I hung this on the front door.

 

A family has five (5) members:

• one can not read
• one can not drive
• one is a dog
• one left the note

Which member of the family should drive the hybrid?

I’ve been trying for a week to figure out why my wife asked me if I left the note for myself. She’s been trying for a week to figure out why I didn’t address it specifically to her if it was specifically meant for her.

 

What I said at Izzy’s funeral.

My sister said something on her facebook page that was true: she felt guilty sharing Izzys story with other parents of young children because she knew the story would bring them pain.   She was right.

I have friends who have never met Izzy, and they told me they cried when they read her story.   They have children, and have had sick children, and that is enough.   They know that the value of her loss is incalculable.

 

I have two daughters; one is six and one is three.

Two things that have happened recently have made me cry.   The first was in December.   I was sitting in the Atlanta  airport thinking about problems at work and all the things i needed to do when I got home late that   night after being away all week   when I heard that someone had opened fire at a school. It took me several minutes to understand that the school was an elementary school and most of   the victims were first graders.

Just like my daughter.

I was crying by the time I boarded the flight. I hugged my girls extra tight when I got home and went on with my life.

Then a few weeks later, I was sitting at my desk at work.   It was my first day back in the office after a long holiday:   I was on vacation from Christmas to New Years Day; a vacation I took only because I was going to lose my time off at the end of the year.   I was   happy to be back in the office, in the world of adults and problems that “mattered.”

Then my mom called.

And I heard about Izzy.

By the time I got off the phone, I was crying.

I wasn’t crying for Izzy;   I barely knew her.   I was crying for my sister.   I was crying because no parent should have to endure what my sister has over the past few years.   I was crying because it was so unfair and so unbearable for those who loved Izzy.   I was crying because I knew if the tables were reversed, I would be destroyed, and I might not be able to recover.   I was crying for myself, for all the gifts I would never send, all the visits between my children and my sister’s that will forever be sadder because Izzy will not be there

I called my sister. She sounded in shock, but ok, dealing with the things she needed to deal with.     I went home and hugged my girls, just like my sister asked me to.

I cried some more.

I cried for Andy.   For my parents, who have helped raise Izzy.   For Andy’s parents.   For Mac.   I was so sad that so many people were hurting.

Then I remembered that you must love to feel pain:   the suffering of so many is testament to the joy that Izzy brought to the people that I love.   In her short life, she was a sister, a daughter, a grandaughter, a niece, a cousin.   She brought joy, and hope, and brought families together.   We will always have those memories of her, even after the pain of her loss has faded.

Her death has brought us together today, and had reminded us of what is important in life:   our families and our friends.   Our community.   Deb, Andy and Mac and my mom and dad   have been the beneficiaries of an overwhelming outpouring of love and support: of meals and cards and warm wishes and people wanting to help. Of facebook friend requests from people we haven’t seen in 20 years.     That is what is important and that is one lesson that Izzy has helped me learn.

I will spend 2013 trying to find ways to repay these kindnesses done for my family.

 

One last story.  

 The other day, I helped my sister pack Izzys things.

As I went through her clothes and toys, I found things that my kids had worn and played with.   Things they had gotten from Mac and maybe even from Beth and Taylor before that.

I have seen these dresses and skirts and tops and toys in so many of our family’s pictures.

I had so looked forward to seeing Izzy in the things that reminded me of Geneveive and Alana. It reminded me of the things that Izzy will never do, the   memories that we will never have, the little girl and princess and tomboy and woman that she will never be.

There’s a picture that my sister has on her facebook page of my oldest daughter Genevieve with Mac at our beach house.   Genevieve was 3 and Mac was 4.       When I look at that picture it reminds me of pictures of me and Deb as girls. I was so looking forward to the day when I would have a picture of Izzy and Alana like that.

Then I think of the things that I do have.   I didn’t get a chance to visit often in the last year and a half, but I did get the chance to spend a few weeks with Izzy during her short life.

We watched her laugh and cry and scream as she learned to walk, to eat, to communicate, to play. Her firsts were our firsts.

I got to change her when she was 6 weeks old.   I marveled at how tiny she was, how delicate.   I got to burp her and rock her to sleep when her mom needed a break.   It reminded me of my babies when they were new.

I was there when she tried solid food for the first time.   It reminded me of Genevieve …like Izzy, she wasn’t sure what to do.   Swallowing the food I put in her mouth was not an option she explored.

We watched her learn to walk…Izzy was an adventureress,   like Genevive.     She loved to explore and climb and was fearless. Not like my daughter Alana who was content just to nap and let the world come to her.

I was there the day my sister decided to take her down the 2 story waterslide we rented for Mac’s 7th birthday.   Izzy wasn’t sure she liked it, unlike the other kids who played until they were exhausted.

I never saw her first tooth or first step or first word, but every time I arrived those things were new enough that I shared in the wonder of them.

On our last visit, she and Alana bounced and giggled in a toddler-sized bouncy house my mom had bought for Izzy.   I took pictures of them and looked forward to the future, when Deb and I could talk and catch up and the girls would play together happily.

I will always remember those firsts that I was lucky enough to be there for.   I will always be grateful to Izzy for bringing those special memories of my girls back to life for me and for allowing me to get to know her.

 

When I tell people that I have young children, I get three responses.

If they have no children, they change the subject.

If they have young children, we swap stories about how hard it is to have young children.

If they have older children, they sigh jealously and urge me to cherish the years when my children are young.   I   am inwardly rolling my eyes, wishing my kids could dress themselves and wishing I could watch a movie that wasn’t animated.

But those parents of older kids are right.   Childhood is fleeting.   Izzy’s childhood was too short by far, but all children go from helpless infant to defiant teenager in the blink of an eye.

The loss of Izzy reminds us that childhood can be lost tragically as well as gradually, but either way, our children leave us with only vague memories of those precious early years when everything was new, the world was full of possibility, and most importantly, mom and dad were the center of the universe.

I know as my children grow, I will no longer be the center of the universe for them.   Deb and Andy have lost someone for whom they were everything.   That loss is incomprehensible to me.

I hope I will never know the pain of the loss of a child.   Izzy was a beautiful soul who has touched so many lives.   I hope that her memory will leave us all stronger and happier and closer because we knew her.   I hope that out of her loss will come something good. I hope her memory will remind us all of what is important.     Life is a gift that can be taken away at any time, for nonsensical reasons.

Monday, when I go back to work, and every Monday after that, I will remember that fact, and go home, and hug my kids, and kiss my husband.   And shut down my computer and stop answering emails from people that dont really matter that much.     I will have Izzy to thank for that.

Titus Andronicus – Richard II

A once-in-a-lifetime question.

The presentation of the question is inescapably declarative. I ask wryly, smugly, earnestly, pleadingly. Is it a blessing or a curse or an achievement? Likely that remark says all that needs to be said.   Can any two people coexist for 20 yrs otherwise? Likely that remark says all that needs to be said.

I’ve tried forcibly to avoid this stage of contemplation, but alas i am a tinkerer. Beckie has no such crises of conscience. Effect and cause and blame and inspiration, sustentation and prostration and rejuvenation, suffocation and deprivation, formation and salvation and remuneration and irradiation. Its no longer explicable when you’re in this deep.

I chose improvisation, I got Beckie this.

and here its ready to ride!

I told G. She swore she wouldn’t tell. She watched me repack the board bag and giggled and assured our secret was safe. But she yaps so loud the Dead can hear. Beckie clued in.   To something, but not the cranium punch of a new deck.   Beckie will take it all, deep. She will whine & complain how new gear should be blessed by the grace of her usage, how taking the time to adapt to it is beneath her busy schedule. But I am blessed that after 20 years we still speak the dialect of gnarness. Sort of. At least she doesn’t mock me when i do. If nothing else remained, I could sustain if there was fun and mountaintops drizzled over the shitpile of routine drabness and childcare.

The snow did not cooperate.

Typical.

The snowboarding is the donut, the space for conversation is the filling. I spliced out 3 days of powder rush for 60 hours of pink and vermillion in Utah.   The car is not so bad, when you have multiple drivers and coffee and smart phones.   A cat-like recovery!!!

Outside of Lake Powell, we cut off 150 miles of speedtraps for 50 miles of dirt road up a fault line with great views of the Cockscomb.

Hackberry Canyon is located perfectly at 5 hrs into the drive. A narrows hike, in and out of the stream constantly, stunning views, embracing the winter water for   2 hrs.   Maybe next summer we’ll come back and camp with the kids above the flood zone.

Another hour up the road brought us to the Cottonwood Canyon trail, and slot canyon goodness.

We hotelled outside of Bryce NP, up early for Thunder Mountain: 15 miles, 2 hrs moving, mebbe 2k vf. An intermediate trail with amazing views.

A quick stop at the hotel, then into Bryce for a few hours of hiking.

STUPID ICE!

Sunday morning we turned back down Cottonwood Canyon road, to the Wahweap Hoodoos. Great location just off Highway 89 outside of Page.   About 10 mile round trip through a dry riverbed, would make for a fantastic fatbike ride!

At 54 hours away from home, we stolidly turned back to the truck, and motored south. In the driveway the magic sluiced off and the duty snarled in. I love my kids. Sometime Beckie and I go days and neither of us shares a kind word with the other. Our love is there, but so very much harder to share. After 20 years, all that’s come out of you has reflected back in. Nobody’s fault but your own.

Last trip to Rocky Point Kila disappeared. She went out to piddle, then 15 min later, *poof*. All day I spent riding and running and driving around for her. After 4 hours of searching I stalked a pack of feral dogs into the estuary, and was somewhat disappointed to see they had no   blood on their lips. I returned to more fruitless hunting and miscalculations for another 4 hours.   Old dogs don’t run off; they get trapped in garages looking for leftovers, and suffocate. Time mattered. At 2pm I envisioned Kila clawing at a wall while I faltered. At 4pm I acknowledged she was dying of thirst and I would never see her again. At 6pm I admitted I’d failed her, and told the kids. At 8pm she trotted in through the garage and drank the toilet dry.

A ghost.

How would this compare to Beckie vanishing off the planet, smacked into eternity by a wayward suv? It would hurt so badly.   Deferring to children’s needs, i don’t think i’d recognize it until I finally stumbled, and crashed into the bedrock.   As I finish this post, she’s been on work travel for a week, and the last 20 hours of kids and work has been a fog for me. It wouldn’t take long til i surrendered, but didn’t quit. I’d drink myself to death over 10 years, long enough to see the girls off to college, until I finally, mercifully, died wondering where my best friend went.

Some good lookin stuff here,  but i bought this.

when i told beckie she said i was a dork. Not for buying one, but for waiting so long. How could i retort, when it cost only $19? I have socks that cost more. I have bought pitchers at sports bars that cost more.

i got the innertubez and an hdmi cable now.   Laundry, dishes, weights and pilates instead of sitting in a bar at 10am. and hanging with my little teammates. better than season tickets. #we.bleed.green.

We like to dress the same. We like to cat-pile.

Jerseys last forever. My granddad bought this for me when i was like 14. i havent really been a Dolphins fan since the lukewarm reign of Jay Fiedler.

My high school girlfriend bought me this when we drove to U Penn to celebrate after her early acceptance.

A few day earlier i bought us both Princeton sweatshirts when my early acceptance came. The speckles you see are moth holes, the guns you see are real.

I have too many jerseys, and they look the same as the day i got them ~25 yrs ago.  Indestructible. When the memory of the emotion behind the shirt becomes so null and hollow its worth less than the  actual shirt on Ebay,  its time to get a tax writeoff from Goodwill. Thanks Grandpa Alexander, goodbye Miriam; cleaning out the closet. There are starving children in Africa who want to root for Mark Clayton  on hand-me-down versions of Madden ’84. Note: Clayton  (5’9″ 177)   and  Mark Duper (5′ 9″ 185) stand as evidence of the NFL’s evolution — today’s prototypical wide receiver now is 6’2″ 210-ish.

I don’t warm to things easily, nor do I shed them easily. I like to gatekeep the narrative of myself, a Sartre-esque indulgence that satisfies the majority of me that lives in my mind. So, when my #5 jersey arrived the day before the Eagles-Cardinals tilt, I had to show my loyalty on a 3.5 hour Windgate-Pemberton-Rocknob-Landslide-Bell beatdown.

6am, here comes the furnace  

how is it possible that a shirt can offer absolutely no sun protection, and still be completely non-breatheable? Chainmail for the 1st World – I had not a single scratch from cat claw after the ride. Mebbe i should keep the Dolphins shirt for trail work days?

halfway, bout to hit the funnest little illegal trail i never suspected.  

Climbing back out Coachwhip on double-track, a couple novice riders pulled over rather than pass me bar-to-bar, and one mumbled ‘Hang in there.’

Aww no, yer not gonna hang-in-there me!!!

What’s wrong with a simple ‘have a nice day’? Its polite, and non-judgemental. The weight and heat of the jersey hurt, but fandom and fashionistaism know no bounds.

I returned to teammates wanting a bike ride to brunch. Little toasty at 11:30, as i struggled through the longest steepest flat 1.5 miles of my life. Egg white omelet with asparagus tastes like ass compared to a ham-and-cheese.

Patio at Over Easy, its like the REDFACE Plague!

It didn’t matter (much) that the Eagles endured a complete ass-raping from the Cards. I got drunk with dehydrated expedience. After 42 yrs I have finally accepted that I can not affect the game from 2000 miles away on Tivo. I still look good, I rock the tailgate, the true fashionista just knows.

 

Public pants-dropping to force myself and my family to all eat healthier. 42 yo and for the first time ever i’m confronting an extra 10lbs I’m  unable to simply shake away.  The reality of reality is bitch-slapping me like my dui. It could be worse.  Its actually not bad at all. I am reaching back to that nugget or certainty to find willpower when i crave doritos.  The zip code of the goal has never been out of sight; i have never entered the Pain Cave. I have no excuses now that work doesn’t have free pb&j samiches anymore.

Beckie and G are eager participants. My support group.

3 lbs down this week, and for the first time in ~3 years there is no question in my mind how this will end. 3 days ago my body turned a corner and told me that it wanted what I wanted it to want. This is not addiction, its just the wrong kind of comfort. Me and the bod are working through it together.  Can’t wait to see my 6-pack again.

 

her, me, us! great day. We transmit the most videoable example, but they were all good. G got snorkeling gear and demoed in the pool. Alana wore new shoes and sunglasses to the Sharing Park at night. Beckie and I almost cracked smiles and ate salsa. Open up and enjoy!