There Were Days

There were days when I was at my happiest. Never thinking they would end. Each moment was full of glee, adventure, discovery, firing all of the senses.

They mostly happened when I was so very young. I had such a narrow view of the world. A bubble of calm. Everyone I knew was alive and well. They would be there forever. I didn’t know what evils were being done outside of this little world I lived in.

I haven’t experienced loss yet, sacrifice, heartache.

There were days when I was at my lowest. Being crushed under circumstances I didn’t start, ask for, or felt that I deserved. I was a hapless victim. An innocent bystander. …and no end or hope was in sight.

There were days when I was at my lowest and it was my fault. I deserved it. I chose poorly, blatantly. I chose that which I only cared about in the moment. No thought of the collateral damage. I didn’t care. At least until it caught up to me.

There were days when I was deeply in love. It’s all I could think about. Someone mattered more than myself. It was a girl, who became my wife. It was the child and siblings we brought into the world. It was a rescued dog that gave unconditional love. It was a family member I haven’t seen it far too long. It was my Father getting out of the hospital after a long illness.

There were days when I was terribly angry. At someone, someplace. An specific incident. At a workplace. The actions of a few, a single person, an establishment, a group, a demographic. A corporate mindset. A country. A religion. A friend. A close and maybe a far relative. My wife.

Myself.

Anger that would eat me alive. Anger that resulted in banishment. Causing deeper and long lasting trust issues. Irreparable choices.

There were days when I was afraid. Afraid for myself and for those I brought into this world and didn’t want to let down. I made contingency plans. Alternatives…prayed.

There were days I didn’t have hope. Despair was in abundance. I felt failure. A fraud. Stupid. Incapable. Lost in very woods I helped established. Without a plan, map or pathway to lead me out of them.

There were days I am at peace. Today is that day. As I sit here recalling the endless other versions. The ones that did eventually subside. That passed into a faded dream. Whether by hard work, faith, persistence, grit or stubbornness…it did get better.

I’m not sure how to prepare for the return of any of those specific “days” the next time. Hopefully I learned something to either avoid them, lessen or…work through them better.

My youth and optimism is buried under so much emotional debris and mental sediment. But with age and experience….I can set some aside in a safe and protected part of my heart and mind for those days yet to come.

Covid and reality

8,227 miles. 939 days. 6,412,667 dead.

I got Covid that travelled that many miles, that many days and how many have that died so far.

It doesn’t care if you never got sick. It doesn’t care about your faith. It doesn’t care if you believe in vaccinations. It doesn’t care who you voted for, your income, your zip code….

Or if you had a vacation planned. Or if someone one had a birthday. If you think you are a good person. If you are God fearing, or have any type of faith.

It doesn’t care if you took “some” precautions. Or if you only surrounded yourself around people you love and trust.

It doesn’t care.

Those first 3 days were scary. Chest pain, a cough that burned. The sweats at night. The morning where you think it’s better still has a burning cough and tight chest brings reality into your face.

I can’t fathom where we would need a respirator….or where one of us is gone within 72 hours.

I thank God for the vaccines, the boosters. The relatively healthy vitamin regime we had before this.

I’m thankful for being active for my age and having exposure to the heat and sweating my ass off during yard work or in the garage creating something in woodworking.

I’m thankful for all those shots in the military and being exposed to so many things overseas, that may have played a role in my bouncing back in the same week.

I dropped so many people in my social circles for being anti vaxxers.

I lost one too many friends from it.

Social media does not equal scientific knowledge.

This is the longest I’ve had to sit still and not…do anything….

Maybe God is telling me to just sit still….

…and know.

That I need a break.

A break in the routine

We are going on vacation in a few days. Not a wedding, funeral, reunion….no family. Just us and friends.

It’s been almost 3 years since we had one like that. Before Covid.

It’s going to be strange not doing chores, going to work or even waking up in my own house. Change of pace is good.

Downtime is needed very very much. I hope this gives my mind a soft reset.

It’s hard to walk away from the routine. And even harder to just sit and relax.

Here’s hoping.

The End of my Favorite Song

I forget what my youngest sister’s voice sounded like. I was barely 10 and she was 19 when she died in a car accident.

Her death was like the record player needle sitting idle, with no music, just the slow rhythmic crackle of silence.

Most ten years olds are not deep conversationalists. They only want to move and play. They don’t want to sit still and just talk.

I have so much to say to her now. So many questions. Only the quiet absence of her voice.

Losing loved ones leaves such a hole in your heart. There will never be another phone call, a hug and firm embrace arriving and leaving.

I can grasp at what her voice sounded like. It was light and melodic. I remember a fierce streak in her when she was wronged.

Barely 5’ tall in shoes, she was a tornado.

Her way-too-short 19 years on this Earth was a constant uphill battle.

I’ve lived her span of life three times over and I wish I could see what she would have done later in life.

Some days I don’t want to be close to anyone. To never experience loss again. I just want to hide and wait for nothing bad to happen.

As my life has finally gotten back on track, in my head and heart….I need to move that record needle and play some new music. A melody to fill the quiet void in my mind and heart.

Why we can’t let go sometimes

It’s so easy to say: “Let it go”. But not always. It depends on what “It” is.

Was it deeply personal, did it shape your life tragically? Was the incident like a large stone thrown in a stream, altering the direction of water.

Were your carefully laid out plans erased in a blink of an eye? Was your hand forced to do something unexpected?

Am I holding the bitterness as a war trophy? A self-imposed sentence. Do I think I deserved this or that fate?

Maybe letting go of something is not honoring the lesson. And then I will repeat the steps to cause it again?

Accountability, penance, punishment.

They say give it to God. I wonder if God gave it to me, to keep me in check. To stay within the “Lines”.

Boundaries.

On the other hand, maybe I do need to move on. Or at least try. It’s exhausting to cause self-inflicted suffering, when the world is doing it to you externally.

Maybe I should “be on my side” for a change.

Great kid….now don’t get cocky.

Duct Tape and Chicken Wire

I had a random thought and possibly a big inward looking discovery. I sometimes obsess about fixing things and problems. To be clear, I do not try to fix people or relationships.

I figured that out a long time ago. My parents divorce and subsequent sister’s divorce after 40+ years proved that point. My oldest sister has been carrying a torch for a man since the late ‘60s/early 70’s. She inserted herself into his family as a pseudo mother/aunt and now Grandmother. These past few years I can see where she created a life for herself that she never pursued on her own….she basically adopted an extended family.

She told my other sister and myself about her plans to Will her house to one of those “other family” members.

We weren’t upset for several reasons….

Her townhome is worn out, she is a borderline hoarder….and finally, the house wasn’t a family residence full of memories. So basically she is saving us the nightmare of clearing it out.

I did the same thing in High School….adopted a “normal” family that was my girlfriends. Family time, dinners together…games, etc.

It was revenge for my childhood being fragmented.

But after a year or two, I saw that her parents weren’t in a perfect marriage. (Hence the mother making a move on me mentioned in my Mrs. Robinson story)

From my early childhood I was fascinated on how things worked. I would take apart toys, my mother’s music boxes, anything I could take a screwdriver to.

Later on after a terrible nasty divorce….I continued my quest to figure out how things worked and this time, how to repair them. Because usually, they could be fixed.

Usually.

Sometimes these fixes were temporary. Hence the term: “Duct tape and chicken wire…or coat hangers”

I would try anything to get the item to function again if only temporarily. It was like revenge against the negatives and outside world trying to stop progress, functionality. To deprive something of its purpose.

This endless crusade and quest to fix the world (one widget at a time) mixed with being in Scouting and the Military…may also be the cause of why I get so upset when things, or people, or the world for that matter doesn’t “behave” as I expected it to.

These past few years I challenged myself with woodworking. Now I want to create things. Less rules and I’m starting from scratch. No history to adhere to. Even when I’m refurbishing furniture. I’m given it a new life. New…..purpose.

I was told I am a dog with a bone when faced with a mystery, something broken. I take that as a compliment.

And finally, after falling hard in 2015, I started fixing myself. With the help of professionals. I’m finding out what makes me tick. And also resetting, at least trying to, reset my view of myself and the world.

I think this task will be my most challenging. And I’m going to need more duct tape and chicken wire.

😉