Ghost of Ghost

It's been twenty years since one of my best friends died in car accident. I wrote about the night I found out here (holy cow - eight years ago).

Twenty freaking years.

It was a lifetime ago and now she's been gone longer than she was alive.


A few months ago I wrote a poem about a very specific memory I have. I would explain it, but I would rather it speak for itself. I don't think it's a very good poem, but it means something to me all the same. Give someone you love a hug today.

Ghost of a Ghost

No one else will know how close we came.

It was so long ago, like some half-forgotten dream, a ghost of a ghost.

I awoke to this memory and felt ashamed, for I hadn't thought of that night in so many years -

when I held you a little and you held me.

We were children then, brother/sister/lovers.

Reaching for something beyond and figuring out how to be.  

Suddenly, the barrier came between us.

Between two worlds  

Forever intertwined

Forever apart

And the only thing left is this lonely memory

That will one day fade away like a ghost of a ghost.  

Catching up with the Fragments

Haven't posted in over a month - life happens - you know.

A few weeks ago my grandmother died - she was my last grandparent alive. Strangely enough, it was around this time last year when my other grandmother passed. Even though the time of year was similar - the situation was almost exactly its inverse.  You see I had a relationship with my other grandma, but this grandma was a different story altogether.  I didn't cry. I didn't even feel all that sad. I felt bad for my mentally disabled aunt who has never been without her. Other than that, that was it.

My main memories of of grandma growing up was her watching TV - soap operas, country music videos - you know, the CLASSICS. I don't remember really engaging with her all that much at all.  She lived about two hours away but I can count the times she came to visit us (twice, I think). The last few years when we would visit, there she was in her apartment, watching TV, ALL DAY LONG. It felt like she wasn't even living.

Sometime last year I asked her about how she met my grandfather (who died when I was 5) and asked her about how she liked living in D.C. at the time. She quickly told me she didn't like it at all.  As she was born and bred in the country I asked her if it was because the city was too big and busy, etc.  No, she told me, she didn't like it because there were too many black people. At that point, I reminded her that she was about to have a black grandchild. She said she did. She also did not like the home healthcare worker who came by they said she talked too much but when pressed, both my aunt and grandmother said it was because she was black. They also thought she was stealing their toilet paper (this coming from the tandem that clogged their toilet numerous times).

We would suggest taking a walk on a beautiful day - but she only let us take her once. She stayed in-doors like some kind of troll. I should clarify, she didn't look like a troll (at least not anymore than old people generally do) it was as if she didn't want to see the sunlight or be removed from her 'cave'.  Maybe it hurt too much to see what she was missing. It's hard to understand how some people chose to see the world and others. I hope if I am lucky enough to be "old" one day, I want to embrace the journey with openness, love and with a healthy dash of carpe deim.

In other news....

I am in the beginning stages of planning a study abroad next summer to Peru. We already have 5 students who are really excited about it (we have to have 10 signed up for the class). So, it's pretty amazing.  Do I feel guilty that I will be away from the fam for weeks? Yes, almost crushingly so....BUT when I think of it like this it makes me feel better:

It's a childhood dream to visit Machu Picchu.
I am getting paid to go to Peru for FREE (that's like + $6,000 when it's all said and done)
It will be an amazing learning experience for myself and the students

Well, there it is. One of the few places in the world that inspired me as a child (the other magical place was the pyramids at Giza). I remember opening my sixth-grade social studies book and seeing this classic picture. I sat staring that the picture, looking at the ruins, imagining myself walking through the rooms, among the clouds. I thought it was one of the coolest things I had ever seen. Funny how your memories work because when I remember this picture I remember exactly where I sat in the class and where the girl I had a crush on sat in relation to me.

Anyway, it will be instant guilt after the first two days (first 2 days I think I will be too overwhelmed to feel bad about what's happening back home).

Thinking about writing a post about Weezer's red album. It's such a strange album. It's equally amazing and frustrating. Some songs are downright stupid and some moments are actually quite beautiful. It's the most ambitious recording session since the 90's and yet it's completely lacking in thoughtfulness in it's track selection.  In summary, it's the perfect "post-pinkerton" Weezer album.

Obligatory comment about how the semester is almost over. Hooray.

Because my wife works one day a week, that means I pretty much need to be full-time in the summer. Sometimes I wonder what amazing things I could do with a whole summer off (thinking about writing that children's series again) but we just can't have me NOT work for a vanity project that will likely end in failure.  Besides, summer school is great. Better students, it's quiet around the campus and office, less committee work and meetings, etc. and we have Fridays off. Just like most things in life a little bit of sweet with sour. Which also remind me of a post that's been kicking around in my head about Buddhism, Suffering, Vicktor Frankel, Jesus and Vanilla Sky (with a cameo appearance by William Shakespeare himself ladies and gents).

Lastly, almost two months ago I was raking the leaves in the back yard as the sun was setting. The sun's rays hit me, coming through the branches of our old Oak trees and it hit me. A moment of mindfulness and clarity. I was alive. I cursed in my wonderment of my very existence, the size and wonder of the sun and the smallness of my own life, concerns and existence. And then it passed. It's moments like those that make me sure I am actually alive and not dreaming.

See ya next time, kids!

Death, Birds, Hope

My grandmother has pancreatic cancer and so I've been thinking about death a lot more lately. Death and oddly enough, birds.  

My grandma is on hospice care at home and we went to visit her last Saturday. Sure, she has looked better before but she was still herself; except she stayed in bed. She couldn't host us as she typically would have. She couldn't serve me her watery ice tea (I could never tell her I didn't like her tea) or cook her famous pot roast but all in all, given the circumstances, it felt pretty normal. It was a nice visit. 

As she lives a little over an hour away, the soonest we could come back was the following Friday.  In six measly days, she had changed completely. 

I was taken aback when I first walked into her room.  She looked as though she had lost 15 pounds from her 108-pound frame. The weight loss affected her face and her eyes were sunken in. I hate to say it but she looked .... well, bird-like. It was like being around a different person. Even her demeanor was different; less interaction, more of a blank stare, and more...silence. She hasn't eaten much and having a conversation takes more energy than she has in her reserve tank.

I found myself watching the "Dr. Oz" show with my grandma in silence alone.  The whole thing was surreal. My grandma is dying and we're watching Dr. Oz with our remaining time together. The thought occurred that I should take advantage of my time with her and chat.  I prepped her with questions about her courtship with my grandfather (who passed seven years ago). She struggled a little bit and I didn't catch every word but it went on for a few minutes and then....she got sick.

I felt awful. I know intellectually that maybe it wasn't my fault that she became ill but I still blamed myself.

Waiting for someone to die is a strange thing. I know it's not a unique situation but it's still new to me.

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My grandmother's mother washed the dead in her small Texas town for wakes or funerals. Her mother would bring the body into the house and wash them on the table. Yes, she would wash bodies on their own kitchen table. When my grandma was five or six, her father died and his body was brought into the house to be prepared. She saw his body and hid in the back of the house for a long time.
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My mother is frustrated that my grandmother doesn't want to talk much about it.  "It" of course, means talking about dying.  My grandmother is from the "Greatest Generation" and traditionally they aren't as open as Baby Boomers. She's always been no-nonsense and dying from cancer has made her a bit "stoic" as my mom sees it. But is she afraid? She's been a faithful Christian her entire life but what does she think, what is she feeling? 

I told her how much I loved her cherry pies and this barely got a half-smile. I counted that as my victory for the day. 

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My parents have been taking care of my grandmother often, which means I have to take care of my parent's pets and house when they are gone.  Their house backs up to a large wooded area and they have taken in three cats from "the wild" as their own.  In two of the last three days, one of the cats has killed a bird on the back porch. Just gutted the whole thing out - there were even blood stains on the concrete.  This isn't surprising, as cats kill birds all the time, but it gets your attention. 

Death and birds.

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Last night, I woke up numerous times, and with each lapse of consciousness, I was haunted by the memory of my grandma. 

How different she looked, how powerless we are, the pain she is feeling, and the emotions she can't or won't express. I wondered about my own death and how similar or different it might be. Any time I think about death, I think about God. And when I think about God, late at night, I always doubt. I begin to doubt that God exists or if there is any purpose in life, I doubt my feelings and my own experiences. 

I feel existential dread as I recognize the slow and inexorable wheel of time as it moves relentlessly forward every day of my life. The world is defined by its commitment to change, entire species and epochs have come and gone....for what end? One day you and I will be gone. One day, it's more than likely humanity will become extinct too.   I know this isn't an uncommon thought or concern but I wonder what the point of existence is anyway?  The pain, the mystery, the suffering, the wondering...the plan?

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A few days ago my family and I went to one of our favorite pizza restaurants to eat out and on the way out, I noticed a small dead bird that had died from running into the window. This happens all the time, millions of birds die every year around the world due to flying into windows. Still, the human brain is wired to recognize patterns..... so, there it was again, death and birds. 

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A few weeks ago a wren made a huge nest on our front door. There are six eggs. We have watched them grow, day by day. 

It was a welcome bit of hope in a troubled time. 

How I met your Mother: Part III: It was the Worst of Times (1999)

It was 9:00 AM on January 1, 1999. I was driving home from Elizabeth Trevino's New Year's Eve party and I was on top of the world. After much communication between Marie and I in the fall of 98', we had gotten back together in December and it felt like everything was going my way. We had a great time at the party with the whole choir crew and I remember thinking as I drove home, "So far, this year has been perfect". Little did I know my world was going to be crashing down around me in the coming year.

In just a few short weeks, on Friday, February 12th - Mikey died in a car accident. Most everyone from the choir crew was able to make it back to San Antonio from their various universities to the memorial service and funeral. It was all so terribly sad. Mikey was the glue of our little circle of friends - her passing made the group feel closer than ever before. One of the best things I can say about Mikey was that she was an individual - she was her own person. Those of us who loved her still miss her.

Sometime that terrible weekend, Marie suggested she thought it would be a good idea if we weren't an exclusive couple anymore. She thought it might be good for us to see other people as it seemed to her that we were getting too serious. I was shocked - not only at the thoughtless timing of the idea but that this was even happening all over again. In March my Mom was diagnosed with an aggressive case of breast cancer. In that 2-3 month period I had never felt so much anger and sadness in my life.

It wasn't all bad though. That spring I ran for Student Body President (as a joke/protest candidate), my friend and roommate Doug and I had our first and last "real" college party and we usually had a blast at doing whatever hi-jinks we were up to. Nonetheless, all my fun still couldn't mask the sadness I had inside.

Your mother and I weren't in contact much at all that semester. I think she had her own long-distance relationship drama as JJ (who was at Texas State). That summer I went to school and worked in College Station. I didn't come in town all that much as I had to occasionally work on Saturdays. Sometime during the summer I made it back into town to see friends and visit the folks.

Our friend Danny was moving into a new apartment and it seems like he solicited just about everyone he knew to help. After we finished the move, we ordered pizzas and hung out at the new place. Eventually a movie got put on, but I was restless and wound up in the kitchen talking with whoever was there. At some point Kathryn came in to get a drink and we talked for the first time in a very long time. I remember sliding around on my socks as spoke (although this may well be wrong, because, after all,  I'm found of sliding around in my socks at all times). During our conversation I was reminded that Kathryn was (and is) just an all-around good person. Surprisingly, I felt at home with her even though the past few years we hadn't really talked much at all.

Because your mom is such a sweetheart she listened to me as I unloaded to her about my heartbreak over Marie (no, of course I wasn't over her). She even told me Marie still spoke about me at LSU and this gave me much needed hope. For the first time, it dawned on me that Kathryn could be getting me good intel from LSU. I could have a spy on the "inside" in the fall!

That school year Kathryn and I emailed each other a few times and we spoke a little more often. Generally, we sought out each other's company a little more at our group's social functions. A new friendship was forming, one that we both could have never imagined would wind up being so important. We were going to best friends one day.

February 12th: Time, Loss and Memory

12 years ago on the February 12th I was watching the Spurs v. Sixers in a bar in College Station, TX. It was a Friday and I was out having fun. It had been a long, hard week (as much as a typical spoiled college student's life could be called "hard").

After my roommate and I had finished our weekly radio show, we grabbed some food, cleaned up at our apartment and joined some friends to bar-hop. I somehow managed (with a lot of help of my friends) to become plastered. It was the drunkest I have ever been, before or since.

I remember lots of beer, shots and laughing a lot. We went to regular bars, shot bars, and at least two different dance clubs. At the second dance club I began to find the whole scene really pathetic (this often happened around 2:00 AM for me). In my inebriated state I couldn't find my friends at the club so I decided to walk home.

This might have been a good idea if I wasn't all of the below:

A) Drunk, really, really drunk

B) In cold weather with no jacket

C) about 2-3 miles away from home

D) 2-3 miles from home and having to cross major thoroughfares

Nonetheless, I left. I wasn't mad, I just wanted to leave and I was ready to sleep. So I began my journey and I kept repeating to myself, "don't get hit by a car", "don't look drunk" -- over and over again. Finally, I arrived home.

I had a message on our answering machine. I pushed the button and there it was.

The worst message of my life.

I called my friend back as she didn't say exactly what had happened. I thought she was stuck somewhere drunk without a designated driver.  I soon found out that one of my close friends had died in a car wreck earlier that day....probably sometime during our radio show.

I told her she was wrong or that she didn't know for sure. It was a classic denial stage setting in. However, the initial shock and disbelief was quickly fomenting into anger. I was seething with life, everything, God -- I kicked and punched the walls. In my drunken stupor I squirmed on the floor like a child writhing in rage. How could God take my beautiful friend? How could he take my best friend’s little sister? I screamed and repeated obscenities over and over. I expected to somehow black out so it could all to go away. As I recall these flashbacks so vividly - it’s like a tiny glimpse of hell itself.

It was so hard to understand. It's still hard to remember but as I write I feel just a shadow, a ghost feeling that still lingers just a little while as I write about it.

Mikey was special. Not in the "great person" special - she was special because she was different. She was moody, funny, fun-loving, jig-saw puzzle and old movie loving, quick to anger but most of all, my friend. She had a way of making you do just about anything for her. Maybe she was manipulative but more than that I think she was magnetic. When we weren't fighting or annoyed with one another she could make me feel special. She did this to everyone, because at her memorial service, she had just about everyone convinced. Everyone thought they were Mikey's best friend because she made everyone feel part of her world.

So, why rehash all this?. Is it some kind of therapeutic thing? A need to story-tell as to feel better about it? No, I got over Mikey's passing a long time ago.

I'm writing because I feel guilty.

I feel guilty because every year, Mikey fades away a little more. I think about her a little less than the year before. I had a little photo of Mikey next to my bed for years that I finally put away about five years ago. Assuredly, I probably forget more every year; the way she would smile or how she would say a certain word. I feel guilty because I have moved on.

This isn't to say I have forgotten her or that I don't think about her. She still sneaks into my dreams every so often. The last time I was a time traveler trying to warn her not to get into the car. But, cruelly and inevitably, time keeps moving. Mikey's still 19 and now I'm 33. She's staying in college and now I'm a father of two (with another on the way). She's still young and vibrant and now I'm older, mature and settled.

God willing, I'll keep getting older. I'm sure some details will continue to fade and there's nothing I can do about that.

However, blurry memories, are still memories. And its true, I have moved on, but I won't ever truly forget. I'm sure Mikey would want it that way.

So I'm writing today because I want to feel sad again.

I want to remember that the world lost something 12 years ago this month. It lost a true individual who was loved by many. We still miss you, Mikey.

yeah, she was crazy, but ya know, a good crazy.