Happy Birthday...

Papa,

You would be 80 today.  And I would bake you a coconut cream cake, and we'd joke about the number of candles and burning the house down before you could make a wish...

It'll be 2 years in May since you've been gone.  It's hard to believe it has been that long.  I stopped by the other night, with Bradford pear branches in hand.  Did you notice?  Did you know?  I still wonder about that.  Do you stop by to see us ever?  Do you kiss us goodnight sometimes?  Do you hear my thoughts, see our tears when we miss you so much we can't stand it?

I know, we shouldn't be crying over you when you're so much happier now.  I know.  I remember you talking about your funeral before... before it was feasible to me, to any of us that it would actually one day come.  You wanted us to be happy, you wanted a celebration.  Just like mom wants too.  And we all laughed, of course we would do that.  Yeah, that didn't happen. :)  We cried and held each other.  I fumed and felt angry at God for the longest time.  And at the "church" people who we had known for years that turned out not to be so Christian like.  I am still learning to let go and forgive all that anger.

I can see your face sometimes, in Matt and Eddie and mom and Aunt Mary.  They all have your steel blue/grey eyes.  And that twinkle.  And I really think Matt is getting your laugh.  I wish I could see something of you in myself.  I thought about that the other day, and I really think I inherited your strong will, your tenaciousness.  Definitely your stubbornness.  Patrick could attest to that.  I think you would like him.

I miss your hands most of all.  How they were so rough and strong, but they could be gentle and heal any hurt.  I loved holding your hand.  I loved when you'd pinch my cheeks, or let me lay my head on your leg and you'd stroke my hair until I fell asleep.  I miss that.  I miss you.

So, happy birthday my beloved Papa.  80 years young.  Stop by some time, blow a breeze my way, visit my dreams.  I love you still, and I will always remember.

Your Mandy 

Rebels of the Sacred Heart unite!
No ball or chain nor prison shall keep, we're the rebels.
Rebels away!

Garden

I spent last night in the garden.

I have a garden.  Vegetables and fruits, planted for a future harvest... as long as my brown thumb doesn't kill everything.  Hoeing, weeding, watering, planting, I got a few things in before night fell and before I ran out of materials.  I need fertilizer and some small pots to start the tomatoes and peppers inside the house.

We also constructed a fire pit for cool summer nights outside to enjoy a beverage by the fire in the great outdoors.  We christened it yesterday.  Took awhile for the damp logs to get burning, but the pyro inside of me was satisfied.

At the end of the day, walking to the bedroom, and immediately changing my mind to take a shower once I really smelled myself, I felt fulfilled and accomplished.  If your hands and feet and clothes and hair aren't covered with dirt, mud, grass stains, and small cuts and bumps... then you may or may not be living life to the fullest.  I suggest trying it some time.

After clean me put her head on the pillow, I slept the sleep of the weary and warm hearted.  No insomnia to haunt my midnight like normal.  Just peace.

 Today will be the sleep of the weary and bedraggled student.  Tomorrow I will be in the sun again.  Oh how book learnin' gets in the way of my education.

  Felknor Ventures 82506 Topsy Turvy Upside-Down Tomato Planter

A Lesson Before Dying

May 2002, I sat in my AP Psychology class, a junior in high school.  We were a week away from summer break, chatting and discussing our plans for the summer, and for next year as we became seniors, while the teacher lounged in the back giving us a break for the day.

The intercom crackled to life, and all of us ignored it, not even bothering to quieten down.  Until we heard the words our principal was saying.

Jeremy killed himself.

We were passing from juniors to seniors, almost kings of the school, and he killed himself.  We were just starting out, our lives taking flight, and he killed himself.  As we listened to the intercom, he killed himself.

Rumors flew, as they will in a small town.  Everyone had an opinion or an "I-know-what-really-happened" story.  He was overly depressed and on drugs.  He found out his girlfriend was cheating on him or about to dump him.  He wanted to make his mom hurt, and blamed her for his suicide.  His suicide note claimed the world was ending, and he did not want to live through the tribulations coming.  

But the darkest rumor of all - he had no reason, no explanation, no note to give us an insight to his decision.  Just shot himself in the stomach.  What if he hadn't meant to die?

The details were gruesome.  EMT's leak information, so one story was the same running through town, and that was how he died.  He had sat in the floor of his living room, back pressed against the couch, a short barreled shot gun pushing into his abdomen.

No one heard the gun go off.  They lived in the rural outskirts, houses few and far between.  His mother at work, his sister at school.  He sat in the living room bleeding out.  That was the worst and hardest part to hear.  The shell hadn't killed him as it cut through his stomach.  It was enough to hurt, it was enough to stun, but it wasn't enough to kill immediately.  He could have survived, if he had been found in time.  But by the time his sister got off the bus, the life had drained from him, like the pool of blood in the floor.

He wasn't the only one to "end it" at my high school.  "End it" was the euphemism, a way to say it without saying it.  There were several suicides, some accidental deaths.  But Jeremy was always a mystery to me. 

I really don't think he meant to die.  He was smart, intelligent, not like some of my fellow classmates.  He knew a shot to the stomach didn't mean death.  At least not right away.  I think it was a cry for help that ended tragically.  Especially when you think that his mom's shift ended at work about an hour after he pulled the trigger, but she decided to work a double.  

At the funeral, I saw the guilt and pain on his mother's face, the tears pouring down his sister's cheeks.  I saw his classmates and friends gather at his coffin to say a few words, promise to remember, tell him goodbye.  

Everything happens for a reason, everything has a purpose.  Jeremy did not die in vain.  His death had a purpose, maybe more than one.  But I knew one small reason. 

I held it close, I hold it close, and I remember my lesson every day.

A Lesson Before Dying (Five star)

Once you lose enough people, it's hard to believe someone will actually stick around. Will anyone stay indefinitely? Can you trust people?