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I’ll Stand

I’ll Stand

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I was startled to find the pastor standing over me.

This “Pastor” was not like any pastor I have ever seen before.  Dressed all in black with a demonic look, more Satan-like, he was standing on my pew near where my head laid.  He was preaching about me and drawing the attention of the congregation sitting in the pews around me.  He was mocking me and humiliating me for stretching out in the pew and falling asleep during his sermon, so I became the sermon. And pointed out to all in the room I was even using Bibles as a pillow.

 

It was about 2 a.m. and after not being able to fall asleep in my office chair, I wandered down the hallway to the sanctuary and in the dark, I picked a pew a few rows from the front and laid down.  Better, I thought, though nothing like my bed, at least I could stretch out. Without a pillow, I reached out and grabbed a couple of books, hymnals or Bibles, not sure, and put them under my head.

This is kind of creepy, I thought.  I am trying to sleep in the same place where I got married and baptized; a place where I have attended the funerals of my friends, and Donny’s funeral.

Exhausted though, I drifted off to sleep

Maybe an hour later I was awoken In the middle of my dream with the demonic, Satan-like pastor. I checked the books beneath my head to see if they were Bibles. Finding only hymnals, I felt some relief.

For the first time since before the pandemic, my church held its annual yard sale.   I have written about it before.  It is quite a large, work-intensive event and typically it requires a few of us to work all night long in preparation. On this early pre-sale morning, however, we were fairly organized and it allowed me the opportunity to try to grab a little rest.

Not sure the church pew idea was my best choice though.

 

On June 16 I got a nice early Father’s Day gift.  Hayley was asked to be the keynote speaker at the Broad Run High School Graduation.  And it was broadcast online so Kim and I could watch it from our living room.  That was probably a good thing too because I didn’t even make it through the introduction by the Principal before the tears started rolling down my face.   Hayley did an awesome job, of course using the example of her “She-roe,” Ruth Bader Ginsburg to base her message.

Life Lessons (abridged version):

  1. Empower yourself, be independent.
  2. Find a true life partner, one that loves you unconditionally.
  3. Learn to welcome debate and difference. There is nothing wrong with having difficult conversations.
  4. We should all do our part to positively change the world. Work to repair the world.

It was awesome, she did a great job, and I was very proud, but little more dehydrated by the end.

Father’s Day weekend I was home alone again.    Kim had to go up to see her mom and I had work to do here. Though we find ourselves needing to do this a lot, I don’t think you ever really get used to it.  And I will admit I was a little depressed.  I listened to Bill Ortt’s 5:00 sermon on Saturday afternoon.  Then I listened to it again.  Then I listened again.

Interestingly his message contained elements similar to Hayley’s:

“What can I do” (to make the world better).

“We do have a stewardship responsibility for the way we communicate with one another.”

“Let each of you speak the truth with your neighbor, for we are members of one another”

 

Wise messages from some wise folks.  I hope I can live up.

 

On Father’s Day of course I heard from all the kids, but it was hearing my dad wish me a “happy father’s day” on my mother’s cell phone that was the highlight of my day.  I didn’t think I was going to be able to work out talking to him but it was a nice surprise and he did pretty good.

As I mentioned at the beginning, this past weekend was my church’s yard sale which was a lot of work but a lot of fun too with some awesome people.

And today is my birthday.

I just listened to the voice mail from Kim’s 97-year-old Aunt Laferne.  Every year she calls to sing “Happy Birthday” to you.  We don’t answer on purpose because we want to save it.

And like Father’s Day, I got to talk to my dad on my mom’s cell phone again and he wished me a “Happy Birthday” and he talked about having too many boats.  I told him you can never have too many boats.

 

Tomorrow we will celebrate Cameron’s birthday, on Wednesday Kim’s birthday, on Thursday we will remember the anniversary of my brother Carl going Home, and on Friday celebrate our 22nd wedding anniversary.

A busy time.

 

Sorry for rambling a bit.

But I suppose there are some morals in the story.

Like, find a true life partner, one that loves you unconditionally.  I will celebrate that later in the week.

Welcome debate and difference but we do have a stewardship responsibility for the way we communicate with each other.

We should all do what we can to make the world better.

Never fall asleep in church.

And finally, you can never have too many boats.

 

Postscript:

The birthday crown I am wearing in the photo above was made for me by Miss Laurie, co-teacher of my BFF’s, aka the “Dreamers.”

I haven’t had a chance to read my FB but will later, thanks for the birthday wishes.

I woke up this morning with the song “In Christ Alone” in my head. The version that Alison Krauss sings with the Getty’s.  I think if ever I would imagine an angel singing it would have the voice of Alison Krauss. She sings the first verse in this version.

“Till He returns, or calls me home,

Here in the power of Christ I’ll stand”

The Strongest Kid in Oceanport

The Strongest Kid in Oceanport

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“When are we going to go upstairs and eat?”

“Carl, we don’t go upstairs to eat, we eat here.”

“We always go upstairs and eat.”

“No, we don’t Carl, we don’t have an upstairs, we always eat here on the porch.”

“Yes, we do!  We eat upstairs!”

“Alright, alright.”

 

 

This past January I was going through a cabinet in my home “office” that was full of my old notebooks and journals, and I began to leaf through them.  I am not particularly organized so it’s not always clear if the entries are chronological or not, but in one notebook that contained most of my 2016 first-year Musings notes, I found a page dated April 29.  I am going to assume, therefore, that this was April 29, 2016. Here is a somewhat edited version of that day’s notes:

Yesterday my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. His primary care had suspected he might have the disease and he sent him to a specialist in Salisbury who confirmed the diagnosis.  He was ordered to be put on medication to start treatment.

Since I have had a couple of weeks to process the possibility of this diagnosis, to some degree I am glad that it has been confirmed and possibly the medication will help him.  He has endured changes that have noticeably impacted his activities of daily living and maybe some of those changes can be relieved.

Last week he had my mother ask me over the phone if I wanted his bicycle.  He was told by the doctor he could no longer ride his bicycle. 

I thought that was sad and told him to keep it out there for me to ride when I visited. 

It must be really hard.

I don’t know much about Parkinson’s Disease at this point, but I suppose I will begin to learn. 

I guess only time will tell.

In the meantime, I will learn as my dad goes through this, at least as much as I can.

 

And so began the learning experience.  The journey of watching the life of a once-proud, confident, independent, talented, competent, most of the time charming, and all the time stubborn individual, whose life had impacted so many, begin to implode.

A guy who was known for his physical abilities, his sense of balance, his strength, and his accuracy.  He could cross a log over a stream with ease, he could lean comfortably over the edge of the roof of a building while pulling a roll of tar paper up on the end of a rope; he could climb a rope using only his arm strength, he could drive a 10-penny nail with one swoop of a hammer and cut through a branch with one chop.

“One Chop Mo” they called him in Boy Scouts.

He could ski, ice skate, windsurf, climb a ladder, carry a backpack over miles of the Appalachian Trail, drive a firetruck, fight a fire, and even deliver a baby.

He could build a house, build a fine piece of furniture, build a First Aid building, and build a community-free library.

And he could ride his bicycle.

But not anymore.

 

 

The conversation illustrated above became more common as his disease progressed. But it wasn’t always like that and before reaching the point of incoherent sentences or confusion, as much as I could, I asked questions and wrote things down.

Though some of those conversations reached long into the night and were sometimes blurred and marred by Manhattans and red wine, not to mention the progression of his Parkinson’s, I tried to do the best I could to document his comments.  The Manhattan’s were always good grease for the wheel on his end, but on my end red wine didn’t always allow me to capture those memories as well as I would have liked.

But we had fun.

 

My dad talked a lot about “going home” as his mind began to change.

He always wanted to “go home.”

“Home” to him, in his later Parkinson’s years, was in Oceanport, N.J.

Though he lived in Woolford, on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, and hadn’t lived in Oceanport in thirty years, in his memory, he lived back in the town he was raised in and where he raised his family.

His life was going full circle.

And in his defense, in the house that he built in Oceanport; he did go upstairs to eat.  The kitchen was on the middle floor, or more exactly the third level of the four-level split he built.  If he was in the basement where his workshop lived, or in the “rec” room where his bar was located, he went up the stairs to reach the kitchen and eat.

So in his previous house, the “home” he remembered best as being his home, he went upstairs to eat.

Except for the few years as a child when he lived in the Scandinavian neighborhood of Brooklyn’s Bay Ridge section, my father was born and raised in Oceanport.

My grandfather moved the family to Brooklyn in the 1930s to find work and for three years, my dad lived and attended New York’s public school system in the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th grades.

It’s been a while since we have had the ability to have those conversations when I could learn more about his life.  But interestingly, this past Monday, on his birthday, out of the blue, he shared another story I had not heard before.  You have to understand this was a big deal because most of his speech now is unintelligible.  On Monday, while we celebrated his birthday in the facility where he now lives, he shared the story of another birthday party he had in Brooklyn in 1939 when he turned ten years old.  He said he had just started to play guitar and they played “kissing games.”  He also mentioned that baseball was big back then.

I don’t know where all this came from but I got pretty excited and of course, took notes on my phone.

I have never heard him say anything about playing the guitar, but I definitely believe he played “kissing games.”  I did try to push him a little with some follow-up questions about the Brooklyn Dodgers but at that point, it was over.  The clarity had ceased.

I think he had a great birthday and for me it was awesome.

 

On April 29th in 2016 I wrote:

“I don’t know much about Parkinson’s Disease at this point, but I suppose I will begin to learn. 

I guess only time will tell.

In the meantime, I will learn as my dad goes through this, at least as much as I can.”

 

It’s now April of 2022.

I am still learning.

Though I probably still don’t know as much about Parkinson’s in the clinical sense as I should,  I do know how it has affected my dad and impacted my mother.

 

My dad once told me “At one time I was the strongest kid in Oceanport.”

I believe he probably was.

That strength is gone now.

And the sense of balance he was once so proud of, gone too.

It’s hard to believe it has only been six years that we have been on this journey.

Yet he still has those days when he amazes me.

So I guess I will keep on learning.

As long as he keeps sharing.

 

Postscript:

I shared his birthday photo on social media and he got many responses and comments.  I read as many of those comments as I could to him while I was with him on Monday and will follow up with the rest the next time I see him.  Thanks to all for helping to make his birthday special.

My dad enjoying his birthday ice cream cone. He hadn’t had an ice cream cone in about 10 months.
Groundhog Day

Groundhog Day

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In a post on my website called A Sentimental Racetrack Journey on May 1, 2019, I retold the story of a racehorse named Sir Sidney who I had originally written about in 2014, and how this horse kept popping up in my life’s journey.

In Sir Sidney, My 2020 Horse of the Year, written last August I told the story of how a nice lady named Tiffany found my sentimental racetrack journey story which helped her decide to buy Sid and give him a good home in retirement.

For reasons unknown to me but I am sure understandable, Tiffany had to give Sidney up so I lost track of him once again.

On Monday morning, I got an email. The message line said “Update on Sir Sidney.”

Sid? I thought.

I quickly opened the email and began to read:

Good morning! I recently purchased a lovely OTTB by the name of Sir Sidney. He is absolutely the love of my life and I was doing some research on him hoping to find pics of him in different homes etc. I came across your blog. I have no idea who that Tiffany M lady was, but that’s not who I bought him from so he must have bounced around to a couple more homes before he came to me. I’m emailing you to let you know he will NEVER go anywhere after me. He is the most gentle soul, just looking for someone to love him unconditionally. I’ve started eventing on him and have competed in a couple of small shows already. I’ve hauled him off property to go on trail rides and lessons etc. I dote over that horse,.he now prances around a 10 acre pasture sporting hot pink fly boots, accompanied by an obese Shetland pony (smiley face). I’ll include a few pics of the sweet guy. I hate that he has had such a long journey, but so thankful it led me to him. It feels like he was made for me. This horse is one in a million.

Marilyne

 

Just like last August with Tiffany, I didn’t know Marilyne.

But I sure knew Sid!

 

It was a Déjà vu experience.

It was my Groundhog Day!

 

I had to go back and read Sir Sidney, My 2020 Horse of the Year again!

Then I went back and I read A Sentimental Racetrack Journey again.

 

Then I emailed Marilyne back.

I thanked her for sending me the email and told her that yesterday was my birthday and hearing about Sid was a great birthday present.

 

She emailed me back and said she was glad and that Sid brings joy everywhere he goes. She told me how she renamed him Jonas because of her love of the Jonas Brothers and to just know he is super loved and finally has been given a chance to live out his life because he sure had earned it.

Yes, he has.

He’s worked hard all his life and touched many people.

And as Marilyne so nicely put it he brings joy everywhere he goes.

 

It’s been a nice week, filled with family and memories.

And Sid’s kind of like family now.

 

So now I have another memory.

And like me, he is semi-retired and doing something fun in his old age with lessons and trail rides.

He can prance around his pasture, and I can prance around my backyard!

(But I’m sorry Sid I am not sporting any hot pink fly boots even if it is only in my yard.  No sir!)

And though Marilyne can call him whatever she wants, even Jonas, he will always be Sir Sidney to me.

 

It was a nice birthday present.

It brought me some joy.

My sentimental racetrack journey continues.

Sid is truly is one in a million.

In fact, he is one of millions.

Yet he keeps coming back into my life.

 

And so once again…

I found my Sir Sidney.

 

Sid and Marilyne. Thank you!

 

Nope, I ain’t doing it
It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, No It’s a Gift From God

It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, No It’s a Gift From God

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Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary.

Kim and I will be married 21 years tomorrow.

 

I remember a time in my life when I prayed for someone to come into my life.

I prayed that in some detail I might add.

 

Kim was that answered prayer.

 

Yesterday was Kim’s birthday.

I found this birthday card that said “You’re a Special Gift from an incredible God.”

I liked that.

Because it was true.

 

Sunday was my birthday. I turned sixty-five. A big milestone I guess.

 

We had split up for the weekend again, Kim with her mom, and me with my parents.

I had some time to go through a lot of old photos they had packed away in many photo albums.

 

Lots of memories in those photos, I made as many copies as I could.

 

Some nice photos of all the kids, Donny, Savannah, Hayley, and Alexa together and some with extended family we didn’t get to be with too often

 

More gifts from God…my kids.

 

Though one we had to give back.

 

 

Last year on Father’s Day I wrote about a special one from 19 years ago, the last one with all the kids together.

 

This year was another special one in that I was able to spend it with my dad. Not everyone turning sixty-five is lucky enough to be able to say that.

 

Another gift, our parents.

 

Though we had to give one of them back in October.

 

 

But I think for me, especially in the last year or so, I have been able to be good son.

I have been blessed with that opportunity.

 

Though I don’t have any regrets, as a result, however I can’t always say I have been a good father, or a good grandfather.

 

Grandchildren as you may know, are another gift from God.

 

Time, priorities, social distancing, travel restrictions, whatever, all made it difficult to focus on more than our parents it seemed.

 

Of course, we were able to have some grandparent time with Cameron.

 

And some family time with Savannah and Hayley (and Leon and Malcolm of course),

including celebrating Hayley’s birthday on June 7.

 

 

But I still hadn’t seen the Florida kids, Ethan, Christian, Alexa, and Namaan since December of 2019 and that was really starting to get me down.

 

Then a few days before Christian’s sixth birthday on June 13th, some stars aligned and though Kim was scheduled to be with her mom, she encouraged me to book some flights surprise the kids.

 

With vaccines and the world returning to some form of normal, it’s been really nice to hug and kiss my local kids and grandchild.

 

But I must admit it was especially nice to hug and kiss the daughter and grandkids I hadn’t seen in twenty or so months.

 

And I got to attend the birthday party as well.

 

As you can tell, June and July have always been eventful months in our lives.

 

In fact, Monday June 28th was Cameron’s birthday, and we all went out to dinner to celebrate his eleventh birthday.

 

And in July sadly we remember giving Donny back on the 19th.

 

But we celebrate Savannah’s birthday on the 20th and Ethan’s birthday on July 25th.

 

But today sadly, I also remember another gift from God.

My brother Carl.

Because a year ago today we had to give him back.

 

I am grateful for the gifts God has given me.

 

And though I don’t always understand, I accept that there will be those times I don’t understand.

 

It is nice to have memories when you need them.

 

And it is nice to be able to make new ones for when you need those.

 

 

I will share some, some new ones and some old ones:

 

The photo at the top is one of my brother Carl flying through the air in his backyard.  He always had the coolest stuff in his yard. Donny had a soccer tournament in Trenton and we were all able to get over to celebrate my nephew Jason’s graduation from college.

 

These are from another milestone birthday, my 30th.  Hayley was my birthday present that year.

Hayley was about 3 weeks old
That’s my nephew Johnathon on the right and neighbor Laura Marson on the left helping me out
I had to show this one of my niece Chelsea, my dad, and Alexa. Look at Alexa’s face, have you ever seen anything like that?

 

This was my 46th birthday in 2002. My last with Donny.  Savannah is in the refrigerator.

 

Hayley’s 35th birthday this month.

 

Here is me on my birthday this week.

Kim and Cam at his birthday celebration and making a wish.

 

Ethan and Christian packing up after Christian’s party and hugging my kid for the first time in 20 months.

Here are a couple of photos of family in New Jersey. Donny, Savannah, and Hayley in the first one.  And  a rare one of the whole family with all my kids in it.

 

My dad this Father’s Day

 

And here is one more of Carl holding Chelsea and Alexa

 

Memories.

Gifts from God.

Got to have them, got to love them.

 

“Whatever is good and perfect is a gift coming down to us from God our Father…” (James 1:17)

Happy Birthday Baby

Happy Birthday Baby

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Today is Kim’s birthday and we are 270 miles away from each other.  We have kind of become used to this routine this year as we each run some cover for our aging parents.  Kim’s in western PA and mine on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.  Sadly, it has become more efficient to split up on weekends since there never seems to be enough time to cover all our bases.

June is always a wash for us anyway because of our church yard sale which Kim and I are heavily involved in.  That may sound silly in the context of opening up your garage door on a Saturday morning, moving some things out on to the driveway and then parking yourself in a lawn chair while you collect money.

I have written about this event before. Physically it is the most challenging thing that I do every year.  Not even taking into consideration the three weeks we take to prepare, think of it as walking five or six marathons in a 36 to 48 hour time period while carrying someone’s donated sofa.

This year, more than ever, I could really feel it.

This being my birthday month I was also required to renew my driver’s license.  I opted to get one of those real ID’s.  So one rainy morning a couple of weeks ago I got up early went to the DMV which is always a painful experience and this one was no exception

I brought my birth certificate, my W-2, my mortgage statement, my electric bill, my marriage license, and what was left of my social security card.

The guy at the information desk asked what I wanted to do, then asked to see my birth certificate.

My birth certificate is very fragile.  Taped together after all those years of being carried in my wallet from back in the day when you could get served at age 18 and sometimes you needed extra proof of your age.

I smiled and handed it to the guy making small excuses for its condition due to the fact its shares its age with me.

He looked at it and said, “This is not a birth certificate.”

Catching me off guard I said, “Excuse me? This is my birth certificate…it’s been my birth certificate, well (stammering now) …since I was born!”

(Boy that was a really smart thing to say, I thought to myself)

“It is not a birth certificate it is a registration of birth certificate, you need to get the real birth certificate,” he replied.

I continued to debate the authenticity of my birth certificate but to no avail, the guy says, “Would you like to come back with your real birth certificate or just renew your license?”

“I will just renew my license,” I said dejectedly.

And then there was my doctor’s appointment.    I get great anxiety over picking up the phone and making a doctor’s appointment, it takes a lot of self-debating.  However, this time in the week’s leading up the yard sale, the chronic pain in my legs, the mysterious growth on my skin, and the pain and lump in my armpit finally motivated me to make the call.  Truthfully the axillary pain and lump was the decider.  So at 7:30 a.m. on the Monday following the yard sale I scheduled my appointment.

Low and behold as is typically the case when I make a doctor’s appointment, a few days before, the chronic leg pain I had been experiencing for months subsided and the axillary pain and lump disappeared so basically I looked like an idiot going to the doctor. I assured him (he is a new primary for me) I wasn’t a hypochondriac and I really had symptoms…once.  At the end  of the exam he gave me one of those polite, patronizing come back to see me when you have more serious boo-boo’s send offs and I left swearing that the next time I visit a doctor it will be out of the back of an ambulance.

 

While going through my garage earlier this month looking for items to bring up to the church yard sale,  I found a post card from thirty years ago that Alexa had given me on my 33rd birthday.

It read:

Dear Daddy

I love you a lot

It is very fun having you as a dad

I like you very much

Rember (sic)

We have to buy something for Browies (sic) (tomorow) (sic)

I love you being the big 33er

Love

Alexa

 

I think I figured out that Alexa would have been six years old when she wrote this.

I don’t even remember her being in the Browies…I mean Brownies.

 

What is the point of all this?

Not sure.

I guess now being the big 63er causes me to reflect.

The grueling physical weekend I had last week reminded me I am not young anymore and I can’t do what I used to.

My experience renewing my license shows the challenges of change and bureaucracy.  Some problems can’t be fixed no matter how much tape you use.

The pain and swelling in my armpit was a red flag for me on how quickly my situation could change and had me wondering if I was okay with my life up to this point and was I in the right place with God.

A post card from thirty years ago shows me how fast thirty years can go by, and what I don’t remember about my kids growing up.

Now sitting across the table from my parents, I see the preview of what is to come since I am the next generation, and wonder if my kids will do the same.

And being 270 miles away from my wife on her birthday tells me that sometimes there are things in life that that are more of a priority, like our parents.

But also, how much I miss her.

Happy Birthday Baby.

 

Tubas and Saxophones, The Dave Clark Five, and I Love You

Tubas and Saxophones, The Dave Clark Five, and I Love You

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My first saxophone, circa 1965, but it was already old when i got it.

It was The Dave Clark Five in the early sixties that caused a young “want to be” rock star at seven or eight years old to begin to fantasize about playing the saxophone one day in a band.

Our grandson Cameron,  age six, asked Santa for a tuba for Christmas.

A tuba.

We don’t know why he wanted a tuba for Christmas.  Not that there is anything wrong with that or the tuba,  I just can’t think of any cool current bands with a tuba player.

Our ritual for putting Cameron to sleep includes Kim and me each individually going in to visit him to say goodnight. The other night while I was in saying good night to Cameron, he asked me:

“Pop Pop, why didn’t Santa bring me a tuba?”

“I don’t know,” I said.  “Maybe he wants you to first learn to play your guitar, your drums, your harmonica, and your piano.  Then it will be easier for you to learn how to play the tuba.”

So because of the Dave Clark Five, when I turned nine years old and was able to start the music program in grammar school (sorry that is elementary school for those of you who aren’t from Jersey),  I got my first saxophone.    I was in the fourth grade and played it until I was in the seventh grade.

When I was twelve I got my first harmonica.

When I was sixteen or seventeen I put my first guitar on lay-away at Jack’s Music Shop in Red Bank New Jersey.

I now have six guitars, a number that equals the number of chords I know how to play on those guitars. I have two saxophones, and I have about twenty harmonicas.

Though I have a deep love of music I think my self-diagnosed attention deficit disorder never allowed me to master any one of those instruments beyond the point of just being able to have fun.

Last night, while listening to some music, I started thinking about Cameron and his tuba.

Then I started thinking about me and my musical instruments.

So naturally that led to the thought that I had to write something about all this.  Next, I remembered I had once written something that I thought at the time was really cool, that might fit somewhere in this developing concept.

So I started searching my spiral notebooks,  and then my computer files,  but I never did find those really cool words I once wrote that I thought would be so fitting.  Though it was definitely way cooler than this,  what I wrote back then had a similar theme to this:

I don’t know why I never learned to play harp like Delbert.

And I don’t know why I never played saxophone like Clarence.

Or learned to play the guitar like Bruce, or sing like Richie Furay, or write songs like Hiatt.

 

And I don’t know now what any of this has to do with anything…except maybe confirming my ADD tendencies.

But there was something else.

Because while I was searching for those really cool lyrics that were never found, I did find this:

My Mom Often tells me

By Donny

 

My mom often tells me, I love you.

When I am in the most miserable mood ever, and my mom is yelling I still know all of this yelling will later be followed by I love you. 

This saying reassures me that everything will always be alright.  It lets me know that somebody cares for you.  This saying makes you feel like everything I’m doing is fine and I should keep up the good work.  I don’t understand why when my mom says I love you, it means a lot more than when anybody else on earth says it, I love my mom.  She is my mentor, my friend, and someone I look up to.  I couldn’t ask for a better mom.  I thank God for blessing me with a gift like this

 

I don’t know why Santa didn’t bring Cameron a tuba.

And I will never know why God took Donny away from us either.

But I am happy that I found this essay of Donny’s since Monday is Donny’s birthday and sometimes we just need to get these messages.

A message that “reassures me that everything will always be alright.” 

So happy birthday Donny!

I can assure you that your mother still loves you.

And that everything will be alright.

Oh…and tell somebody that you love them, it means something.

Donny and cousin Josh

 

 

A Very Special Unexpected Birthday Gift

A Very Special Unexpected Birthday Gift

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Dear Donny,

Today was your birthday.

It was a Saturday and much like any other Saturday we got up early because we couldn’t sleep. We had our coffee, checked our email and our Facebook, and did some work-work leftover from Friday.

We remembered your birthday on Facebook.

Many times I have described that time after Thanksgiving when the Christmas decorations come out of the trunks and down from the attic as bittersweet, as the memories are unpacked one at a time and placed on the tree or on the mantle. It is our darkness in the brilliant light of the season; fourteen seasons now to be exact.

And though we celebrated, laughed, and enjoyed this holiday as much as anyone, there will always be something that will be missing in our hearts as hard as we try to ignore it each year. That one thing we can’t unpack, hold in our hands for that short time, put away and wait anxiously for next year when we can take it out again and hold it once more.

If only we could.

But we do have our memories and each year we work hard to make sure we keep them alive because we don’t ever want to forget.

And normally by New Year’s Eve the lights are out, the tree is down, and the ornaments are packed away.

This year however was different, we were late. This year…..your birthday….. today, was the day that the ornaments were taken down and the lights rolled up, and everything returned to its place in the attic for another year.

And it really was different. Your mother and I were busy. We found some old CD’s and we listened to music that we listened to when we were dating. We were singing, we laughed,  and we were not sad.

“Tonight I ask the stars above, how did I ever win your love.
What did I do, what did I say, to turn your angel eyes my way”

We were happy.

And now as we prepare to sleep, we put this, yet another nice memory to bed. You see?  You can still make them!

Thank you for sharing, what would have been your twenty ninth birthday with us today. And thank you because on this birthday, it was us who received the gift.

Happy Birthday Buddy