Fragile

Smashed, shattered, broken to bits.
Shards lying everywhere.
Impossible to put together.

Looking around I cannot even tell
what it used to look like.
No pieces large enough to
resemble what used to be.

Painstakingly I assemble what I can
into what I remember was
and what I think might be.

I slip suddenly,
the slight brings everything
to the floor again.
So fragile.
No choice now but to begin again.

Daily Swim

I live by the pool,
of memories of you.
I dangle my feet in,
I touch the water with my fingers.

When I'm really missing you,
I wade into the pool,
of memories of you.
I've not yet learned to swim here,
so I stay close to the edge,
but it feels so good to be immersed,
just like when you were with me.

It's enveloping and I lose myself,
swimming in the pool,
of memories of you.
The cool water soothes my dry skin,
parched by time without you.
I turn and swirl the water,
my arms outstretched,
and I smile thinking of you.
But I've drifted too far.
I cannot yet swim here
and I cannot find bottom.

I panic and gasp.
I'm drowning in the pool,
of memories of you.
The water is deeper than I thought,
murky and dark.
I cannot breathe, my chest heaves.
The world is spinning and
I'm being drawn down.

Maybe I should close my eyes,
and lose myself in the pool,
of memories of you.
Relax and let it take me.

I find myself lying in the grass,
near the pool
of memories of you.
I'm drenched and exhausted.
But strangely relieved,
to have survived my swim.

I carry in my being,
the pool,
of memories of you.

An Ode to Coffee

To my morning confessor,
I spill my prior day's anxieties,
My prior night's hopes and dreams.

Interrupting my waking slumber,
It extends it's aid to me,
Lifts me and prepares me for the day,
Slaps me on the back,
Kicks me out the door.
"You can do it!"

It accompanies me as I begin my daily journey,
The chapter from yesterday, finished.
The chapter today, just beginning.

My closest companion throughout my travails,
We sit, we walk, we hold hands,
We transfer a knowing touch.
I whisper my secrets as I sip,
While it comforts me deeply with it's warmth.

It's words sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter.
But among friends who have been together for years,
honesty is best.

An Evening with Friends

I settled comfortably into my favorite soft chair. It's one that another may not sit in for being not much to look at, but it catches and conforms to my body now after so many shared evenings together. We know one another and appreciate the companionship. The other frequent members of our consort this night include an aged handmade mug filled with warm, fragrant Earl Grey and the lamplight by which the evening's proceedings are conducted. This bright contributor is modern, angular, geometric and a bit out of place but among the eclectic friends that gather regularly here, it's differences are tolerated, in fact welcome. On cooler nights I light a fire or pick a light blanket for warmth, but this day's end is temperate and I'm dressed in comfortable flannel night clothes.

The subject of our conversation was to be a selection from a recent visit to the local used bookseller. That keeper of discarded secrets and treasures, that tonight presents us with a mystery of science fiction. The back flap and few scattered pages with which I tested my affinity for the story lured me in with allusions to Mayan and Egyptian pyramids, their similarities and the notion that life beyond our atmosphere had influenced their construction. Flipping further back into the beginnings of the book, what I can assume to be the main character was researching genetics texts and pondering the origins of life. The publisher's summary promised well kept secrets being discovered, the line between reality and and the seemingly incomprehensible being blurred into an extended understanding of who we are...or could be...or were. I was hooked. I'm usually not a big science fiction fan for anything other than what comes on the television, but when an author can stretch my mind with small leaps from well based reason, I'm in.

The book began. "A secret well kept, is a valuable one. Otherwise, why go to such great lengths to hide it? This was the premise upon which James began his research at University that fall. What was the secret? Why was it being kept? Could he prove it?" These intrigues kept me and my companions busy for hours and hours over the course of several similar evenings, always beginning in the same way, comfortable and relaxed as we entered the world of imagination.

Bitter

Life, a bitter drink
Sweeten with milk and sugar
Still hard to swallow

My Other Life

I stepped into the crosswalk today and was almost hit by a car.
I counted myself lucky then and went on with my day.
I thought about the other universe. The one in which I didn't step back,
And wondered now how my other life was shattered.
My other kids, my other wife, my other dog, my other life.

He fell to the floor grasping his chest. It was lucky she was there to call for help,
It was fortunate that somebody was there to act in that critically precious time.
Because if she weren't, he'd be dead in just the fewest of short moments.
Like in his other life, in his other house, where his other wife was still on her way home.
But now, his other kids are crying and will grow up without their father.

She woke up fine this morning, she looked and felt great.
But before she could make her morning coffee, her head hurt suddenly and then she was gone.
The promises she'd made to herself had still been brewing in her mind,
The adventures she had planned for her young family, just beginning to happen.
Had she told all the people she loved just how much they meant to her?
Had she done everything she wanted to do? Was she content?

In her other life, she's still breathing, still going about her day,
attending her duties, running her errands, making her plans.
In her other life her other husband's not grieving, not grappling with how to tell their young children, that their mother won't be coming home.
In her other life, she's called, and her husband picks up the phone.
"The traffic is bad, I'll be a few minutes late." she says.

For those who are gone,
No more walks holding hands,
no more kisses from the children,
no more sunsets or sunrises,
no more trees blowing in the breeze,
No more conversations with friends.
In my other life, I'm dead now.
Oblivious. Like the time before I was born.
We become, into the world,
a pattern of cells emerging and gone just as quickly,
returning to that from which we came.
We do not know how long we have,
but we know it is too short a time we have to grasp the beauty that is our life.

Acceptance, Part I

Chinese characters for acceptance.

True acceptance is what makes real living possible.

Acceptance is really the act of recognizing the truth of what is before you at any given moment. If you falsely insist that you can breathe in the water and go in without an air tank, you'll drown. If you accept the fact that you cannot breathe underwater, then you simply adjust your approach. Get an air tank, don't go underwater too long, rent scuba gear.

Of course, with life, these things are much more subtle. Few first time parents recognize the need to let their children get up on their own after falling. If they did, as they come to understand with their subsequent offspring, the crying abates more quickly and the child learns independence. It also means that when the child is crying something really merits parental attention.

So much of this recognition is really about the illusion of control in which we all persist. Life lures us into this deception subtly as there are so many things that we are able to affect. We can drive a car along the road, making turns where we need to reach our destination, but few of us would attempt taking it off road thinking there would be no consequence. In all likelihood we would end up stuck or with a damaged automobile. Just as the mantra of alcoholics anonymous states with their serenity prayer, if we can have the wisdom to recognize what we can control and what we cannot, then we can then be at peace.

Fear plays a major role in supporting this delusion as well. If we fear something that is beyond our ability to affect, we become slave to it. Fear of aging is common and manifests itself in myriad ways. Corporations exist which profit from this fear playing very effectively into our paranoia. The latest herbal remedies promise healing, plastic surgeons assure us that they can remove 10 years under their knives and rarely do we see images of anyone other than the young and the beautiful in advertising. If we learn to accept aging as a stage in our lives, with the inevitable consequence of death, then we can eventually learn to be free from the pervasive fear that otherwise commandeers our ability to live in the only moment that matters, now.

Death presents itself as the ultimate end and because we love our lives so much we cannot help to initially fear death. However, it is an inevitability. As we age and our friends or family die, most of us gradually accept this incessant progression. Some are forced far too early to come to grips with this fact and many make efforts to shield the exceptionally young from dealing with this reality. Losing friends or family members early, because it is unfortunately unavoidable for some, can be used as an enlightening opportunity to make the remainder of lives a happy tribute to those lost. These are sad and sometimes devastating events, but what we mourn for them, is still ours to be used well. True that their absence is felt too deeply for words. But accepting death and loss as part of life and not taking either for granted, nor carrying any assumptions about how long this fortune of life is ours or what it must offer us, can be an experience that can lighten the burden of fear and lead us to lives of much greater fulfillment.

Apollo in an Airbus

"It comes down to survival." I said, thinking my argument definitive.

"I agree," she replied, "but it's so complex. We've come from single cells to massive organisms living in groups with culture, families, rituals." She paused, thinking. "and mythologies."

"How does mythology figure in?" We were eating, my bite muffled my query.

"Our explanations of things are our mythologies. They create our metaphors. Why we need them I won't know. I suppose that it was just our effort at making sense of things we didn't understand. You know, Zeus and all. Sun gods in chariots. I guess today they'd be traveling in spaceships or airliners instead."

"Apollo in an airbus." I laughed.

"Religious mythology just isn't keeping up. It's lasted so long and now the metaphors in it are outdated. People just keep clinging to them. The purpose of a mythology is to help you understand life and how to live it, not cause you guilt and suffering for not being able to live the way our ancient ancestors did. And certainly not to be taken literally. We really all should have learned that by now."

"Down girl. A little repressed anger?"

"I guess. It frustrates the crap out of me that people argue over ideals or what should or shouldn't be. My-religion-is-better-than-yours kind of stuff. If everyone could get to the point of seeing what is instead of what they think what ought to be we'd all be better off."

"But aren't you doing the same thing they are when you say that? Aren't you wishing for an ideal and not accepting the reality? What if we accept the religious of the world for what they are?"

"It's a good point. I'd probably say that I look at their behavior like a child wishing to fly. It's not going to happen. They can put on wings and jump off the stoop, but it won't work. All I'm asking is for the kid to realize that and if they really want to see the world from up high to get on a plane."

"Airbus. Rescuing you from your existential angst." I smiled.

C&O Canal Tow Path

After living in Western Maryland for nearly six years now, and being forced by a knee injury to abandon running and adopt biking as my exercise of choice, I was recently persuaded to explore the 'tow path'. A converted relic of a pre-industrial time, the tow path was used to haul water borne cargo where it was impractical or impossible to do so by land. Horses were used tethered to ropes and the barge and towed along the river. Like their cousins, the defunct railroad paths turned paved asphalt biking and walking trails, the towpath through DC and Maryland provides a natural escape perfect for biking, hiking, camping and strolling.

Our first ride on the towpath was out of a picture book. The weather was cool and crisp, sunny and not overly humid. We loaded up our neglected bicycles and hoped there wouldn't be too much complaining about how much further we were going from our daughters. We were surprised and entirely impressed by ease with which we all enjoyed the ride. The crushed gravel made it a gentle ride and the over arching branches kept it cool. Because of the proximate river, the towpath has only gradual and unnoticeable family friendly grades. Everyone enjoyed the ride and my oldest insisted on making an even ten miles out of it, pushing herself beyond the point of comfort to achieve it.

We were out for nearly two hours which for all involved seemed like half that. An extremely pleasant way to spend a weekend morning. As we walked back to the car, my instinct to test myself to the extreme was piqued by the map of the entire trail. Apparently this combined man-made and natural jewel stretches 180 miles from Washington D.C. to Cumberland, Maryland with campsites, points of interest, food and other lodging options along the way.

I was in awe of this asset that had been overlooked by us for so long and only minutes away from our house. Already though I was planning on how to acquire land immediately on the towpath and more immediately, excursions involving long days of riding and nights of camping.

A Different Summer

Yesterday was the first day of summer at home with my girls. Up to this point I've been a stay-at-home father with responsibilities for a young child and this summer promised to be different. My girls are now 10, almost 11 and 7. They are responsible and fun-loving, don't fight too much and are generally a joy to be around.

In February of this year, I lost my son to a brain tumor. He was four. My decision to stay at home before he was even conceived was a conscientious reaction of my wife and me to the upstart career family we'd become. She was finishing her residency on her way to becoming a physician and I was in the midst of the generalized function of middle management, learning a lot at a company I loved and had joined during its infancy. We prioritized family, partly due to our priorities and partly out of self preservation. Working long hours and raising small children was taking its toll and was unsustainable.

My son was born in July following my first year of being a stay-at-home-dad. This was baptism by fire. Growing up, I was not given examples of how to be at home with an infant. My wife gave me a two month crash course which was ended abruptly by her leave policy from work. It was good time, but too short.

What was to follow became increasingly stressful for me. I became strung out, with little sleep, no idea what to do with an infant, and making first time parent mistakes that I regretted for years. But I knew my son in a way that few fathers did. And it became one of the best decisions I've ever made. It put me in a position to maximize his short life and the privilege of giving him what he needed to be happy.

Our lives revolved around him and the treatment he required for the 16 months following his diagnosis. Up to that point, he'd been a needy baby, grumpy and an unlikely sleeper. He was a beautiful boy. A wonderful addition, rounding out our family in a way I've come to miss deeply. As a couple, my wife and I had begun to see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. We could have conversations while the kids were awake and be conscious after they were asleep. Occasionally we'd get a weekend where we weren't up at 6am. But then came cancer.

We were plunged into an entirely different lifestyle, friends, environment, needs, everything. The focus of all our activities and energy became entirely directed at our son's treatments. They went as well as could be expected. Our extended family and network of friends and community came to our aid and support for a duration which in retrospect was lengthy, but acquired a cadence of normalcy.

Relapse came suddenly, but not without foresight. We'd seen the signs and knew the odds we faced. Our cautious optimism gave way to resigned realization. We would return to a family of four soon. The gift we had in our son would be short-lived; precious, but brief.

Intensity and quality are bedfellows and the time we had with him near the end of his life was their hallmark. We lived with purpose each minute, knowing that at the same time the following year, he would be absent. We visited family, enjoyed a trip to Disney, had our holidays, family birthdays, and enjoyed some unseasonably warm weather. Sleep eventually began to overtake him and he died days later in a bed we kept for him in our living room. Our entire family surrounded him and we held him and touched him, smiled at him and loved him as he left us. These were sad, sad days. The world spun with uncertainty and desperate grief.

As the school year ended this year, after several months adjusting to life without him, I planned for an enjoyable and fun filled summer for my girls. My hope was to keep myself sane, reward their patience over the past years during their brother's illness and to give them a sense that they can enjoy their lives through small things done well. We will read books, write about our days, practice instruments and music, do our chores and do it all together.

The Key

The phone rang.

I didn't want to answer it. I'd just sat down for the evening and was absently releasing my mind to the pleasant oblivion of the evening. Before I could think, my body was up and moving against my will, and better judgment, toward the ringing like sailor to a siren song.

I answered. "Hello?"

On the other end was a voice I hadn't heard in nearly a decade.

"Your services are required," were the only words I heard before the subtle silence of the dead line.

I knew there would be no other instruction. I also knew now that my choices were limited. A moment ago, I had the world before me. Tomorrow I could choose to anything I wanted. Now my road of volition was narrowing before my eyes. A storm had come up quickly, interrupting the quiet end to my day, my solitude, my reflection.

"Your services are required."

The words slipped without effort into my subconscious, a key releasing the tumblers in my head into their perfectly engraved spaces, obediently responding to their master and setting into motion a chain of events that I momentarily pretended that I would be able to control. I felt myself struggling against what had just happened. It was not real. It's the wine playing with you. You've imagined it. You've concocted the scenario that you've always feared.

But really, I knew better. Denial was giving way to reality and I was beginning to formulate action. If only I hadn't picked up the phone. If only I'd been a bit more cautious, if only I had enough experience to know what I was getting into then...

The Man was dressed in light colored spring clothes. Short khaki's, deck shoes and a collared seersucker shirt that made him look like he was on holiday in the Bahamas. His face was all smile and sunglasses.

He matched my mood. I was king of the world then. A newly minted, self made, career man, I'd fallen into a bit of luck with a job that I hadn't deserved, but had deftly steered through the pitfalls and convinced everyone in that small office I could be trusted with big clients, in charge of people, in charge of money. I traveled to exotic places and struck deals that I'd imagined were reserved for sages of business seasoned by years as an underling. I went from penniless to powerful. And quickly. I was inflated with the air of success I could never have dreamed of. I could do anything.

He approached me and appealed to my youthful swagger. He'd heard about me. How? It didn't matter much to me, my name was being bandied about town and now I was in demand. He knew my background and convinced me that my flexibility and ability to adapt would be absolutely necessary in his new venture. The money wasn't great, but it would be a challenge. It would be elite. Not many had done this kind of work before.

I'd made myself once, I could do it again. I could do anything. I told myself these things and believed. I committed to the sunglasses and the smile. Perhaps because I wasn't sure if what I'd built could last, but I traded it all for something shiny, new and full of promise. The chance to prove myself again. But it had gone so unimaginably wrong. So, so wrong. Now it had begun again and I knew I was powerless to stop it.