Camp 2019 Letter Three

To my son Tommy,

It is Wednesday 26 June 2019 as I write this letter. I took a day off from writing you because I figured you might be getting too many letters that take away from your camp time. I know Mommy wrote a letter or two and so did Roro and your Bwama. Even your Great Great Aunt Cindy is going to write you.

Yesterday the camp nurse called. Turns out you are allergic to horses. Who knew? Honestly we didn't even consider it. Here is a picture of you on a little horse (or maybe it was a pony) when you were younger. No issues that I remember from that day with any of the barnyard animals. But this time you broke out in hives.

During the incident, the nurse asked what it felt like the last time you needed EPI. You said it felt like this. You never needed an EPI pen injection (knock on wood) in your life so far. We were close once when you tried beef and ran you to the emergency room, but even then we dosed you with benadryl and made it to the ER before having to give you the EPI pen. Be careful with the dramatic flare. Administering an EPI pen means a definite trip to the hospital and probably "game over" for camp. So don't go for the sympathy drama. Sure it nice to have someone show you that concern, but unintended consequences await down that path. The nurse (who is most excellent) gave you a couple chewable benadryl  and kept you with her and you cleared up in an hour or so.

The silver lining (other than you being okay and learning that you are allergic) is that your mom got report on you. The nurse said, as far as home sickness or such, that you are having no problems. You seem to be adjusting and having the time of your life. Sorry you can't ride anymore while you are there, but I imagine you will still find plenty of fun things to occupy your time. Make the best of it!

Sincerely with love from your dad,
Leo

Camp 2019 Letter Two

To my son Tommy,

It is Monday 24 June 2019. As I write this letter, it has been just over 30 hours since we sent you off to camp. Mommy is itching to call the camp nurse and make sure you are doing okay. Not sure how much longer she can hold out. Mommy wrote her own letter today and just mailed it. Mine will go out tomorrow and probably get to you a day later. I figure by Thursday at the latest.

Anyways, typical dad thinking, I figure no news is good news and you are adjusting well. They will call if there is a problem. Otherwise, I can wait for the full after report when you come home. But I do miss you. Zoe dog does too. Look how pathetic she looks with no one to cuddle with at night. Okay the lighting sucks on the picture but she really does mope at night. Plus she can't write letters to you to make herself feel better. She has been extra cuddly with Mommy to make up for missing you.

It is funny what you think about when you miss someone. I was driving to work today and a Bob Marley song came on the radio. It made me think of all those drives to school where I introduced you to some of daddy's music. I pictured you waking up from your bunk and going on your cabin porch and seeing a couple birds tweeting away at you. Made me smile. If you get lonely, sing the Three Little Birds song, and think of our time together, and smile and know it will happen again soon. Then go back to enjoying your new friends and adventures.

Of course, you are never really alone. Your Grandpa Leo is your acting Guardian Angel and there with you. He is used to that camping stuff. Of course when he did it he had machine guns, and tanks, and half-tracks, and a full Army support element. But if the song doesn't make you feel better, say the Guardian Angel prayer.

Don't forget to wear your sunscreen and bug spray. Keep your hat on when you can. Drink lots of water.

Sincerely with love from your dad,
Leo

Camp 2019 Letter One

To my son Tommy,

It is not often I write something that I actually send to you to read right away. I have tons of letters written to you that I am sure one day you will read, but they are best left for later in your life. I figured this needs to hit the mail tomorrow.

I am writing this letter on Sunday the 23rd of June 2019, though you will probably get this letter Tuesday or Wednesday. Today, we dropped you off at Camp Puh’tok for two weeks. Just last night you were already lamenting (that means feeling bad about) that camp weeks are not full weeks and you won’t get 14 days there. Just think, you hadn’t even completed your first night and you already wanted to stay another day. But I think you will do okay with just 13 days!

After we left you at your cabin, with a whole ton of instruction that you half absorbed, your mom was muttering to herself, “He’ll be alright. He’ll be alright.” Mothers are like that, constantly worrying about their baby boys. As for your old man… well I know you will be alright because you have already grown into such a fine young man with a kind heart and a good head on your shoulders. I envy the fun and adventure you are about to enjoy.

Turns out the Morales family, Mr. Joe and Mrs. Brooks who you have met a couple times, are sending their daughter Iszy there next week. She is heading into the eighth grade next year, so she will most likely be in your cousin Ryan’s group. It is her first time as well. Try to say hi and make her feel welcomed and show her the ropes. You will be a seasoned veteran with a full week under your belt by the time she gets there! I think Mommy wants to send you her picture, so you can keep an eye out for her. She might include it in this letter, or she might write one herself.

I love you. I miss you already. Try to remember everything mom told you, but most importantly…HAVE FUN! I am very proud of you, my son, and will see you soon.

Sincerely with love from your dad,

Leo

Constant

To my son Tommy,

You have been in this world for a decade now (tomorrow). During the past ten years, things have changed, as most things do. 

People have come and gone from our lives. We have grieved those losses, thankful for the blessed time we had with them. We have embraced those newcomers, such as your baby twin sisters and the joy they give. You have become a big brother and a great one at that!

You have grown so much. Physically, you have come so far from the baby I held to become the handsome young lad before me. You have learned so much, not just in school, but in life; Not just in your brain, but in your heart. Your interests have changed from Sesame Street and stuffed animals, to YouTube stars and nerf guns, with stops on a million different flights of fancy along the way.

Last night, after baking some cupcakes with your mom, you came upstairs to the nursery where I was half asleep on the couch watching your baby sisters. I pried open one eye and asked you how the baking went. You came over as you said "Good" and then proceeded to lay right on top of me and wrap your arms around me and snuggle. It has been a long time since you snuggled with me. I thought the changes in your world, the ten years of hard knocks, may have precluded a snuggle session with your daddy. Sure you snuggle with your mom all the time, but mommies are easier to snuggle with, as is evident by the picture of you and your mom snuggling this morning.

I smiled with my lips and deep in my heart and said, "I love you. And I am so proud of you. You are a good boy, a good son, a good brother, and a good person."

You replied, "Even when I forget things?"

You forget many things, as ten year old boys often do. I spend much of my parenting life reminding you of those things and I usually end my chastising with "Try to do better next time" as I whisper in my head to myself "Try to be patient and remember to praise when he does remember next time."

I responded, "I will always love you and you make me so proud, even when you forget. And no matter how big you get, you will always be my baby boy"

You snuggled tighter and said, "I know." My heart lifted even more. You see, my son, though they say "The only thing in life that is constant is change" and the years have brought us plenty of change, there is one more thing that is constant and only changes by becoming greater and greater beyond imagination. That, my dearest Tommy, is my love for you and your mother's love for her baby boy. Happy birthday. I hope tomorrow is a great one!

Sincerely with love from your dad,

Leo

Welcome The Twins

To my son Tommy,

On July 24th of this year, we welcomed your baby sisters into this world. The girls have given us a full plate with a a TAPS scare and a long NICU stint and I am at the hospital with one now while you and Mommy are home with the other. But hopefully tomorrow, Eileen LuAnn Downey will be released from the hospital to join her recently released identical twin sister Rosemarie Jeanne Downey and the rest of the family! As you can tell by the picture, Ilee and Rosie are going to be a handful!

Sincerely with love from your dad,

Leo

Bah Humbug

To my son Tommy,

I write this letter to you today to explain what can happen. I don't say it will happen. I don't say it should happen. I don't say it shouldn't happen either. Everyone deals with grief in their own unique and personal way.

The holiday season has hit me hard. I am a real "bah-humbug" and have not experienced any of the joys of the holiday season. I mope around and have little to no joie de vivre straight across the board. I am cranky. I am depressed. I am withdrawn. None of which is fair to your mother or you. Any glimpse of normalcy is a simple facade and consist of going through the motions. But I find that facade harder and harder to muster. And I am aware, which magnifies the previous symptoms by a factor of ten and the shame for my present being by a factor of one hundred.

I get asked constantly, "Are you ok?" and I want to scream "Hell No!" but I don't. I smile and nod and say okay. But in my heart it feels like everything is wrong. The state of the world and this jackass disgrace playing President doesn't help much either. Plus work is like sliding down a razor blade into a vat full of lemon juice. But honestly, I used to be able to handle most anything the world threw at me, and handle it in stride. I would throw on a Jimmy Buffett tune and find some comfort among my family and friends. Now, I escape into an online chess game hoping that figuring out a checkmate will occupy my mind enough to give it a reprieve from all the rest.

I have no bandwidth for anything anymore. My mind is constantly awash with grief of loved ones loss. And evidently this retreat from life is a coping mechanism. Combine that with my zombie like stare and my IDGAF attitude that has made me stop worrying about things like my diabetes or weight and such. Add on what seems to be an insurmountable amount of stress to overcome the simplest tasks. Not a good combination.

The other night at your St Agnes Christmas Pageant, what is supposed to be a joyous event,  I had tears in my eye thinking of how my dad missed his grandson's concert and every concert and graduation and such to follow. Your mom says, "He saw it." but lately I have my doubts, which is an odd role reversal for your dad who is usually more the devout believer and your mom who tends to gravitate to more cynical views. I told her, "Tough to see it from Liberty Rd and through six feet of dirt" referring to Holy Family Cemetery and his physical remains.

They say time heals all, and I suppose sooner or later I will deal better. I have been seeking therapy for just that. And like I said, I am aware and I want with the deepest part of my soul to cope better. So maybe a change will come. Or not. I sure hope so as I feel like I am spinning my wheels in the quicksand of despair.

Again I tell you this story not to justify or approve of what I am going through or how I am going through it. I tell you it because you may end up one day going through something similar, and perhaps knowing your father went through the same will lessen the shame. At least I pray that it will keep you grounded and allow you to work through it however you have to. Or you may not go through anything the way your old man has. I don't want you to feel guilty if you don't respond this way. You do you when the time comes. In fact I hope you respond much better than I do.

I usually say you get to choose how you respond to anything and everything in life. This might be the one rare occasion that disproves that point. Sometimes there are biological, chemical, emotional, and spiritual mixtures that just stop even the most self-aware people from doing and acting and responding in what they would deem an appropriate manner.  I want to take the high road, I want people to see what life has thrown at me and say, "He was always smiling." But grief came through my life like a plow through a mouse's house, which was not my plan, but to quote Robert Burns. "the best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley, an' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,For promis'd joy!"...

"Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

Sincerely with love from your dad,
Leo

Wage War

To my son Tommy,

Your Grandpa Leo used tell me stories about diving underwater. He would tell me that when deep under water, things could go terribly wrong. When things went terribly wrong, after the initial panic, there is a moment of resolve that this is it. This is the final act. A calm comes over you there alone and you think it best to give up and accept your fate. That is when you have to dig deep and find the will to survive. You find you must fight. You find you must wage a battle for your life. And how do you do that? You simply breath. Blow out a bubble, a simple air bubble, and follow it to the top.

Your grandpa knew I wasn't a diver, but he told the story anyway. He often talked in metaphor and parable, most of which I still have yet to decipher. But this story rings true when you think about it in terms of life.

Life will beat you up. You will feel like your drowning. You will feel all alone. You will feel like giving up. Hell, there will be moments when you actually join in in the form of a self destructive downward spiral. I should know. You think, "Nowhere to go but down, might as well not waste time getting there."

Fight. Resist. Fight back tooth and nail. Don't give up. Find a way. Wage war! Wage it everyday of your life and fight!

But choose your weapons wisely. Choose kindness; Choose love; Choose compassion; Choose laughter; Choose prayer. These are not the easy weapons to use. Getting mean, getting angry, getting tough, those seem like the most obvious and quickest ways to stop your descent. They work, but at a cost. They are not the bubble. They are not the weapons that are going to lead you up and truly save you.

You know what else Grandpa Leo said in that story. He said when you get to the top, when you get that one gasp of air, make it a big one because a wave may come right away and knock you back down again and you are going to have to do it all over again. And you must do it all over again, as many times as it takes.

As for your war that you wage, the weapons you chose the other day were a couple of couch pillows, and furry friend, and a framed picture of your Nana Jeanne. Not bad choices. A formidable defense indeed. As for me, I need to find my weapons again and use them wisely. For the time being, maybe I can use your fort. Because you my son, are most likely the bubble I need to follow.

Sincerely with love from your dad,

Leo