Sea Glass, Clouds and Divorce

This photo is from a bit more than two years ago. Does that matter? Of course it does because you and I could easily have died between then and now. But we did not. We've been having skies like this one recently, which is why I brought it back from my archives.

Death is on my mind, because of Raul's status and also because I always feel a heartbeat away myself from mortality.

This sense started when I was eleven, and (finally) diagnosed with rheumatic fever, after two years of fevers and heart pains, and a family doctor who over those two years insisted I must have had a psychological problem, not a health problem.

He was wrong, at least about the health problem.

***

Tonight I am a very happy man, and I'll tell you why.

At work, we have been doing some good things. Once our work concluded tonight, I drove across town to Bernal and picked up my youngest son and youngest daughter.

As we were driving to my house, they decided that for the first time in a long time we should have a pizza night. This is something we used to do every Friday night. We called it Pizza Night at Dad's House, and it was one of the ways they grew comfortable with the tragic reality when their Mom and I broke up.

For kids, divorces are horrible. There really is no way to sugar-coat this. It is an awful fantasy come true. In the case of my kids, they were aware of how much their Mom and I were fighting. They were the secret witnesses of our failing marriage.

No matter what else, I will never, ever forgive myslef for my role in those terrible psychodramas, but neither will I ever forgive my ex-wife. This all could have turned out so much better for our kids, but it did not.

So we are just another of the many broken families, like the shards of sea glass I used to collect along the beach. Little pieces of many colors. The colors of loves lost, hopes unrealized, and trust betrayed.

That is one of the stories that only sea glass can tell. I have been giving my grandchildren parts of my sea glass collections. Bunches of the soft round browns greens, whites, blues, yellows, and reds remind us all of the essential humanity that represents all of us, racially.

People are beautiful.

Back to tonight. Dylan and Julia agreed on a sausage pizza and it was delicious. We saved enough so that when I dropped them back at their Mom's house, a few hours later, that their big brother Aidan could have some too.

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As We Lay Dying (Okay Faulkner, I'm Allowed to Iterate)

Forgive me, everyone, when I make obscure literary references, as with the title of this post. This is the side of me only those who have connected with me in the realm of fiction will appreciate.  Although I have been a journalist in my career, I am a fiction writer in spirit. That's because I believe a much higher degree of truth can emerge through fiction than non-fiction.

Meanwhile, my computer is operating so slowly I assumed it was age and too many files, probably photos that were responsible.

So I started sorting through my many, many photos, to see what to save, what to delete, what to transfer to a disk.

In the process I found these precious old photos.

The little curly-red-haired guy is the tallest in our family now, and perhaps still growing. Standing next to him yesterday, I felt rather short. He is applying to colleges.

The little girl in the robe is a shade under 5'8", if our measurements yesterday are accurate.

Tonight two of my birthday gifts for her finally arrived (she just turned 15). I do not feel very well tonight, or I would run them over to Bernal for her.

I suppose they will hold for tomorrow. She is probably mad at me but I think it's best I stay put right now, as I'm coming down with something, I think.

***

Sometimes, I wonder a lot about the idea of what will hold for tomorrow.

All of us put off things, including communications, for various reasons. We put off writing our wills, for example, because we do not want to confront the obvious.

We put off saying things to each other for all sorts of reasons.

For the past two weeks, I've been involved in exactly this dialogue with myself due to Raul's illness. What should I say and what should I not say? Who should I tell about what I see?

Maybe I erred on the side of telling too much to too many people. He indicated that to me last Thursday night, and his words cut me to the bone.

Dying people do not mince words. Had I betrayed my friend?

I hope not. When I got back there with him a week ago Sunday, Lowell was there. Lowell wouldn't have been there had I not alerted him that Wednesday night. Nor would the Sewing Circle, which showed up, a small group of Raul's oldest and truest friends.

But then I thought about privacy. Who among us wants to be seen in our dying state?

***

When I think back over my own life, I feel clear who has indicated to me they've loved and appreciated me and also who has not done so.

Even though he was mad at me for sharing his condition with others, Raul also noticed the patterns in people's messages -- that they appreciated how he's affected them -- and that that mattered.

That matters to all of us, because one way or another, tonight, we all lay down dying.

Goodnight.

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Our Weekend

Yesterday, my youngest child's team lost a heart-breaking soccer game, 0-1 in the final minute of play. Her team is in last place, winless, and they were playing the first place team. Nevertheless, the game stayed scoreless until that minute. Then, as one her teammates tried to clear the ball from their zone, she inadvertently sent it straight into Julia's shoulder, where the ball then bounced into their own net, creating a goal for the opposition.

A minute later the game was whistled over.

That is a defender's greatest nightmare, and I knew Julia was devastated as she walked off the pitch, holding her face down and her hand over her eyes. As I reached her and we hugged she started crying.

Soon, her teammates gathered around her and took over the hugs. Everyone knew it wasn't her fault. Luckily she did too.

As her mood improved, she smiled and told me, "I don't know why I cried. I think I was just angry. A girl on the other team cheered in an ugly way when they got that goal."

This is, of course, what I love about sports for girls. They get to experience these difficult things, which will prove useful as they mature and move forward into a professional world still unfairly dominated by men.

On our way home she and I stopped at a store where she got a treat.

***

Today, her brother and former coach, the guy who really taught her how to be a defender on the pitch, was lost in his own world, drawing (photo above). His art, which I have posted here, is strangely detailed and exotic. He continues to work on a big piece. As he does so, none of us can even get him to respond to our inquiries. He seems lost in the patterns.

I'm not quite sure what is going on with him. I worry sometimes.

Meenwhile, my youngest son and I today worked on his college applications. I was surprised that, despite his lackluster approach to classes, he has a 3.0 GPA at Lowell, very high SAT scores and impressive AP test scores. Maybe he can get into a good college, after all.

His essays focused on his work at St. Anthony's dining hall, where for months now he has been a volunteer feeding homeless people and mentally ill people. He describes himself as a cynic, not an idealist, but someone who believes the best any of us can do is help improve the world one life at a time...

Congratulations to my special nephew Andrew on his wedding in Atlanta this weekend. I wish we all could have been there with you!

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