Brotherly Love

Not really sure how to begin this post.

Everything sounds so trite.

The reality is that last Tuesday my brother-in-law, Tom, lost his younger brother in an unexpected and tragic way. The aftermath of this has been beyond anything I've experienced, as I've seen my sister, brother-in-law, and his older brother try to make sense of it all. In my never-ending quest to make things right for everyone I care for, this has thrown me for a loop. So instead, I'm learning to just be there. And listen.

At the memorial service on Friday, Tom and his brother Rob gave beautiful eulogies. Tom gave me permission to write about this experience as a way to honor Chris. Because it's not my story to tell, and his eulogy was so moving and beautiful, I decided to post that instead:

FOR CHRISTOPHER MATTHEW....

A brother is someone you take for granted. After all, they've always been there. Through the vicissitudes and drama which was our lives, Christopher was always there when I needed him most.

Today I'm seeing pictures of him as he was in his youth - an innocent time before all that has come to pass.

I will find life without him lonelier. He has though left lots of memories, memories of our childhood and of growing up together.

I fondly recall the games we played, the places we went and the secrets we shared.

I have memories of playing football and going to parties together.Together, we contemplated the future, and the favor and chance of life.

In sunnier times, we were each other's keeper.

As a man, Christopher was noble, brave and above all, forgiving. His life became the tumult of a disease which took away all that he ever hoped for.

A brave soul, he raged back against the storm, often alone and without true bearing.

He sometimes found refuge on the shores of salvation and the glimmer of light though the clouds of despair.

Clutching the rocks with all that he had, the undertow was often too strong to counter.

Galant was his struggle to reclaim the erosion ----- but often only to find he remained adrift.

In the final moments, the disease made the years to come seem waste of breath.

That was not Christopher.

I admire his courage and resolve, and only hope that I can forge ahead with such fortitude.

None of this shall ever be in vain ----- nothing good and true ever really dies.

In the days ahead and from a divine place, he will always be his brother's keeper.

In my sadness though, there is consolation in the thought that so many other people cared for him, too. That's the kind of thing that makes life worthwhile, the warm, shining light of love and friendship --- even in the darkest of moments.

For us, he'll come alive through the passage of conversation, the words of a song or a visit to a familar place.

He is really not gone as long as we remember him.

In the promise of an eternal place, we will see you on the other side.You have now crossed over into sanctity of Heaven - Put out your hand and be led by the Lord into that place where the sun always shines.

The restlessness of this life is over for you now, Chris. Live eternally in the peace of the Lord and know that many are the lives you touched when you were with us.

-Thomas Hennessy 2007

Rest in the peace you've been searching for, Chris.

Reunion Anxiety

As we are getting closer and closer to the end of the school year, I'm stressing more and more about how Ryan and I are going to get along when he comes back home for the summer.

How ironic that last summer I was having panic attacks wondering how I was going to live without him and now I'm trying to talk myself off the ledge over living with him.

I adore my son. Absolutely, positively adore.

However, there's no denying that there has been a major shift in our relationship this past year. And while I recognize that this is perfectly normal, and is an important step in the process of him growing up and building his life on his own, it's still hard to grasp. And accept.

Such a strange thing, this whole notion of letting go. And this letting go is different from the letting go that I was doing last fall. When he actually left for school, it was more of the physical separation that was upsetting to me (though not for nearly as long as I expected it to be!) But what I'm experiencing now is all the rest: the emotional.

He will have his license soon, and that will take away his dependence on me to take him places. I guess I'm also realizing that his dependence on me is quite minimal these days. Of course, he still needs me financially (though I do love the summer when he has a job!) and I'm sure deep down he needs me to some extent emotionally. But it's just.... different.

He's not my "little boy" anymore. He's very much in love with his new girlfriend and they do everything together. His last relationship was with someone who lived in NJ and didn't have a car, so they were quite limited in the time they were together. Now he's built a whole separate life with this young woman, and I'm getting glimpses of what it will be like when he gets married. The good news is that I really like her a lot, and I think they are really good together. She's very low maintenance, and they give each other the space they each need. But when they are together, they have a lot of fun; I enjoy being around them.

Though there's definitely a shift. Ryan and I have always had a good time together; we make each other laugh, and for the most part really get along great. But I can see that things are different, even when we are together for just a short time.

Today we all went to the Mets game, and we had a fun time (even though they lost) but there was a theme that Ryan and I kept arguing about: he remembers so many things from his childhood, and I just don't remember everything he does. He gets so angry at me for not remembering, and (jokingly) tells me what a horrible mother I am. But really.... I just can't store all the info in my head that he has! I can't even count the number of times today he started a sentence with "Mom, do you remember....." and then he'd really get mad when I said no. Finally I just started telling him I remembered, even when I didn't, but he knew I was lying, so really it was a no-win for me.

In my defense, Ryan doesn't forget a-ny-th-ing. Also in my defense, I have 21 more years of things in my head than he does. I'm sorry I can't remember which team you played in Little League where you hit two home runs. And I'm also sorry that I had run to the car to get a blanket because it was 30 degrees when you hit your first home run. And no, I don't remember your "geeky friend Glen" who lived in those apartments over off the service road, as much as you describe him. And if we did run into him years later, I'm sure I didn't remember him then, either.

What I do remember? When you were about 5 years old and we were walking down the sidewalk and you reached up, grabbed my hand and, out of the blue, said "You're doin' good, Mom."

I wonder if he remembers that.

It's something I'll need to remind myself of often between May 8 and Labor Day weekend....

ForJustiveness

Forgiveness vs. Justice

I'll take C.) None of the Above.

Seriously, I wish there was a happy medium. They both sound so.... so.... final. I'm not really into finality.

The only way that I can approach this subject is to apply the notion of each to individual situations. For instance, we had two in the news recently. One where forgiveness would have been perfectly appropriate, but instead "justice" (to some) was carried out... And the other where justice -- had he not taken the cowardly approach and offed himself -- most certainly would have been called for.

Forgiveness has always been a problem for me. "Power" is something I've strived for in almost all of my relationships; the two don't exactly co-exist.

Probably the most high-profile example of this in my life is my dealing with my son's father. And I use that term very loosely. Sperm donor is probably more accurate. He's never done anything for us. Ever. Back when Ryan was a baby and I was still living in my "this will all work out and we'll be a happy family" bubble, I forgave way too much. I've never received a dime of child support. My son is 19. The father was/is a not good person. Abusive. Neglectful. Bad. Ryan missed out on having a father, and I struggled for years when I shouldn't have had to. Can I/should I forgive him for all the things he did/didn't to and for me?

People always say that not forgiving someone is more damaging for [you] than for the person needing the forgiveness. And ultimately, that probably is true. However, because I've always considered the act of forgiveness with handing over power, it's extremely hard for me. Does Ryan's father care if I "forgive" him? Nope. After all these years does it make me crazy? Nope. Hardly even think about it. But if someone asked me if I had forgiven him, the answer would be no.

Also, I don't feel like I need to actively impart any sort of "justice" on him. I believe that missing out on having a relationship with a son as wonderful and amazing as mine (not "ours"; "mine") is justice enough. This also holds true for my grandmother who refuses to acknowledge my son's existence because he is half-black. Their loss, and thus justice is served.

The "finality" part. Once you have forgiven someone, you're done. In theory. But are you? How do you ensure that the feelings of anger, disappointment, etc. don't come bubbling back up? It's such a struggle to maintain aforementioned forgiveness, because as humans, it's so hard to forget. Yes, I recognize that one of the things we hear is "I forgive, but I'll never forget." Is that forgiveness?

Someone else talked about how it's easy for her to forgive. If I was being honest, I would probably say that I find it easy as well (contrary to how this post has gone up to now). But my forgiveness is selective. In my past it's been used most often as it relates to men. Waaaaaaay too forgiving (think: doormat) and it's unfortunate that that has molded much of my outlook on forgiveness as a whole.

Of course, as far as my friends and family are concerned, I'm also quick to forgive. Would they agree with that? I'm not sure. It might seem that I choose both: first a l'il bit of justice, then the forgiveness. Can I do that? Is that greedy?

I suppose that as long as I have "forgiveness" inextricably linked with "giving up power" I will have a tough time.

Because on my list of things I can't give up? Power over myself (and others if they will let me) is way up top.

But. Do I want to be forgiven? Of course. I provide plenty of opportunities for others to make this choice. Plenty. But I also realize that I need to take accountability for my actions. Maybe sometimes justice is required.

So perhaps instead I will say C.) All of the Above.

Julie.... thanks so much for the idea for this discussion. It's been a great opportunity to use my otherwise mushy brain, both writing mine and reading others.

Beyond sad

I didn't go in to work today.... just felt blah, had a headache, and really needed a day to pull it together.

That said, I was able to watch the unbelievably horrific events at Virginia Tech unfold. It started when I first went online this morning and I saw that "one person" had been shot there. Awful enough.

Then, a couple hours later when I turned on tv, I saw that there were actually 21 dead, 22 if you count the shooter... WHAT?! That's quite a difference.... and unbelievably horrible. I wore myself out watching all the updates, and it was draining watching that one cell-phone video where you could hear the shots. So I took a nap.

When I woke up? Thirty-three dead in total. OMG. Unfathomable. I can't even begin to imagine what parents of students at that school are going through.

Of course, there's all kinds of hindsight going on now. My first thought was "if the first person was killed at 7:15am, why in the world didn't they lock that campus down?!" Made no sense. And then when I later heard that of a school with 26,000 students and only 8,000 live on campus, it should have been a no-brainer to block off the entrances for the commuter students and tell them to go home.

Later on, during the press conference, I actually felt sorry for the president (of the school) and the police chief, who had to dodge questions like that. Questions that make so much sense now that we are looking back on it. I recognize it's a huge undertaking to manage students and faculty of that magnitude. But really... a shooter who got away? And you're "told" he left the campus? That's enough?

I know it's pointless to lay blame now.... and I'm not there, so I clearly don't know the whole story. It's just so damn sad. And so senseless.

But seriously...

Earlier, on the other blog, I wrote about how Ryan made his road test appointment today. And how I was torn between being excited for him and nervous.

Seriously? The nervous thing is coming in waves... over and over and I can't shake it.

I recognize that I worry more than most people do. It's just what I do. I think it's passed down from my grandmother, because she will worry about the silliest things: She is concerned in the winter that we wear our scarves too long because "you know, someone could come along and pull it and strangle you!" And this (not from my grandmother, from someone at work): she called her daughter when she heard we were getting a storm because her daughter was heading to the dry cleaners, and she was worried that carrying the hangers home would attract the lightning and she'd be struck. Not kidding. She told her not to go.

But beyond all that, the fear that he will be in a car accident is almost paralyzing. I may or may not have (I can't remember if I decided to do it or not) written about when I found out that one of his childhood friends had been killed in a car accident the day after his 17th birthday. He fell asleep at the wheel after dropping his girlfriend off at home. His mom had a Xanga site, and after I heard about it (over two years after it happened) I went and read all she had written. Absolutely, positively heart-wrenching. Honestly, I have no idea how people survive the loss of a child.

And I don't mean to be morbid. I really don't (even though it would appear otherwise, I know). But oh. my. god. If anything ever happened to Ryan, I don't know what I would do. And now I'm handing him over to do what he wants with a car. And he's actually a very responsible driver. He's gotten very good over the last two years.

But like I always tell him: It's not him I'm worried about. It's the other crazy drivers out there. I wish I could send out an APB and tell everyone on the roads in my area to please be as careful as possible going forward; my son will be out there and nothing can happen to him. All y'all may have been reckless as hell up to now, but things need to change. It's a new ballgame now because the center of my universe is going to be amongst you.

And he's too good of a person to have something bad happen.

I'll just have to trust that the same God who gave him to me 19 years ago will continue watching over him.

Because there's nothing else I can do.

Oh, except maybe that bubble-wrap thing that Pith suggested.

Holding my breath and taking the plunge

I'll say it: I don't think Imus should have been fired.

This doesn't mean that I am defending what he said. Not at all. It was beyond offensive. Completely uncalled for and hurtful.

However. I think that it became something so much bigger than it needed to be. Anyone who has listened to Imus' show knows that he says horrible, offensive things on a regular basis. And he's an equal opportunity offender.

He's on the same station here in the morning that the Mets are broadcast on at night, so often I will have that station on in my car or in my kitchen. When I want background noise, I'll keep it on, and there have been many times when I've been absolutely shocked by what he says. This is who he is, what he does. He shocks.

Not that that excuses him. But it's not as if someone like Brian Williams or Paula Zahn made the statement. You have to consider the source.

Does he have a responsibility to take care what he says when he has a national radio show? Absolutely. Should he be punished for going too far? Absolutely. Should he lose his job? In my opinion, no.

I do think that he recognizes he made a huge mistake. Though I will admit I'm not sure he would have recognized that on his own; Al Sharpton made sure he recognized it. But now that he's crystal clear on it, I believe he's truly sorry for it. I think he's done what should be done: public apologies, meeting with Al Sharpton on his show, meeting with the Rutgers team to apologize to them.

Much of what I've heard discussed around here is how degrading to women many of the rap songs by African-American artists are. And I'm not so naive as to think that the rules are the same for what black people say about other black people vs. what white people say. I get that. But the degradation of women does exist and is quite prevalent in these rap songs. I know this because I'm very familiar with this music. I think it's more than a little hypocritical for Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson to turn a blind eye to what is happening right under their noses and focus their attention on Imus.

Part of my problem with the whole thing, as I was discussing with a friend last night, is that I wished that the team had not "given" Imus as much power as they did. Something along the lines of "sticks and stones...."

I started writing this last night, and then this morning I saw The Today Show and a short segment with Jason Whitlock, who writes for the Kansas City Star. He was able to articulate what it was I was trying to say so much better than I could, and he also wrote about it in his paper if you are interested.

Perhaps I'm not being politically correct in taking this stance. I can see how someone might think that. I also know that Imus and his wife have done a lot of good things with their ranch in New Mexico, helping children with cancer and their families. And they continue to raise money for children's charities.

He made a HUGE mistake. He said something really stupid. No doubt about it.

But he's not that powerful, and those young women should not have been made into victims the way they were.

S.A.D.

I have this.

Not that it's been diagnosed or anything, but really. I have so very had it with this nonsense.

It's April 11, for God's sake!!! I shouldn't be bundled up like it's January! No one should be!

And judging from the 10-day forecast, there's no relief in sight.

I. Can't. Take. It. Anymore.

I feel so depressed (and I recognize that I'm using that term loosely -- I know it's not true depression). I hate going outside.... I just want to be under my covers.... I can't wait to get home at night.... and the worst part? I just want to eat.

I've been doing well on WW -- I lost 9.2 pounds in the first 5 weeks. But this past week has been tough. It started with Easter, then went to Opening Day (I love baseball food) and really, haven't been able to straighten it out completely since.

I will, though. I've been feeling too good not to. It's just that I feel so blah lately -- the grayness, the chill I can't get rid of, the same winter clothes I've been donning since October. Enough.

Honestly, I don't know how people live year-round in places where it's cold and gray. Not me. Sign me up for sun and warmth, please.

I love being outdoors.... I really miss it. I wonder if spring will ever come?

What's the right answer?

This morning, out of the blue, Ryan asked me if I'd miss my grandmother when she passes away. Let me first say that this woman is in perfect health. She celebrated her 85th birthday in February, and aside from some joint issues (knees, mostly) she is incredibly healthy; her mind is sharp as a tack. So it's not going to happen any time soon, which is what made the question even stranger -- it's not as though she's been sick.

A little background on my grandmother. I used to be the apple of her eye. I was her first grandchild, and I could do nothing wrong. Ever. Often to the exclusion and hurt feelings of my sister, who is two years younger. Of course, when I was young, I didn't "get" how horrible playing favorites was, especially since I was the favorite. How could that be wrong? Every year for my February school break, I would go to visit her in Florida. She lived at a Golf and Country Club called Innisbrook, which is known mostly for its golf courses, but to me was paradise for other reasons: I could do whatever I wanted there. I spent the day by the pool and the evening playing tennis with her (she had dreams of me being the next Chris Evert -- you know her grandmother taught her to play, don't you?!) If I wanted something to eat, I just signed her name at the restaurants. Life was good. Everyone knew me as her granddaughter, because her husband/my grandfather had been one of the men who founded and built Innisbrook back in the day.

So how ironic that it was at Innisbrook in April of 1987 that I realized I was (surprise!) pregnant. I was there with a friend from high school, and we were both on spring break from college in Boston. I was losing my mind. Scared to death, and couldn't tell anyone, certainly not my grandmother.

I'm going to skip over the drama and details of my pregnancy (it's a great story, but not one I'm ready to share just yet) -- except to say that when my mother (yes, my mother) told my grandmother that I was pregnant, her first response was "How could Tracy do this to me?!" So now you probably have an idea of what things are like with her. Oh, I should also mention that she is probably one of the most racist people I know -- I can't believe I'm related to her -- so the fact that I was pregnant by a (gasp!) black man was just a little more than she could handle.

Fast forward to February 1988. Ryan was 6 weeks old, and I was in Sarasota, Florida, visiting my stepmother so she could meet my new baby. I called my grandmother, who lived about an hour north of there to tell her that I was there and would love to come up and visit and introduce Ryan to her. Her response? "No!!! I'll meet you at a diner on Rte. 19 halfway between Tampa and Sarasota" (Think: dropping off ransom money in a place where no one would recognize you.) Suddenly I got it: she didn't want me and my mixed-race baby anywhere near her home; someone might see us.

So after 21 years of not doing anything wrong, all of a sudden, I had done everything wrong. In her eyes. And as Ryan turns 20 this December, I can tell you that I have been allowed back to her house exactly twice since the time I found out I was pregnant. Once was in 1997: my sister, cousin and I went down to surprise her for her 75th birthday. During that weekend, we went to see one of her friends, but my grandmother panicked that I would mention my (then 10-year-old) son to her friend during the visit, and so we literally "escaped" from her house when she went back to her bedroom to change clothes.

The second time was this past February when I was in Florida visiting my dad. My sister and I made a last-minute decision to drive up to take her to lunch. We were only there for about 4 hours total, but we drove around Innisbrook, and it was so much more emotional for me than I expected it to be. That place was like my second home and I was denied it for the last half of my life. And even worse: so was Ryan. He would have loved it down there, but he's never been allowed to go. My grandmother has only told one other person that I even have Ryan, and that's her best friend's daughter, who lives in Washington. There are no pictures of him in her house, and when she's asked how many great-grandchildren she has, she will wave her hand and say something vague like "Oh, I don't know... 6, 7... there are so many I can't keep count!"

When asked by my mother why she keeps it such a secret, the answer from my grandmother is "I don't want my friends to pity me." So sad. And it must be so stressful to carry that around for all these years and treat it like something so horrible it has to be hidden.

Of course, now it's too late. She can't all of a sudden say "Oh yeah! Tracy does have a son! He's 19...." I also often wonder what her friends think happened to me... they always knew I was the favorite, and I was there every single year, so I'm curious about what they've been told I've been doing after that last visit in 1987.

The funny thing is that Ryan has never asked about going down to visit her. He's never thought it strange that everyone else in the family goes down about once a year, except for us. Mind you, it's very rarely a fun visit for those who go, because she can be quite unpleasant. And when she's here to visit my mom, we are always cordial to her, and Ryan is always respectful. She always seems amazed that we all adore him like we do. She's even said to my mother in the past "So, you really love him, huh?"

Bizarre.

And of course, I was completely incapable of being able to continue my relationship with her over the years. We went from talking almost every day to talking on Christmas and her birthday. I couldn't pretend like her behavior was ok. Because it's not.

There's a lot more to it, but I don't want to go into all of it right now... ways that my other family members have tried to talk to her about it, etc. The bottom line is that she has denied my son's existence to her friends, and to some extent, even to herself.

So. When Ryan asks me if I'm going to miss her? I honestly was at a loss for an answer. He doesn't know any of this. I've kept it all from him because he doesn't need to know it. So when I was stumbling over an answer for him, I just decided on "Yes."

He doesn't need to know how much I will miss the grandmother I had for the first 19 years of my life, but how sorry I feel for the one I have now.

Bye, Bye Miss American Pie

Those damn tears sneak up on me at the most inopportune times! This morning on the subway I was flipping around on my iPod and decided on "American Pie" by Don McLean.

Big mistake. Huge.

There is not a song in existance that brings back more memories of my childhood than this one does.

It pains me to even say how perfectly idyllic my childhood was. Mostly because saying it out loud limits me in my attempts to blame my adult issues on my past. But it was. Idyllic.

Even though my parents divorced when I was 5, my mom remarried and we moved from Ohio to Long Island, NY, I had a wonderful life. Sure, the three-week long trips back to Ohio to visit my dad every August absolutely sucked... but the other 49 weeks of the year were near-perfect.

Or perhaps that's just how I'm choosing to remember it.

Either way, what I am sure of is that my family was and is extremely close. I have vivid memories of all of my mom's family (my aunt and her then-husband, and my uncle and his then-wife; divorce was practically a sport in our family back in the day) being together at my grandmother's house. I remember dancing on her marble coffee table, that is now in my mom's living room. I don't dance on it anymore. I also recall that at every gathering, there were Charles Chips in the big beige canister, along with French onion dip. To this day, chips and dip are my comfort food. And Cracker Barrel still sells the canisters.

The other huge part of my childhood was listening to my uncles singing. They both played guitar, and I can picture them sitting on the ledge of the fireplace, playing guitar and singing "American Pie" and various Elton John songs. Like it was yesterday. And I always hated it when it was time for me to go to bed. I was soooo jealous of all the adults who got to stay up late and laugh and sing. And eat chips.

I was the oldest, and my uncles were relatively young, so they were like my older brothers. I always wanted older brothers. Anyway, my mom's brother went on to become a very successful singer/songwrite in Nashville (he's the one that Ryan is very close to now), and my aunt and her husband divorced several years ago. Recently they have gotten back to being friends, so he was at my sister's wedding this past September. It was the first time in many, many years that we were all together again, and it was such a blast. Honestly, it was as if no time had passed at all.

Prior to that, most of us (my sister wasn't there) were together in Charleston in 2001 for my cousin's wedding, and at one point at the rehearsal dinner, my uncle sat down at the piano and played and sang "Levon" by Elton John, and I had to leave the room. It brought back so many memories and I wasn't ready for how overcome I got!

It's so funny how a song can trigger memories.

That said, I'll think twice before listening to "American Pie" on a crowded subway again.