government spying. He would quickly point out that it allowed your head to breath while still providing protection. The iconic picture of you and him on the bench, with you in that colander, comes from bird-watching. Some swallows had nested on the front porch. You guys were going to see them. They were dive bombing people who got too close. Your grandpa wanted to protect your noggin. And you, you accepted the colander without question. And a tradition was passed on to another generation. Your Grandpa Leo also argued that no one else would pick up his hat and it was easily identifiable when he needed to grab it while leaving. And then there was the practicality that it drove your Grandma Roro just mad, a husband's prerogative.

Your Great Uncle Paddy recently donned a colander in honor of his brother. It wasn't the first time as you can see by an earlier picture I have posted below. This time, he encouraged others to put on their fanciest. Many responded. A fitting tribute to a man who knew much of life wasn't worth the worry and if you just put on your colander for a few moments you could protect yourself from the worry that comes with the stresses of life. Plus it is fun.

Sincerely with love from your dad,
Leo

P.S. The first one is of Uncle Paddy around March of 2015 or so. The rest (except for you and Grandpa Leo on the bench) are current and of people (the ones I have collected so far) near and far, donning their colander in respect for your Grandpa Leo trying to create some smile wrinkles to channel the tears away from our whisky.