Memorial Day

Another Memorial Day weekend, another chance to remember those who have passed, to think of all the people who are gone. More than I can remember, at least all at once. I’m never too sure how I should feel about people who died. Nobody ever explained that, it wasn’t covered in religion class, church, social studies, anywhere. How do you look at someone who is gone?

It is always a shock when someone tells you someone you know, or knew, is dead. You feel a pain, a loss, a part of you aches, maybe a part of you dies, I don’t know. But, it is painful, it hurts, and the closer you were, the more it hurts. And then it fades, an empty nothingness, a blank, a vacuum somewhere, some place you didn’t even know existed. And now it doesn’t. And nobody ever tells you how to deal with it.

So, you ignore it, somebody you knew is gone, forever. Deal with it. Easy enough, most of the time, but once in a while something creeps across your radar, a sound, a scent, a sight, a distant trembling madness that demands your attention, and you’re stuck. Looking into a place you don’t want to look into, or even think about. Thinking about somebody you will never see again, at least not in this place. And, it is always just you, and your empty place. Nobody really wants to know about it, everybody has their own memories, their own empty places, they don’t need yours.

“Deep into that darkness peering, 

Long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal dared dream before.”

The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe

Sometimes you can’t see the face of the person, you can’t remember what he looked like, how her voice sounded, but you always remember where you were, what you were doing when you heard. You always remember that. The details are burned into a cave painting in the recesses of your sanity. And you look when you have to, but most days, it is in the dark, out of sight. And there is no instructions on when to look, how to feel when you do look. 

“I kept thinking about what the weatherman said, 

and if the voices of the living could be heard by the dead.

Well, the days gonna come when were going to find out, 

In some kind of way I take a little comfort from that, (now and then).” 

Jesus of the Moon, by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

I don’t know much about death, or spiritual renewal, or profound religious beliefs, and I’m not sure it would help if I did. But, I do know many people who meant so much to me have gone to join the choir invisible, and there are days I don’t think about them, and there are days when it seems as if that is all I think about. And I don’t know why. Death is almost taboo. Everybody can join, everybody will join, it is an offer you can’t refuse, but don’t ask about, don’t talk about it, and for God’s sake don’t think about it.

So, on Memorial Day I am going to toast all of those who are lost, to me and everybody else, and I am going to toast everybody who is still here. Everybody with a secret cache of regret they deal with alone. Because I know the old song was right,

“Pancho needs your prayers, it’s true

But save a few for Lefty too,

He just did what he had to do,

And, now he’s getting old.”

Pancho and Lefty, by Townes Van Zandt

Happy Birthday, Mom*

I would like to do something a little different today. It is my Mother's birthday, or it would be if she were still alive. I am not really sure how old she would have been, or exactly how many years ago she passed away. It seems like a hundred years ago, and it seems like yesterday. Memories and regrets don't understand the passage of time.

She was a remarkable woman in many ways. having a robust sense of humor and an almost infinite capacity for forgiveness. Both of which her only son tested often, and severely. I thank the heavens almost everyday that my sons are better children than I was. And even more often wish I had been better.

Every year vacation would be spent visiting "the Grandmas," my mom, my aunt (who was really like Mom 2), and my wife's mom. Now they are all gone and memories, a few pictures and some stories are all that remain. Unfortunately for anybody who has made it this far you are about to read a few.

She was born and raised in hard times, and in many ways never really managed to escape. But, she never used that as an excuse to stop trying, or complain about her fate. She worked until she couldn't. And it never bothered her.

We would take my Mom to visit people. It was only a couple of hours, and she enjoyed the trip, or at least pretended to. And I know she loved to see the people. These were her past, her family, and her connection to her long departed husband. Whose passing weighed on her almost daily.

Looking back, it is certain she had fun, and everybody enjoyed seeing her, too. It was a joy watching my family having such a good time. My Uncle Kenny (married to my dads sister) always teased her about being younger than she was, and he was, by a whole day. His birthday is tomorrow.

She was proud, and wanted to pay her way. One time she wanted to pay for breakfast, and headed
toward the register, my cousin Rick took chase. A waitress, almost a perfect fit for a small cafe in a small town in the west, said, "he's going to catch you." She picked up the pace and managed to pay.

We would see her brothers Joe and Matt (the twins) on the way through. It was just for a cup of coffee, maybe a light lunch, but the connection was immediate, and wonderful. Life's simple pleasures can be the best. Why does that always take so long to learn?

She suffered through a degenerative eye disease, and her doctor told her she should quit smoking. She did, though she complained bitterly I think she was always proud of the feat, a woman in her eighties, who had smoked for 60 years and she quit. Of course, she had enough fight in her that she made my little sister promise to tell everybody that quitting smoking is what killed her. She never lost her sense of humor, or irony.

A double mastectomy, also in her eighties, hardly slowed her down. She spent the night, and the next at the hospital, but on the second day, she got up, made her bed, and called my sister to come get her, because I was too slow. "People were looking at me." Yes, mom, you had your time in the sun, after major surgery, now stop eating all their broth, clean up your mess, and get out.

When we went to check on her after she went home she was having difficulty with some of the post operation hygiene, and it was more than I could handle, I rushed to the car, got my wife, and sent her in to take care of things, she really is a good wife (I have tested that also). For years afterward I would remind her how I was there when she needed me. My wife and my mom had a good laugh about that.

So happy birthday, Mom, thanks for everything. In the words of James Joyce "Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghole of a world a Mother's love is not." I always knew she loved me, deserved, or not.

*Sorry this went on so long. She deserved better and I guess this is my way of apologizing. 

A loss is hard, particularly when you are hungry.

Today was a sad day, here at Life Explained.  We lost Bob, from Mergers and Acquisitions. It is a fairly new department, and we were all excited he had agreed to take the promotion. Having come up through the company as he had Bob seemed a natural fit.  But, maybe it was more than he could handle.

He started out in the mailroom, back when the mailroom was a closet, with mops and brooms, and a janitor's cart, Bob would put the mail on the janitor's cart and push it through the building delivering the mail. This was back when the "building" was a big room, with no windows, and two doors, one of which led to the janitor's closet, the other revealed a brick wall when opened.  Oddly enough, the Janitor's closet had three doors, one to the "building," one to the small lavatory, and one to the alley (the only real exit).  It could be a high traffic area, so we all got to know Bob well.

Since Bob was in charge of the mail room, which was also the janitor's closet he had to be the janitor as well. He never was too happy with that, so he chopped up some boxes, and taped them together and built a new "mail room" with cardboard walls, and a hand painted sign that read "MAIL ROOM." It was on the opposite wall of the janitor's closet. He thought that would get him off the hook, and for a while nobody noticed we had lost our custodian.

After a short time the trash started piling up, the dust was getting thick, and things were getting a little smelly. We made Bob start cleaning again. Bob had plenty of time, since most of us never got any mail, and nobody ever sent anything, anywhere.

Bob started hand writing letters to everyone in the company so he would be too busy to clean. Sometimes he would detail his weekend, including pictures. Often, he would write his commentary on the daily news, or a sports report customized to each person's favorite team. Occasionally, he would make things up, one year we had 4 different national champions in college basketball.  It really became a favorite with the whole staff. Who doesn't love to get mail?

It didn't take long before we were all writing to each other, and everybody we knew.  We had to hire a full time custodian, and expand the Mail Room to two employees.  It was not a particularly productive or profitable time for the organization, but we all grew a little closer and our Mothers were thrilled.

Eventually that kind of enterprise paid off and Bob was made a purchasing clerk.  Man, that guy could buy some stuff, he was an inspiration. His orders were art work, and we all loved to have Bob get our stuff. It always came with a little surprise. Something unique, and appropriate. For example, when accounting ordered new ribbons for the printing calculators right before Christmas, Bob, somehow made them print in Green and Red, and they were wound around candy canes. Bob could really surprise you.  People would wait a few extra weeks just so Bob could write the PO.

So, it was very sad news to find out we lost Bob. Someone said he went to the kitchen for coffee, and we haven't seen him since. How we will miss that old buy, he has been with us from the early, dusty, smelly days.  "A great man is one who leaves others at a loss after he is gone."*  Bob, wherever you are, you will be missed, if you are coming back, can you bring extra coffee, and some donuts? We are kind of hungry.

*Paul Valery