Uncertainty

I guess it's been around 3 weeks since my dad passed away. Immediately after his death I was super strong it actually really amazed me. Friends had told me to be prepared for a fall and they were right. It hasn't been as bad as I expected. In many ways I feel like I have grown so accustomed to emotional depressions that it's just like..I dunno..old hat to me. "Here it is again." that kind of thing. I spent the night at my mother's house for around a week after my dad's passing. Then I needed to get back to my own life, cooking, working..whatever else it is that I do. The entire past year is a complete blur to me. Ever since my father got diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer in May of 2009 I pretty much focused on him and my mom for the most part. I set aside the arbitrary 5 year in SC anniversary that I had been looking forward to. (When I returned to SC in the spring of 2004 I told myself that I would stay here in Columbia for at least 5 years. I knew I needed to stop running away and that I needed to get a firm foundation in recovery before making a big change like moving again.)

Well, here it is coming up on 6 years now...I'm not sure how I feel anymore. I still want to move to WV but I'm deeply concerned for my mother. Case in point: This morning I was woken by the telephone ringing. At first I assumed it was a telemarketer and just let me voicemail kick in. Then it rang again....and then again. Sensing something I rushed to the phone to answer and it was my mom on the other end of the line...sobbing hysterically. This was around 9:30am. By 10am I was at her house and she answered the door with tears in her eyes and still sobbing. I mean, not like just silent tears but full blown cries and sobs. I tried my best to calm her down. On surfaces of tables in the house were scraps of paper with things written on them. It was clear that she was completely overwhelmed by everything...all the red tape of a spouse passing away on top of the pure emotional trauma of missing the man who had been her constant companion for 46 years..for every moment of her adult life. She had stacks of bills to pay and appointments to keep and she was an utter wreck.

I drove her to an appointment with her financial adviser and dropped her off while I went to the City Water office to make her water payment and keep the water running in her house. It's not that she doesn't have money (more on that later) but that she is just so confused, bewildered and paralyzed by my dad's death. After taking care of the affairs with the water I met her in the office of her financial advisor. We went over her assets and then I drove her home. Once we got home I climbed into the pile of mail and bills, sat her down, grabbed her checkbook and began paying her bills. All she needed to do was sign the checks. I put each in its envelope, sealed them, put stamps on them and stacked them neatly on the counter. Then I wrote a list of all the questions and worries she had concerning her finances, etc. I also wrote a list of everything we had done that day and wrote down all the payments we had made in her checkbook ledger. Next I went online and pulled up her checking account information and balanced her checkbook. Now...if anyone knows me they know that this is not my forte by any means. Just two years ago my mom came over to my house to do this EXACT thing for me. I showed her the page where I had written what we had accomplished and then showed her the page of the things we still needed to do. I said that she needed to focus on the things we had gotten done today and to leave the rest for tomorrow. I cleaned up all the scraps of paper, the piles of junk mail, magazines and newspapers and put them in the trash. My mom went into her bedroom and climbed under the covers. It was an amazingly beautiful day outside today and my mom was in her bedroom with the blinds down and the lights off laying beneath blankets and crying. It broke my fucking heart. After straightening up as best I could I went out into the yard and clipped a few flowers off of one of the dogwoods and one of the crepe myrtle trees and put them in a vase on the coffee table. I found a cool book with pretty pictures in it and set it beside the flowers. I desperately want to give her something else to occupy her mind for even a few minutes besides the mountain of worries she's carrying around in her head. It was getting late in the afternoon by this point and I needed to go cook in the restaurant for the night's dinner service. I went to say goodbye to my mom but she was fast asleep. I took the envelopes with me and dropped them off at the post office on my way out of town.

I'm so uncertain of what to do....I still want to move to WV but it just seems so fucking selfish right now. I know my mom needs me and I want to be there for her. But in so many ways I feel like I had been putting my own life on hold for almost six years now and I'm ready to move on with trying to make my own dreams reality again. Do I stay here in Columbia for another year so I can help my mom? I mean..what's another year? But then...when next year comes around will it be something else? Some other reason for me to stay here despite wanting to live my life elsewhere? Am I afraid? You bet. I'm terrified I'll fail. I've failed twice before. What if it's a dream that's meant to be just a dream? Some place I can go away to in my mind...and visit in the flesh a few times a year. I really don't know. Am I crazy? I know I'm crazy but I'm not insane at least. Not anymore.

Labor

Crawl out, crawl out.
I know you are weary.
I know you are tired.

There are fields of clay in the sun,
red below and blue above.

Strands of dead grasses bend in the breeze
as birds wing from pine to oak.

The sap is running, blood in the veins,
breath in the wind.

Voices are calling you.
Though you be weary. Though you be tired.
The day is not yet done.

Eulogy for my father

It’s difficult to say in so few words what kind of man my father was. The word that keeps coming to the forefront of my mind is “giver.” My father was a giver. He gave of himself to his family, friends and associates and asked for so little in return. He and my mother married when he was but 20 years old and she was 18. He was an amazing husband and an amazing father. My dad was the type of guy you could count on. He was our rock. He was my rock. Words fail to express the depth of our loss. My father loved his life. He had a great time. God gave my father personality in abundance. He loved to tell jokes and laugh. He was an expert practical joker. He could talk to anyone about anything. He loved his family and friends beyond measure. My heart is filled to overflowing with beautiful memories of this sweet man. I am blessed beyond all measure to have had him as a father. He was kind, supportive, loving, tender, protective, generous and so much fun to be around. Over the past six years I got to know my father not only as a parent but as a man. He was my best friend. We spent hours upon hours together just sitting and talking and enjoying each others’ company. My father always told me he loved me. They weren’t just words. He proved to me he loved me. His love was action. He proved his love through his actions. He lived a very good life. Throughout his life he was surrounded by people who loved him. As a child he was raised by two amazing parents, two protective older brothers and four loving sisters, all of whom he adored. As an adult my mother was his constant and steady companion, he raised my sisters and me and his love bore fruit in our lives and the lives of his 5 grandchildren. We will all miss him every single day of our lives. My father was a man of faith and he taught me to be a man of faith. There isn’t the faintest sliver of doubt in my heart of where my father is today. He’s not here in this beautiful casket. He’s in all our hearts and he’s in the kingdom with his mother, father, sister Ann and countless friends who preceded him to the wondrous beyond. I’m picturing him with them right now, at this moment, chatting with his mother, father and sister and having a big ol’ time. Being a family of faith we can dry our tears with the knowledge that we will see him again soon. He’ll open his arms and greet us, bring us into his embrace in heaven as he always did on earth. And then the practical joking will really begin!

Dad's Obit

John Mooney Gillespie died on Thursday evening, March 11, 2010 at his home in Columbia, SC. He was 66 years old. John was born in Bluefield, WV in June of 1943. John married Susan Eloise Wallace in Pearisburg, VA in 1963 and they remained happily married all his days. John and Susan had three children, Beth, Julie and Matt and five grandchildren, Chandler, Caroline, Luke, John and Chloe. He graduated from Princeton High School in Princeton, WV in 1961. He enjoyed fishing, hunting, golf and maintaining a beautiful yard and home. After graduating high school he entered into a career in sales, working for John Deere for nearly 30 years and most recently ACS Volvo in West Columbia, SC. John was an active member of the Elks Lodge in Beckley, WV and served as the Exalted Ruler. He was a kind, smart, sweet, good-natured, hard-working man who brightened a room with his great sense of humor and warm, engaging personality.
John is survived by his wife of 46 years, Susan, three children, Beth, Julie and Matt, son-in-laws John and Wesley, grandchildren Chandler, Caroline, Luke, John, Chloe, brothers Bo and Ted, sisters Mary, Margaret, Brenda and two beagles named Mooney and Maggie. He is predeceased by his parents, Bowen and Margaret and his sister Ann.
Visitation will be held at Caughman-Harman Funeral Home on Old Bush River Road on Sunday, March 14 from 3-5pm. Funeral Services will be held at Salem United Methodist Church in Ballentine on Monday, March 15 at 11am. John will be buried at Bush River Memorial Gardens immediately following the funeral service. Pastor Mitch Houston will conduct the services. In lieu of flowers the family has requested memorials to Salem United Methodist Church.

My Big Kahuna goes to the Kingdom

I was at work last night getting ready to leave when the phone rang in the kitchen. Chef Floyd answered it and said it was for me. I've yet to receive a phone call on the restaurant's line before. It was my mother's friend Mandy. She simply said, "You need to come home. Now." The next 30 minutes were completely surreal. I grabbed my knife bag and briefcase and rushed out the back door of the kitchen. It was a cool night with a light rain falling. I walked down the dark alley behind the restaurant towards my truck which waited silently covered in alight mist of water. Water seeped from my eyes and my breath was heavy and fast. I keyed the ignition, put it in reverse, turned the gleaming silver truck around and gunned it down the narrow allow between two ancient brick buildings. I tore down Assembly Street, made the light at Elmwood, made the light at Park Street and accelerated onto I-26. Roaring along at 75mph in a 60mph zone I crossed the Broad River, passed the zoo. I had a hard time catching my breath. My body convulsed with pain as tears streamed down my face and my breath quickened. I had to gulp for air because I was forgetting to breath. I took enormous gulps of air, filling my lungs and exhaling it loudly. I felt as if I might pass out but I kept belting air in and out of my body as quickly as I could. I passed cars in a flash, cursed a stereotypical South Carolina driver, "Pick a lane, Jackass!" This made me laugh and remember some of my dad's choice phrases while driving. More tears came and a flood of memories washed through me. In a matter of moments I exited the interstate at Piney Grove Road. I've driven these roads thousands of times, thousands upon thousands. I'd joy-roded with friends in high school along these roads. Been carted around by my dad. Every corner and bump of pavement seemed to tell a story of my own myth. I ripped won Piney Grove road at 45 mph against my better judgement. Still trained to obey the speed limit by countless Lexington County deputies in my youth. I yielded onto St. Andrews Road and merged into the left lane to make the turn onto Old Bush River Road. The green arrow light illuminated for me and I spun the truck homeward. I passed the cemetery where just yesterday my mother, sister and I had chosen his plot. Down the hillside where in the valley Apple Tree Landscaping sat, a place where my father got me a job when I was 18. Past Saluda Shoals Park and right on the road that used to be wash boarded and dirt and where I used to gun my mother's Mazda as a teen and pretend I was one of the Duke boys. Paved now I Flew along and practically jumped the tracks that carried trains laden with Coal to the power plant at Lake Murray. Winding through my boyhood neighborhood I navigated the turns blindly until at last I practically screeched to a halt in front of my parents' home. I shut off the motor, jumped out of the truck and ran across the front lawn. I threw upon the door and threw my arms around my mother whose face was contorted in heartbreaking grief. I embraced her strongly for several punctuated moments before letting go and rushing down the hallway to my father's bedside. His emaciated frame lay still and peaceful in the bed, shrouded in white linen. His mouth was open and his chest still. He was gone. He'd not been gone 15 minutes by the time I arrived. I threw my arms around him and lavished his face and head with soft kisses saying, "I love you, dad. I love you love you love you love you. You were the best dad a boy could ever have. You sweet, sweet man..." My mother, her friend and the hospice nurses looked on as I leaned over the railing of the hospital bed and pressed my body against the body of the man that gave me life, that gave me everything, that never gave up on me, the man that was always there for me no matter what. He was still warm and I pressed my skin against his and wept.

After several intense minutes where the world swirled in a kaleidoscopic frenzy of emotion and memory I stood up, turned and went out of the room. I tore off my chef jacket and threw it on the floor and flew across the house and out the back door. I practically threw myself on the moist earth in the back yard, my knees sunk into moist soil and I blurted out my words to the Lord. "Thank you God. Thank you for my father's life. Thank you for the incredible gift you gave us. Thank you for ending his suffering. Thank you for allowing him to go peacefully at home. Be with him God. Shower him with love and affection, Lord. And please give me strength to be strong for my mother, my sisters, my father's friends and family. I love you, God." I said these words out loud to the cosmos, the oaks and pines standing above as silent, rain-misted witnesses to my prayer. I lifted myself from the soil, the knees of my chef pants wet with rain and lawn. With my hands I wiped the tears from my face, raised my eyes to the clouds and light filled night sky. I thought of my father, my Big Kahuna, in the kingdom and smiled. I steadied myself in the spirit and a calm settled over my entire being. I re-entered the house and made my way to my mother's side.

The Sacred Heart

This morning I met my sister at my parents' house around 9:30am. I got to sleep around midnight which is really early for me. I had been up since 3am the previous day. Sleeping in my own bed was pretty amazing I must say. When the alarm clock sounded this morning I didn't want to get out of bed. I wanted to just lay there and fall back asleep. But I knew I needed to go. I quickly went through my morning routine which always culminates in getting on my knees beside my bed and praying. My prayers are generally the same each day. I rarely pray for specific things. Mostly I pray that God's will be done in my life this day. I pray that my life would have meaning and purpose in Him. I pray that I may seek God at every twist and turn of the day. I make a conscious effort to put my life in God's hands at the start of each day. Things have tended to go a lot smoother in my life as a result.

My father's sisters were there and my mother and my sister. My aunts teased me about my outrageous hairstyle. They are so awesome. My father's family cracks me up. Their teasing was good-natured and it made us all laugh. I went in to see my dad and he was sleeping peacefully in his hospital bed. I went to him and knelt down by his side. I whispered that I loved him and kissed him softly on his forehead. I have no idea if he even knew I was there or not. I didn't spend a lot of time at his bedside today because my sister and I were to take my mother to the funeral home today. It was a surreal experience. As we exited my sister's vehicle I put my arm around my mother and we walked toward the building. Places such as this have always creeped me out and I was prepared for that icky feeling. But I steadied myself for my mom. The receptionist was very kind and well-practiced at making that compassionate smile. IN a short amount of time the funeral director came out and greeted us. She was a classic southern lady, dressed to the nines, full face of makeup, hair and nails perfectly groomed. Her voice and accent were sugary sweet. Her look reminded me of female televangelists I've seen on television. We sat down at a large table and began making arrangements. Out came the binders with loads of information, brochures for caskets, etc. Our goal was to get my mother to focus and make decisions, to not allow her to put this off. We succeeded. I sat on one side of my mother with my sister on her other side. I put my arm around my mother's shoulders and softly caressed her back. Within an hour we had made all the funeral arrangements. I won't go into all the details, of which there are many, but suffice it to say that it is such a comfort to have professionals handling all of these things for the family. For the casket and funeral services the total came to around $11,000. Next we met with a gentleman who led us through the burial aspect of the arrangements. We rode in a golf cart to the cemetery across the street. He pulled out a diagram of the property and showed us some open plots. We chose a spot with two spaces, one for my dad and one for my mom. Their final resting place sits beneath a beautiful tree and shrubbery. We returned to the office and selected a grave marker and vault. Evidently the casket must be placed in a concrete vault in the ground so that the earth doesn't sink over the years. My mother signed the papers and after about 2 1/2 hours all the arrangements had been made. The burial services ran to the tune of something like $14,000. I include these figures because I find them interesting. I had expected as much but still find it a little odd. Throughout this process I didn't cry. My mother broke down a couple of times but in all she did really well in maintaining her composure. I was really proud of her. I was really proud of my sister too. I'm so grateful that she is here. I can't imagine having to do this all by myself. She has taken on a great deal of the burden of responsibility regarding legal/health care matters and I'm so grateful to her for accepting this responsibility and doing such a good job with it.

We drove back to the house and I chatted with my aunts for a short while. Then I went in to sit with my dad for a little while before leaving to go to work. He was still sleeping soundly and looked peaceful all tucked into his bed. While we were away at the funeral home my aunts had bathed him, washed his sheets and he was clean and tidy and snoozing in his bedroom. I pray that this is how he goes. I pray that he just goes to sleep and doesn't wake up. As difficult as all this is, as much as I will miss him when he's gone I have to focus my thought-energy in a positive way towards his end. I know it is coming soon and I pray that he will go peacefully at home. I want to be there when he goes. I want to be holding his hand and whispering in his ear. I want to bid him a safe journey and tell him one last time how much I love him and how much he means to me. I want him to drift peacefully away into the next world with us right by his side.

Over these past two days when I have left the house to go about my own little life I find myself alone in my car, just thinking. I think of God and I think of my life, my father's life, all life. I feel as if pure white rays of light are cascading from the center of my heart and shining out into the world. If I were a visual artist I would paint a picture of it. It is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. The closest thing I can relate it to is the sacred heart of Jesus. Pure golden love emanating from the heart of my spirit and radiating out into the cosmos with inexpressible beauty, radiance and majesty. I know this is what will greet my father soon. I know he will be in the kingdom. I'm so happy for him. The pain I feel is my own loss, the loss of the greatest man I've ever known. The man who taught me everything. The man that loved me more than I have ever loved anything in my life. Words cannot express how much I'll miss him but they also cannot tell of the wondrous beauty and light that awaits him. And I know when my time comes I can look forward to seeing him again on the other side. He'll have some wonderful, witty thing to say to me and we'll laugh. And then we'll find a garage to sit in somewhere and watch the rain fall together again.

Wash over me

God it's great to be back home. I never thought I'd feel this way about Columbia, SC. But there it is. Although it was really nice to get out of town for a few days and spend some quality time with an amazing friend I was really ready to get back here. I got to my apartment in downtown Columbia around 2:30pm and by 3:30pm I was at my parents' house. My mom met me at the door and we gave each other a long, loving embrace. She's much shorter than me and just melted into my arms. I could smell her hair and feel it brushing against my whiskered face. Two of my dad's sisters were at the house also and I can't say enough how wonderful it is to have them here.

Backing up a bit when I was at my apartment I got down on my knees and prayed. This is not novel for me. I do it at least twice a day and have been doing this since I got sober. God only knows what kind of shape I'd be in right now if it weren't for the spiritual awakening I've had as a result of working the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous and practicing the principles in my day to day life. Alone at last in my apartment after having spent the past 4-5 days with a constant companion I let go and let the tears flow. Crying is such an intense emotional response to reality. It is as if your entire body gives way to the pain. I'm well-accustomed to pain, physical, mental, spiritual, psychological. I'm very familiar. Getting sober has taught me all about pain. In my life I had never experienced so much pain, at such great length and intensity as when I got sober. The entire first year of sobriety was a nightmarish, otherworldly experience for me. I learned how to acknowledge the pain, to greet it, to experience it as a wave of feeling. I allowed it to wash over me in waves. Planting my feet on the ground I learned to steady myself. When it all got to be too much I learned to drop to my knees and reach out to God. I learned to cast the burden of my pain on the cross. I learned to invite God into my life, not just when I was hurting, although that is how I began to know Him, but also when things were going well. All this experience has served me well in the ensuing years after that first awful year of continuous sobriety.

So this afternoon I knew what I needed to do. I got on my knees and prayed. I cannot reproduce here my prayers and wouldn't even if I could. Prayer to me is an intensely personal dialogue between myself and my maker. It is an acknowledgement of my own limitation and the vast and infinite nature of God. It is often a cry for help, a desperate plea for direction, a humble appeal for strength. And strength is what I focused my prayers on today. I asked for strength. I asked for bravery. I asked for love, compassion, courage. My body convulsed with the pain as memories of my father flipped through the cinema of my psyche. Prayer is the most powerful tool on earth. It is summoning the divine. When done properly, with earnestness, humility, willingness and acceptance prayer can and does change things.

As I walked down the hallway of my boyhood home to my father's room I felt the fruit of my prayer begin to take effect. I entered the room and found my father in a hospital bed with oxygen tubes feeding air into his lungs via his nostrils. I went to him, laid my hands upon him, smiled and caressed his withered body. I'd only been gone less than a week and he's lost even more weight. His body is beginning to look like the photos and films I've seen of concentration camp victims in Nazi Germany. The muscle is rapidly disappearing and all that is left in its wake is loose skin and beneath, brittle bone. He was awake and somewhat alert. I sat beside him and took his hand in mine. I stroked his skin and whispered loving words into his ear. I felt reality bloom all around me and the amazing presence of God lift me up and bring strength and courage to my spirit. Words fail to express the gravity of these moments. And they also fail to express the profound gratitude I have for the time I've had with him. We choose our thoughts and our thoughts create our lives. Instead of choosing to be angry that my father is being taken from me I am choosing to be grateful for ever having him at all. Instead of choosing to be fearful and afraid I am choosing to be trusting and full of faith. Instead of choosing to be weak I am choosing to be strong. These types of choices have been nothing short of revolutionary in my life. Before having a spiritual awakening I was constantly blown about by the circumstances of my life. I was a rudderless ship, drifting aimlessly in a sea of doubt, fear and frustration. God has righted my ship, tightened the sails, set the course. I don't often share these spiritual facts about my life with such candor. But the single-most important aspect of my life is the fact that I believe in God and that everyday I invite God into my life to do what He will with me. The God I believe in is all love, all power, all mercy, all forgiveness, all compassion, all grace, all patience, all kindness.

As I sat there this afternoon beside my dying father I invited the divine into the room with us. And He came. My father would open his eyes to find me sitting there beside him smiling, his hand in mine. I listened to his labored breath, watched the rise and fall of his chest and was inexpressibly grateful for him. I know he won't be with us for much longer, it may be hours, it may be days, he may linger for a few weeks but his time here on this earth is fading and I am choosing to be happy for him. I know where he is going and I know that one day I will follow. Just as I've always followed him.

During this time I have been overwhelmed with the outpouring of love and support from my friends. So many have taken the time to share words of encouragement with me, to say prayers for my father and my family. I'll be forever grateful for the love you've shown me during this difficult time.

Tomorrow morning my sister and I are taking my mother to the funeral home to make arrangements. It is so strange to say but there is no place I'd rather be than at my mother's side for that. In the past I would have wanted to run away, far, far away. To bury my head in the sand. But today I want to be present. I want to be a rock. I will let the pain wash over me in waves. I will stand on my two feet with God in my heart and God in my mind and I will walk through the pain. And when it is all over I will have yet another experience to share with someone else down the road. From the pain comes wisdom. From the pain comes the ability to help others. From the pain comes purpose. Wash over, wash over, wash over.

You can handle it, bud.

I'm sitting in an airport hotel room in Denver. This morning Norm and I had one last breakfast at Carvers in Winter Park before cleaning up the condo and starting the drive towards Denver. I wasn't feeling very well this morning emotionally anyway when I returned my sister's phone call from the day before. She answered and was at my parents' house. She said my dad has gotten much, much worse. Immediately I felt awful that I was so far away. He can't help himself in or out of bed and my brother-in-law is due to be there this evening to take down his bed and set up a hospital bed in his room. Words can't express the emotions, feelings, memories and thoughts that race through my mind at lightning speed regarding all of this. As my sister and I were talking I kept losing the cell signal as our car was winding through Berthoud pass in a snow storm. I really wanted to talk to my dad. I kept calling back even though we were constantly being disconnected. My sister said that dad couldn't really talk, that he was out of it and not making any sense. We got disconnected one last time and I lost the signal for good. I set down the phone and tears began flowing down my face. I cannot express how much I'm going to miss him. I already miss him and he's not even "gone" yet. He's become my very best friend. I can't elucidate how grateful I am for the past five years I've had with him. I've gotten to spend that time with him as a sober adult. We've had adventures and lots of regular old everyday times like sitting out in the garage watching the rain fall together. I know I'll never be the same. I know my life will change irrevocably when he passes. I've been so blessed to have him as my father. Although I'm sure I'm pretty biased I can honestly say that he is the best person I have ever known in my entire life. And I doubt anyone knew him as well as me. Over these past several years I've gotten to know my father as a man, as a person, rather than just as a parent. If I can become even half the man my father has been I will be okay.

During this time here in CO I allowed my mind to wander and not dwell on my father's decline. I meditated on my youth and long gone dreams of a rebirth out West. This is beautiful country. I love it here. But it's not my country. I don't belong here. I like being a visitor here. I know where I belong and that is in the American Southeast, in Appalachia, in West Virginia, on my family's farm. Other than being at my mother and father's side right now there is no place I'd rather be than at the Farm in West Virginia. I've made up my mind and that is where I'm going to go. I'm not sure when exactly I'll be able to make the move. I have my family to consider and my mother is going to need a LOT of love and care. But I'm through playing games with my life. I'm through pissing away the days thinking I'll make my dreams come true tomorrow. I'm finished existing. I'm fully ready to start living and I know where I want and am meant to live. I've always known but it's taken all these years of trial, error, and experience to hammer home these truths.

As I sat in Carvers restaurant in Winter Park this morning I took in the tiny cafe. I counted the seats: 38. Two servers. The food was exceptional yet simple. The staff was friendly and more than competent. It's a tiny little roadside mountain cafe. It is EXACTLY the type of restaurant I want to open in West Virginia near Winterplace Ski Resort. And that is exactly what I'm going to do. Come hell or high water or both it will be done. And I know my father will look down with pride at the life I will finally have created for myself. I know he will be right there with me, his strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, a big, proud smile on his face saying to me "You can handle it can't ya, bud!" Yes I can, dad. Yes I can. Because I had the best teacher in the entire world. The best dad that ever was.

Ego deflation on the slopes

Yesterday I went snowboarding for the first time in 3 years. It majorly kicked my out-of-shape ass. Turns out eating cheeseburgers and french fries while sitting on the couch isn't such a great training regimen. Who knew? I've known for quite a while that I've been out of shape. I look at photos of me from several years back (pre-sobriety) and the contrast is telling. I find it ironic that although these past several years have seen me get healthy in other ways I've gotten a lot less healthy physically. When I lived in the mountains of West Virginia, Vermont and New Mexico I was going out daily to play in the mountains. I was extremely active. It wasn't like "working out" at all. It was a lot more like playing. I haven't gotten my play on much since returning to South Carolina almost six years ago. Part of it is the climate, the thick, humid air feels suffocating to me. Another part of it is the geography. I like the wilderness, not just the woods, but WILDERNESS. I like to be alone in the forest hiking, snowshoeing, snowboarding, climbing, etc. I'm not making excuses for being out-of-shape but just stating some of the reasons I haven't been physically active for some time. Then there is also the sex issue. Sex is a great calorie burner. It's pretty much the best exercise ever. I haven't been doing much of that at all either of the past several years. I've met a few nice women and had a few good times but gone are the days where I get down with casual sex. That's another topic for another day. But there it is nonetheless.

I got on the lift at Copper yesterday with my rented board strapped onto my boot and readied myself for the top of the mountain. I was actually concerned that I'd even be able to gracefully exit the lift. What a mind fuck, man. I used to be a ripper of a snowboarder. I'd hit the slopes as often as possible and when there was fresh snow I'd be on one of the first chairs up the mountain in the morning to get my fresh tracks. When the runs had gotten chopped up I'd take my lines into the trees and back country and make my own trails, ripping past pines at lightning speeds and eating up enormous chunks of fresh powder. Not yesterday. No sir. It was like starting all over again in many ways. To my relief I made it off the lift with busting my ass or making a fool of myself. Taking a seat on the edge of the slope to buckle my back boot in I was ashamed at my belly poking out and my lack of limberness at bending over to secure the binding. I was out of breath just getting my gear on. Jesus H. Christ. Pitiful. Adding to my humiliation I was hitting the slopes with my dear friend Norm who is sixty years old and in amazing physical shape. He runs, cycles, stays constantly busy and active. He was having to wait on me to get going. As we descended the mountain I dropped into my turns with insouciant ease save for the weakness of my leg muscles and the gasping of my lungs. I give myself a pass on the lungs thing though. I don't smoke and I live at 300 feet above sea level. I was snowboarding at over 11,000 feet so being short-winded was to be expected at that altitude. I had to stop several times on my way down to catch my breath and allow my leg muscles a break. My feet and calves were completely unused to being inside the snowboarding boots and they burned with pain and discomfort. At the bottom of the slope we met up with Norm's brother who lives in Colorado and is an avid skier. I rode up on my board and clumsily fell down in front of him when once I would have gracefully ridden up and reached down and unbuckled my back boot while still moving. I was out of breath and torched. They both laughed at me and it wounded my ego. We all got on the lift together and rode back up the mountain. Norm said he wanted to go to the very top and his brother said, "Dude, don't take him up there." Jeez, I felt so small. I used to be one of the best rippers on the mountain and now I'm being talked about like I'm a total newb. Humiliating. I tried to explain to him that I was a good snowboarder but I was just really out of shape but it was no use. I couldn't hang. We exited the lift and rode down to another lift that would take us higher on the mountain. At the top of that lift we exited and made our way over to another lift that would take us above the treeline to the exposed and wind-whipped bowls. This lift was a surface tow lift. I've never been up on one of these in my life and was totally unsure of how to do it on a snowboard. The lift operator was a gorgeous cute little snowboarder and she was very sweet to me and tried to explain how it was done. When it came time for me to ride the tow lift I failed miserably and got dragged several feet before letting go of the bar. (Think not letting go of the ski rope while water skiing to get an accurate picture of what this looked like.) The cutie lift operator was really nice to me and said, "Don't feel bad, dude. Nobody makes it their first time." I tried again with the same result. Then I tried it again with the same humiliating results. Keep in mind that this was in front of about 20 people waiting to use the lift. After the third try I gave up, thanked the lift operator and scooted away to descend the mountain. I had brought along a pair of 2-way radios for Norm and I to keep in touch in case we got separated and tried to reach him to no avail. I decided to take my time going down the mountain. Once I was reckless and wild but this day I knew my body was in no shape to be pushed beyond it's capabilities. I had a great time making turns down the slopes and digging into powder that had been pushed up on the sides of the runs. When I got to the bottom of the mountain this time I unstrapped my back boot gracefully as I had done in the past and didn't fall on my ass in front of everyone. I sat down in an Adirondack style chair with the sun shining down and snow blowing around. Again I tried to reach Norm on the radio to no avail. So I just hung out and dug the scene. A couple sitting next to me were taking photos of their small child and I asked if they'd like for me to take a pic of the three of them. I snapped a shot that turned out really, really cute and that hopefully they will enjoy. After waiting for some time for Norm and his brother to appear I decided to go into the locker room to get my phone and give Norm a call. While sitting in the locker room suddenly Norm's brother appeared out of nowhere and laughingly told me that Norm completely ate it at the top of the mountain. Immediately I asked if he was okay and Norm walked around the corner limping. I was concerned for my friend but I also wanted to laugh because of the smack he was talking about me earlier. So we were done skiing and riding for the day and sadly Norm is done for this trip. I'm probably going to do a half day tomorrow (Sunday) but I'm still going to take it easy.

This little adventure has brought home the fact that, living in South Carolina or not, living in the mountains or not, I need to take better care of my body. I'll be 38 in a couple of months and I want to have many more years ahead of me where I can be active and outgoing. Time to make some long-needed changes. Time to put down the cheeseburgers and get up off the damn couch, old man! Hahahaha!

Western Dream

Thoughts sitting in the car with Norm driving through Colorado. That Western Dream that had me transfixed for so many years. I haven't been out to this area of the country in 5 years. Immediately what struck me while riding shotgun with my friend was the vastness of this place. We had just touched down at the Denver airport and there were no skyscrapers to be seen. Just rolling plains patched with snow and withered yellow grasses, on the horizon enormous granite monoliths rising like muscled shoulders of the earth. The Rocky Mountains, majestic, lonesome, storied, dressed in their winter white and presiding over the Western landscape like powder-wigged judges. We passed through Boulder, Golden, Empire, past long-abandoned silver mines, along clear cold rivers, through darkened tunnels, over wind-swept passes. Roadside cafes twinkling in the late afternoon sun (even though it was cloudy.) I had forgotten how it can be cloudy and sunny at the same time out here. It's just bright. So much sky, so much emptiness. When I was a younger man I used to see places such as this and immediately want to move. I'm unsure what has happened to me that I don't have that knee-jerk reaction anymore. I thought I would leave my East Coast life behind me. I thought I would turn the page and escape my past. I'd show'em. I had a head full of ideas and a mind that raced with possibilities. What's astonishing is that I had any success at all with it. I had a diseased mind and threw myself headlong into the sun. When I think of my failed Western Experiment I smile. I made it but the cost was too high. And now I've got my sights set on other dreams, older dreams. Cottonwoods stand sentry along isolated creeks that cut through valleys shrouded in timelessness. Houses constructed of timber and rock nestle against mountainsides beneath the hunched mountain ranges. We wind through landscapes filled with rugged beauty but we are just visitors. And today I'm cool with that.

Faded Snapshots

White-framed snapshots tell the tale...
frozen in time, the wise mind.
Been like this so long.
One day we'll have USB ports in the back of our heads.
We'll plug into each other. You will see what I see.
I will see what you see. I will feel what you feel.
For me, the Matrix got smashed...
It's been four years now.
The glittering confetti of all my illusions
cascading down like fractured shards of brightly colored glass.
Reboot, the past is moot.
Now I sift through it like an anthropologist.
I try to discern this from that. I try to reckon the course. I try to divine the path.
I dust off puzzle pieces and fit them together.
I attempt to make myself whole.
Dreams and delusions, conversations and mystery...
cracked wide, the yawning divide,
the chasm that separates fallacy and reality.
Trees I climbed as a boy. Women I fucked.
Classrooms in schoolhouses. Parking lots in the night.
Oceans and tides, Barren mountain tops, lush valleys...
my breath, my breath...
The eyes of my friends, the voices of my family...
An orchestral display that is holy in the mind's sacred eye.
Avenues lit dimly by a fading sunset in the summer of my youth.
Aspen snowfalls, Marijuana meditation spanning
the continental divide. I try, I try...
My thoughts become still, my body grows heavy with age...
These scenes race past, flip forth, no chronology, only my mythology.
The solitude of my addiction...liquor dripping down my scrawny chest,
a cocaine-numbed mind stalking the dark caverns of my soul.
If you haven't been there...if you haven't glimpsed your spirit rising,
straining to take flight from this world...
My words are madness, my thoughts insane.
Most assuredly, I say unto thee...
I am not mad. I am not insane. Not anymore.
White-edged snapshots, They fade in time,
They crack and splinter...give way to dust.
Each smile and tear exists...
but only in the treasure chest of my memory.

April 29, 2008

Everyday Angel

This is what it's like...
falling...
no scrape of fingernails,
no search for purchase.
A soundless void,
empty and vast.
Lined with mirrors,
nothing but blank stares
absent of care,
looking back at you.
Hollow...
Empty...

A self-centered mind
falling all over itself
to deepen its narcisstic pain.

Before,
there were no answers,
no solutions,
no recipe for relief.
Bottles of beer,
slugs of liquor,
puffs of smoke,
lines of coke.

And still the bleakness...
Still the creeping horror...
Still the maddening loneliness.
Like a maniacal doctor,
attempting to treat himself.
Destructive prescriptions
only leading to more madness...
more hopelessness...
more feverish fits.
In church basements after dark
he finds the remedy.
In parking lots unknown wisdom.
Sufferers united...
released from their darkened dens.
Someone else always has it worse,
Always.

And there is that Power,
that cannot be seen,
that cannot be heard,
that cannot be smelled,
that cannot be touched,
that cannot be tasted...
Because it is everything.

That Power is a Love that knows
no limitation,
no boundaries,
no FEAR.
"Ask, and it will be given to you;
Seek, and you will find;
Knock, and it will be opened to you."

You are an everyday angel.

January 13, 2008