All, Some or None

All, Some or None

 

I miss some people a lot, a little, not at all….or AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE.

Yes, that sounds harsh but it’s the way it is.  I joined my High School Alumni page but only to see the old click still trying to grab the spotlight at times.  Or I am seeing the progress of our old building being torn down and feel….nothing.  Nothing at all.  I can barely remember most of my teachers or classes I took.

Someone commented on how The Ramp in the main common area was covered in river gravel at one point.  I have zero memory of that.

It’s kind of sad that is my history there.  Just a grey cloud.  But maybe its also good.  I know some kids “peaked” in High School and never felt that important or noticed outside the classroom door.  Maybe that’s why the shy ones, the underdogs sometimes flourish post-graduation.  Sometimes.

Some are like Uncle Rico in Napoleon Dynamite.  Trying to get that one moment back.

 Other classmates before, during and after my time there are sad and nostalgic about the demolition.

Maybe I would be too if my parents didn’t divorce and I had a “normal” life during that time. But instead I was just trying to get through each day with the promise of graduating and moving forward.  To where?  I had no idea back then.  I just know I would be able to be somewhere else, and eventually out on my own, unburdened.  Do I still blame my parents?  Maybe not.  For it forced me to grow faster and be more independent earlier in life.

I’d say more responsible…but that took longer.  😉

 I now see this trend with a lot of people and things in my life.  My military unit is a huge one.  Once I hit the 15^th anniversary of my retirement, I finally accepted that it’s over and

I could never go back.  I know that wasn’t realistic.  I was just trying to hold onto that momentum and feeling of belonging.  But I started to see the politics, drama, BS, nepotism, dirty back room deals and now…I have let it all go.  (Not the memory of the good things…just those people)  Sadly, some people I actually care about and miss are unfortunately collateral damage.

Because attending an event would involve seeing the “non-gratis people. “ 

 I’ve also worked too hard to adjust to my new “normal” and my work/life balance.  They say to cut toxic people out of your life, and it actually works.  They also say to not let people live Rent Free in your head.

I will never visit some of my old workplaces.  For they all eventually crashed and burned. Toxic culture, horrendous management…etc.  As my best friend would say: “Little Cubicle Empires”.

Even at my current job, they exist.  BUT….I somehow fell into that small niche with the total opposite outcome.  A supportive boss, co-workers and a client who “loves” us.  I also get to use my hands and mind for good and productive purposes.  I’m supporting heroes again.

 My self-imposed exile is necessary.  I’m finally happy, more or less and rediscovering myself finally.

 

Momentum

I’m ashamed to admit that I love the movie “Hot Tub Time Machine”, not for its over the top crude humor as much as it struck a nerve with me. It mostly took place in 1986. That was a very, very, VERY pivotal year in my life.

That was when I decided to join the Air Force.

One of the main character’s young 20-something nephew goes back in time with the group and see’s how wild and crazy his uncle and friends were.

He asked his uncle in one scene, “What happened to you guys?”

(Referring to the current older versions who’s lives are a mess or have dreams unfulfilled)

His uncle replies very sadly: “We had momentum…”

I pulled a simple 12 hour shift today. (We are rotating to ensure no one gets burned out)

I work my regular 8 hour days during the rest of the week. I guess we are “Essential”, which gives me a huge roller coaster of emotions at any given minute. I’m complex that way….and not necessarily a strong trait. More of an exhausting trait.
So I’m proud, humbled, angry (that many others get to “work from home”) honored, jazzed, scared, and mostly just plain tired.

“Time to make the doughnuts…” kind of tired.

Back in my military days, we pulled 12 on, 12 off for months on end. “12/12’s”

Yes I was younger back then, but then I realized there were other factors. I was with my military brothers and sisters in the field. We had each other’s backs. We didn’t cause the stress, and we faced it head-on with our arms locked and overcame all of it.
All.
Of.
It.

Think of the movie “300” without the death and 8-pack abs….

In this new world I am working in, I still have a great team, but the external factors greatly outnumber us. External factors that make this activation harder than it needs to be.

I’m sorry I tell endless “war stories” and how much I pine over the “good old days”…but you had to be there.

The other branches would gawk at us when we arrived onsite, and with little discussion or pre-deployment briefing, we would setup an entire comms site in hours and be on the air with secure communications to the other side of the world. We were on autopilot.

When something crashed or hit the fan, we also bolted into action like a complicated ballet troubleshooting, analyzing, fixing issues as the popped up…effortlessly most times.

Veteran’s experience their own version of Dog Years. We compress so much stress and emotion into a shorter period of time, that it gets into your system. Look at ANY industry where retirees literally drop dead within the first months, years of retirement. That is all they knew. They were wired for the frantic pace, the ongoing trench warfare of the mind.

As I said, you just had to be there, because….

…we had some freaking awesome momentum.

The Empty Garage

My good friend of 15+ years died New Year’s Day. He was 87. We saw the end coming back in October last year. I visited him at least once if not twice a day on certain occasions to help him with various things a friend, neighbor, tech support and handyman usually would do. I tried to comfort him on the bad days when he got cabin fever, and he wanted to desperately get out of the medical bed in his living room.

The years before his passing, we talked about airplanes, cars and everything in-between. He loved his cars. He had a beautiful Mercedes Benz, and Ford F-150 Lightning Pickup truck (1999 Edition) Basically is was a pickup truck with a supercharged Mustang Cobra engine in it. He would let me borrow when I needed a truck to use for quick errand for large objects.

After my friend died, his “absent” son showed up and grabbed the keys. (Its a long painful story which I will not waste words on) The only good thing is, there is a lawyer overseeing the estate and has total control of the estate and the cars. But….my friend’s 91 year old wife doesn’t drive and the cars will be liquidated.

For as long as they sat in the garage, it was a small memorial to my friend and his passion for cars. Both cars are not my “type”. The Mercedes is a huge sedan, and the truck and it’s 400hp is not practical for a daily commuter vehicle. I hate being a responsible adult. A necessary evil.

The Son has already donated, tossed his clothes and other non-important items. He was never close to his father. Each time a reminded of my friend is removed from the house, so does the presence of his legacy and memory. Soon the house will be an empty shell with no trace of him.

Just empty space.

The Great Escape

Sometimes the greatest escape is internal. I find comfort and solace in writing, woodworking, reading and drawing.

My mind can be free in words. I can express myself whether it’s the heavily edited version on Social Media, or on here

where I don’t have to hold back.  I share my fears, regrets, happy memories, saddest tragedies and greatest triumphs without judgement.

(If you have any, please don’t share them with me)  let me have this ignorant bliss.

I wish I was a confident and stable as my FB persona. But it is what it is.

I just keep trying to stay one step ahead of the guys with the giant butterfly nets.

I keep putting off friends, family and acquaintances for get togethers and drinks.  It’s not so much I 

don’t want to, its just that I have only so much time and it feels fleeting. I am very greedy with it after work and on weekends.

Maybe its leftover from my military career where I gave them 110% of my time, body and soul.  Now its my turn to be “me”.

My writing allows me to dig deep in the past and reassess what exactly happened with this older maturity, experience and perspective.

I always hope to discover something new, or lessen the damage those incidents caused in the long term.  Kind of like re-opening a 
“Cold Case” and finding more clues.  And maybe, just maybe…closure.

At one point, my mind was a prison, those couple of years were the worst ones in my life.  

Now I tread cautiously when “retracing” my steps. Like going through a supposedly cleared minefield.

I do need to visit the past, to help me understand this version of me.  And to hopefully not repeat history.

Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

 

As I get older, my medicine cabinet fills up with more types of medications and supplements, I can start relating to the characters of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

While I do think I have ADHD, by more Anxiety/Depression driven issues, I do know that I am impulsive, borderline on self-destructive behavior.

While I would never harm myself or others (Physically) I know I would harm them long-term emotionally. When I accidentally skip a dosage or wait too long between them,

I over-react… I lash out verbally.  And the sad thing is it’s with the ones I’m supposed to protect and love.  Maybe subconsciously we think that’s acceptable because the

are supposed to see us unfiltered and at our worst.  Which is even worse. And very, very unfair.

Today is Valentine’s Day, and thanks to society and hallmark cards…and florists, we are supposed to make “extra” effort to proclaim our love for someone close to us.

It’s supposed to be every day.  That’s like people who only go to church on major holidays to fill a checkbox.  

I keep saying I’m going to try and make things right, to do better, be better at this, or that.  Sometimes with success, sometimes with the monster cornered atop a flaming windmill with

the angry mob surrounding him.  I guess I will keep trying.  I almost want to get a “Pause” button tattooed on my left hand.  To remind me to do so.

Maybe I will just use a sharpie for now.  I need visual cues.  Time does heal all wounds.  But I also read you may never really overcome loss or pain but do learn to live with it.

 

I also love the notion, you are not struggling with Depression, it is struggling with you.  😊

 

So I will continue the delicate balance of the Doctor and the Mister. Keeping them in their respective corners of my soul.  Trying to maintain that balance of “normal”.

 

It’s not that bad every day.  It just feels like it.

 

 

Random Moments of Peace and Frequent ones of Chaos

A few times a day, my mind is at peace.  I’m starting to enjoy these rare moments.

Usually it’s on a the weekend when I wake up and know I can sleep a little longer.

Or Its after the second or third glass of my Jim Beam and Honey.  And I’m warm all over.

…and not feeling alone for a change.…or feeling sorry for myself.  I’m such a contradiction.  I hate crowds, want to alone, and then I feel isolated.  No Win Scenario.  An Impossible Compromise.

I’ve said it before and it should be on my headstone someday:

“It’s exhausting to be me.”

 

I think as I get older, I start to see more sides to everything.  More “shades” of the proverbial grey.

One of my favorite terms from my MBA classes was:  “Contributory Negligence”.

Both or multiple parties are guilty of something.

At this age I’ve seen cause and effect.  I’ve known accountability from my time in the Military, to marriage and then parenthood.

I was a leader in the office and in the field.  I understand consequences, morale, toxic environments, good and bad leadership traits.

And then when I see someone choosing the wrong side, the worst possible choices…I get infuriated.  When someone knowingly or doesn’t care about others, I again, lose it.

 I’ve also commented before when College students learn history, and “how the world is supposed to work” (or business) and they see the majority NOT doing any of that.

No wonder they protest, challenge or complain.  But at the same time, unless they take short and long term steps to actually do something about it, they are wasting their breathe (and the oxygen around them).

Making a posted won’t sway the majority.  It may give pause, but probably not a long term change. Some days I question my sanity, my expertise, my talent, my actual relationship with those around me.  

But then I see someone who seems to be a million times worse and think:  “You aren’t so bad.”

 I think my woodworking or other creative outlets like drawing or writing give me an outlet.  Like the weighted pressure cap on a cooker.  

It’s just enough to keep some pressure, but also a safety valve to prevent an all-out explosion.

I would never harm anyone (God I hope not) but I would do something drastic with some kind of repercussions.  

My sense of dark and twisted humor could get me fired if left unchecked.

 So…when my overworked brain and heart takes a short break, I feel that release of pent-up energy and exhale slowly.

I can almost see the dark clouds forming on the horizon, and the cool breeze of it building up slowly.

But for now…I’m free.

 

 

The Not So Great Race

The Not So Great Race

 

In my head, it’s an easy promise.  On paper it makes total sense.

In practice and in reality almost impossible some days.

The past few days and more frequently than I want to admit, I’ve been total ass at home.

I want to blame burn-out, my medication from wearing off. (The kind that quiets my spastic and OCD mind, filled with anxiety and depression)

I have a “Me Checklist” of fun stuff I want to do when I crawl home, but when the house needs come first, I throw a tantrum. I’m rude and disrespectful to my children

and to the woman I promised to be true to.

 

For a brief second, I want to pause, and reset, but can’t.  It’s too late, the emotional dam bursts, the words come out and the damage is done.

I feel like I’m back to square one back in 2015. Years of therapy wasted?

 

After it’s too late, I take my pill, then chase it down with a tall pour of bourbon.  I wait to see who kicks in first.

I never paid attention to “who won”….cause I’m numb and mad at myself.

 

I then relieve all my other mistakes and decisions until it’s time to hide in bed again.

I realize how many close friends I have ghosted and put off from meeting up with, because I hate social settings.

I hate crowds. Noise. 

 

Getting older is such a contradiction. We rush to be older, never pausing to live in the moment. Then when we do slow down,

we are too old to do something we use to enjoy.  And now, we are too tired, cranky to try something new.  I get it now.

And I am still trying to pause. To breath.  And keep my mouth shut and foot out of it.

 

Trying. 

 

I just need to stop tripping at the starting line.

 

again.

A Temporary Halo

A Temporary Halo             

 

I’ve made so many promises in my life.  Some kept, some delayed and some never fulfilled.

…oh, some blatantly broken.

There is one I am keeping right now.  To visit the widow of my friend and neighbor who passed away on Monday after a short illness.

I text her at-home nurse to see if she is awake (She sleeps all day now) and if she is, I stop in for a quick chat.

It’s a simple task, some days I look forward to it, but other days, my heart isn’t in it.  But I made a promise to Buck.

I say I don’t like conversation, but it’s my superhero power….when I’m in the mood for it.  Otherwise, I don’t want to

interact with anyone.  Anyone.   I am starting to wonder how I would handle one of those reality shows where I have to survive on my own and outlast others.

Aside from the eating and building a shelter part, I really think I could handle the alone part.

It’s all perspective.  

 

I was visiting and helping Buck in his final months when and where I could.  Late night or early morning calls asking, pleading with me to come down to resolve some

crisis.  (They never were but I still came)   But his second-to-the-last hospital visit, he called me in the early evening, begging me to see him at his hospital room.

I sat there, held his hand, which I think he would never do before the illness became worse, and comforted him.  He confessed to me that he wasn’t ready to die yet.

The fear and panic in his eyes and voice were heartbreaking.  I’ve been treated for anxiety, depression, adjustment issues, maybe some form of OCD, anger management….etc.

All due to my post military life.  And maybe some side-effects of 9/11 and hurricane deployments, and now-banned medication I was issued.  It’s a buffet of possibilities.

 

But for Virginia’s sake, I can’t hide behind it.  That’s one thing I learned from the military, Service before Self.  Sacrifice.  In this case, I’m “sacrificing” my Me Time, or escape routes.

I wish I could go back and do somethings differently or not at all.  Decisions and actions.  But I can’t.  I want to say I’ve learned from the past, but not always.

Right after 9/11, I discovered I was a match for someone needing a bone marrow transplant.  A good friend of mine told me, at least when I do this donation, I could look back and say I did this

one thing right.  For someone else.  Who was a complete stranger back then.

 

I’m not sure how much time Virginia has left now.  At 91 and exiling herself to the bedroom almost 24/7, she may have given up. 

So I will not complain, take my meds and think about someone else for a change.

 

“You wear guilt, like shackles on your feet, like a halo in reverse…”

-Depeche Mode, Halo

The Loop

The Loop

 

I finally caught up my recently deceased neighbor’s wife this week since his passing. She spends most of her days in bed now.

Even before he was sick, she slept a lot.  At 91, I think she more than earned the right to do whatever she wants.

She was awake, but still in bed.  She just wrapped up a phone call with one of her few remaining friends.

The conversation bounced around, we both admitted that we don’t dwell on her husband’s passing and are both in some

sort of denial.  Even just pausing for a moment to let it all sink causes a small panic and sense of dread and extreme sadness.

My counselor’s “delay” or “postponement” technique has really come in handy for this situation.

 

I didn’t know he was the youngest of six children.  I didn’t know his mother wanted him to be a preacher and NOT a pilot.

She laughed and said could I imagine Buck as a preacher?  I laughed along with her, but also noted his Paul Harvey mid-western drawl would make

him a great preacher.  But at the same time, his brutal honesty would throw some people off.

She told me about one of his best pilot friends who left his wife, with whom he had five children with, to live with a flight attendant.

Buck and his wife would go to many Jazz festivals with his friend and new live-in girl.  

 

But before the conversation got off the ground (Bad pilot pun), I told her I wanted to 

start the cars to keep the batteries charged.  Even though she won’t be driving the cars ever again, I want to keep them operational 

for when it’s time to sell them or give them away to the heirs.

 

I also changed the AC filter as Buck use to ask me to do monthly. (Some things will continue on)

 

At one point she asked me, what do I think caused his death.  I quoted the doctor from his last and most recent hospital stay, he was 87, had heart issues,

his cancer spread to his lymph nodes, lungs and probably all the organs, he pretty much quit eating at one point and finally, he caught COVID at the other hospital.

A not-so-Perfect Storm.

 

She said he made her life interesting.  One time he came home and told her and his son, they are taking a trip to Japan….

We also both agreed he was a great and generous man.  He would have also approved of my love for John Coltrane.

 

During our talk, I realized all the unanswered questions I never got to ask of him.  

I paused our talk to go turn the cars off in the garage (yes….the doors were opened)

When I came back, she repeated the story of the pilot friend and new live-in girlfriend and 

attending the Jazz Festivals.  I forgot to mention, she has stage 3 Alzheimer’s.  

 

Out of respect for her, and the fact any other reaction would be pointless, I asked new questions about it.

I will try to visit her as I did Buck in his final months.

If I’m the highlight of someone’s day, I should treat that as honor and gift.

 

The Loop will start again.

We all fall down

We all fall down.

 

My neighbor is nearing the end of his life.  His brain is still in Fight or Flight mode, but his

Body is betraying him more and more each hour, each day.

Now instead of clear, sharp and concise words, he moans and mumbles silently.

He is sure we can hear him and his pleas to get out of bed.

I made so many promises to him this week, to help him get more freedom, to get out of bed, to go

For a spin in his wheelchair.  Anything to placate him and give him a brief pause from his “imprisonment”.

Our last conversation didn’t go well, he wanted to sue someone, anyone for malpractice, for keeping him restrained in bed. (He can barely lift 

His hands or grasp a napkin).

As I tried my best to take his dictation and type the email (that I wouldn’t send) he would drift off.  Then when I get him semi-awake, he got mad at me and denied 

He did indeed drift off.

I think as a retired airline pilot, he can’t handle any sense of losing control, of relying on others.

…of being helpless.

 

My own parents seemed to be the opposite in their final years.  Knowing they couldn’t be who they were, five, ten years ago.  They silently accepted their 

New normal.  To be placed in the 24/7 care of a professional institution.    I tired to ease my Father’s transition.  I moved him closer in a small trailer.  I should have moved him in with us.

But we were both working, and had a young child to take care of.  I couldn’t expect my wife to drop everything to care for my father.  

 

He seemed happy at the new place, he had a private room , away from the main house.  So he still had his space, and could take walks whenever he wanted to.

My mother couldn’t walk anymore, so she got a bed next to the window. 

 

Dad made it for two more years, my mother, maybe another 3-4 years if memory serves me correctly.  They all blur together and fade each year.

 

My in-laws have ignored the signs and the advice of their own children and now it’s too late to find a better alternative.  Drastic measures need to happen.  Purging so many items, and the large house they should have never, ever built.

Denial is a cruel drug.  

 

I just hope I have some semblance of reality when my time comes.  I must accept my new norm as it changes each decade.  I just hope I live into my 80’s as my parents did. To see new inventions and wonders.

To see my grandchildren flourish.

 

I fear growing old, but I know it has to happen, how I face it, how I accept it will determine how I live my life moving forward.