I thought it would be a good idea to take you out to lunch at Heroes today. There we were driving to the eatery we had visited on the last day of setting up my classroom at the beginning of every new school year. We didn’t go at the beginning of this year because you weren’t around. So how about today?
As we arrived at the destination, I noticed the restaurant parking lot wasn’t as full as usual but that was only after I ‘got a good spot’. Getting out of the truck, I also thought to bring the rock you painted for me three years ago. We were going to Heroes and I already know what we’d order, the turkey stack with steak fries. That meal was always so large that we’d always only order one turkey stack and then split it.
Approaching the entrance I see that they don’t open until 4p. They used to always be open in the afternoon!? I wonder if they just haven’t moved to a Summer schedule yet if they have one or if business had dropped resulting in a limited time being open during the day. Bummer, I guess we’re not eating lunch at Heroes today.
‘Change comes from within’. Regardless of where this phrase originated, I’ve always liked the simplicity and depth of what this phrase means and what it can do in a person.
I remember my first job (my first career) out of college when one of my colleagues said “The only thing constant here is change.” The young newbie I was in the working world couldn’t fully understand that comment and was not comfortable with its implication.
Not once in college years or my first career did I ever think about changing careers, but changing careers is exactly what organically happened, twice more.
Becoming a teacher in my 40’s was interesting. My decision and radical change would mean that I needed to return to college and receive further instruction to further embark on my ‘next venture’ in life. I remember just before concluding my first teaching year I told Irene ‘I’m not sure teaching is the right decision for me, maybe I’ll change careers again’. Irene, who was always the level-headed one between us both and the one who kept my feet on the ground said to me, “No, you’re going to stick with teaching for at least a couple years and then make your decision.”
Irene was certainly the one to ‘reel me in’ when it came to sensible practicality.
Within those first couple years teaching I found my groove, and I absolutely loved it. Teaching became my most challenging, yet most rewarding career ever. I never wanted to leave teaching. Knowing that I was instrumental, even by the smallest aspect, of shaping minds of young children as we teachers in the elementary setting, all worked together toward one common goal. It was awesome.
As my career continued I experienced change in me as a person. No longer was my goal to ‘make more money’ for self-benefit. I simply wanted to ‘make a difference’, and that was freeing for me.
Occurrences in life are always bound by cause and effect. This disruption results in some type of change, big and small.
As you all are aware, my Irene passed away last June (25), and my world immediately changed. The decision to come back to school this year was not an easy one, but for my mental health it was good to be ‘back’.
Before Irene passed I was having a great time teaching and with no intention to retire. And then this year brought my second shoulder replacement of which I did not want to take place during the school year again. But the surgery needed to occur, and I had to succumb to reality.
Being out, and further pondering ‘change comes from within’, I realized that change comes from without too. Cause and effect. With the loss of Irene, my life and what I did on a daily basis needed to make some major adjustments. This greater perspective made me realize that I no longer saw myself continuing my teaching career. With that, I needed to make the very difficult decision, ‘I guess this is when I retire.’
CJD is a very rare and spontaneous disease that strikes only 300-500 people in the entire US each year. Going forward, my life’s mission will be to help the CJD Foundation (Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease) in any way possible to continue research, advocate for funding, and further CJD education within the medical world. Irene has made this possible for me. This is the direction I need to go.
Whether you are on the Admin staff, teaching staff, office staff, or auxiliary support staff, I will truly miss you all!
For me, the relative-by-marriage title ‘In-Law’ has always sounded somewhat less-than, separated from me. Never been a fan of the term but would use it in appropriate context, until recently.
My parents both passed-away three years ago. At that time Irene said to me that I was an orphan. I guess I was. That fact alone made me sad. When Irene passed-away last June my ‘credentials’ were again modified to include Widower. Now, I am an orphan and a widower. I don’t like what those words mean, they are both so lonely.
My relationship with Irene’s parents has grown since Irene’s passing. Something I would not have imagined to occur. But her parents are my connection to her entire life, not simply the 45 years (in total) that I was with her. Eddie and Frances have always been supportive and loving, and when Irene was ill, they were with me nearly every day at the hospital.
I have no living biological parents, but I still do have ‘parents’ I can count on. They are not my in-laws, they are my loving in-parents.
You birthed seven lives, and saved an additional one, all in one day. You provided seven families a long- awaited bundle of joy, now in the hands of their forever home.
The first stanza of the song Verona, by Muse, is this:
Can we kiss With poison on our lips Well I’m not scared
The song has mesmerized me from the moment I first heard it 3 years ago and it is hauntingly beautiful. I have listened to it repeatedly many times, probably every time I’ve played it.
Good music coupled with good lyrics have heart and soul poured into them. There is a message in the piece, there is a reason, a real reason why the piece is produced and created. True artistry is a direct line into what the artist feels. An evocation of emotion and message. An invitation.
Allowing such a piece to break into your own being translates to personal release, an emotional connection, and possibly an etherial journey.
Grief is whacky. Sure time ‘helps’ to heal the grieving soul but in actuality, help really isn’t a meaningful verb in context. I lost Irene 6 months ago, and while I don’t walk around the house with a lowered head all the time now, it still does occur. I know when I’m doing it too much when my neck starts to ache from the weight of my bowed head. I am far from grief relief, yet I’m not looking to be rid of it. Grief.
What I feel from losing Irene is unique to me. I’m the only one who feels this way, literally. Others may grieve but even among other individuals grief is different. My grief is different than that of Irene’s parents, and her siblings. Each one of us had an individual connection with her and their grief is unique as well. It’s the same for any relationship in life. The same for you, your loved ones and those you care for dearly.
What next?
I guess I should be thankful for how I feel? Such a dichotomy of answers and conclusions to this one. How could I be thankful? Because I’m still here? How could I not be thankful? Because she was my wife and we lovingly shared most of our lives together, that’s how.
There are so many things that make sense in life, and so many things that utterly do not make sense. Friends and family are always there for support and they definitely help, but the grief does not go away. It’s all in what I do from this point forward.
The ravages of linear time seems to be taking its toll on me and I feel older. I don’t like that. Perhaps I’m simply beginning to feel my actual age, I don’t know.
There are some good days, and there are some bad days. What do I do with them? There are good days with bad moments, and there are some bad days with good moments. Regardless, it’s all rather crappy. How can I eliminate one category and string the desired one in consecutive manner? I cannot. Deal with it.
Loss is loss, and it’s different for all who experience this reality of life. Life is real, and because that is so, death is real too. I am selfish to think that only one of those realities should ever become of me and my existence.
Just 365 days ago tomorrow, January 6, 2024, Holly’s litter of 12 puppies were born. I remember it vividly as Irene and I were already expecting the arrival of Holly’s puppies however we had miscalculated her date of conception. This made the birth date ‘earlier’ than we expected.
Early Saturday morning and I was at work in the office and on our home computer. Enzo suddenly got up from his sleeping spot at my feet and went into the hallway just staring down the hallway off to the right. He looked very attentive. Thinking he had simply ‘heard something’ I quietly called over to him to come back and lay down. Since it was earlier than Irene’s wake-up time and I knew Holly was resting asleep in the bedroom I didn’t want Enzo to wake anyone up with his loud, bellowing woof.
Enzo, who is very obedient, was not listening to me and I could see him slowly making his way down the hallway, head-up, toward our bedroom. I continued intermittently calling his name and he continued to ignore my calls. As this type of self-satisfying behavior was unusual I got up from my seat and took a peek outside the office door. I could see the only the back end of Enzo as he had turned the corner into our bedroom and just stood there. I kept calling his name, only now with greater force. “Enzo, get over here.” He did not come.
Slowly, I walked down the hallway and into the bedroom and looked toward the same direction as Enzo, to the right. There was Holly, standing up on the dog bed and stepping in circles in and around a puddled mess that suddenly sprang beneath her. She was clearly upset. I then heard tiny squeaking sounds that came from behind Holly and under the nightstand at my side of the bed. Oh no, there’s a newborn puppy under there!
Not knowing what to do next, I hurriedly shook Irene to awaken her with “Irene, Irene, wake up.” Being suddenly woken from sleep she was not too happy, opened her eyes and annoyingly said “What?” My reply, “Holly just had a baby!” Her reply as she sprung out of bed was, “Oh sh*t!” Irene ran into the whelping room and called for Holly as I scooped up the puppy. Scurrying into the room, I handed the puppy over to Irene who knew from research, exactly what to do.
By this time Irene had already put Holly in her large pen, equipped for puppy delivery. Irene rubbed and rubbed the puppy and cleaned the puppy from its placenta goo, then put her on Holly’s tummy so that she could start to nurse. From that point on Holly continued to birth her puppies, one about every 20-30 minutes.
It was a very long day that led into the late night as Holly gave birth to seven surviving golden retriever puppies. Unfortunately, three of the puppies were stillborn in non-consecutive order and we had to take Holly to the Emergency Pet Hospital for what turned out to be the delivery of two more still-born puppies hours later.
A litter of twelve is rather large for a Golden Retriever, Holly, Irene, and Rosemary did a great job with the delivery of seven surviving and thriving puppies.
Over the course of ‘puppydom’, Irene tirelessly worked with Holly to make sure the puppies were well cared for with all of them adequately nursing and growing day-by-day. It was a ton of work for Holly, Irene, and Rosemary but with all those sweet little puppies around it was an effort worthwhile.
Five of the seven puppies were found great homes outside our own. Irene named two of the seven puppies and we decided to keep them both, Winston and Rosie. Irene left me a beautiful blessing with those puppies, and they always remind me of her. Such a gift, thank you Irene.
Today, Rey, Winnie-Poo, Dixie, Kylie, and Mia all live in wonderful loving homes, and with friends we know well.
Individuality is what we want, from others and for ourselves. Individuality is unique, as in the word’s definition itself. Our individuality puts us in a vulnerable space that can at times make us feel an invincibility so strong there is nothing we cannot do. Other times being an individual can set us down with a weight so heavy that it can seem unbearable. And sometimes it is.
I wrote a very short piece found under the Musings tab titled ‘From One Day to the Next’. Writing the piece was something I needed to do, but was not able to finish. It will remain unfinished, as life should be.
I remember what seems like not-so-long ago when people wrote, by hand. What happened? People don’t seem to write anymore. I’m not even ‘writing’ now, I’m typing. School-aged children are still actually taught manuscript writing, that’s printing for those unfamiliar with the term. However there is so much technology in the classrooms these days that kids are learning more how to touch their selection on the screen, or ‘speak’ it into the device. Digital deliverables (classwork or homework) are accepted and still less of us are actually writing.
I taught cursive in my classroom for many years. In my classroom, it was ‘cursive only’, period. I wrote in neat cursive on the board, and I accepted only cursive work from all my students. If would often, and then less often receiver work that was printed/manuscript. I would thank the student for their effort, especially if they really did put effort into their work, and then I would remind them that I accept cursive-only, and they would need to re-write their work. This was not a surprise to them, that I accepted cursive-only, but they conveniently chose to write in manuscript just because it was easier. Sorry, this work requirement hasn’t changed people.
As time passed, I began to receive more and more pushback from students and their parents regarding writing cursive! ‘My child is in tears trying to do their homework in cursive.’ Instead of receiving some kind of reminder or encouragement ‘Come on, you know the class rules, you can do it!’, it became more of ‘That’s alright buddy, I’ll send him an email or speak with him tomorrow.’
That type of exchange increasingly grew over the years so one day I reluctantly surrendered to the fact that my classroom requirement for writing in cursive-only was no longer going to be a battle I would fight.
Technology and its increasing use became exponential. We used our thumbs to ‘type’. Eventually, we didn’t even have to type, we ‘swiped’ the word into being. Then we succumbed to selecting the ‘space bar’, which is NOT at all a space bar when a word was ‘suggested’. As a result, we unlearned how to spell.
We have grown into a society no longer accustomed to writing in the physical sense, pen to paper, and no one seems bothered by what will one day become quite a problem with individual or societal expansion! I didn’t begin this post with the intent to get on a soapbox and spew, however in composing this piece I have definitely gained a new appreciation for my age.
Petdad 