Abundance

Closing Doors

2012-01-31T20:39:00.001-06:00

I closed a door on a chapter of life today. Bad Times. Sad Times.

Home To Stay

2012-01-29T19:14:00.004-06:00

Not forever. Aaron came home to stay seven years ago tonight. To stay was supposed to mean he wasn't going back to MBA as a student. Freely one day, sure. Aaron would likely go many places. But he came home to stay and he stays forever.

I woke with trepidation that morning. Same today. I wanted my expectations met then. Same today. I deeply wanted to believe my son in everything he would say or do. I wanted his intentions to be pure. I didn't want to be fooled. His sincerity, I probably thought I needed it to be significant. Aaron lived the remainder of his life accountable with integrity.

I thought he had forever ahead.

Things He Carried

2012-01-28T16:42:00.001-06:00

A half full plastic bottle of Gatorade. His high school football jersey, number 15, in LSU style and purple, gold colors. A Beetle CD belonging to his brother. An assortment of Camel cigs, some broken, some smooshed.

The flip cell phone with a phone number of a convicted dealer survived the crash. The police saw the digits and rushed to judgement. They carried guns, bullets, weapons of all sorts. None were needed that Tuesday. Patience was in short supply. Same with common sense, compassion, and science. No one carried facts. Rumors were carried by radio waves to cell to phone to brains.

He carried smart ideas in his open mind; peace in his heart. It was his heart that broke in the wreck.

A Living Memory

2012-01-21T20:31:00.001-06:00

I wanted a living memory not the image of my son in a casket. Almost seven years later I have no recall of how he looked in our last face to face conversation. Just that image I never wanted but can't forget.

Drifting With Grieving Dads

2012-01-09T19:30:00.002-06:00

In the movie The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, the father who lost his son rows out into Lake Pontchartrain in the fog of the night. There is nothing said about where he is rowing to or what becomes of him. The man is grieving his son and he's drifting. I assume he has placed his life in the hands of nature. I rowed. I drifted. Peace and grief ebbs and flows.

I heard the news that a son of an NFL coach in Green Bay died in the Fox River yesterday. My heart aches for the family. I have tears in my eyes and feel pain for the boy's Dad. Such agony.

I've met old timers who have lost sons in their younger days, and old timers who have lost sons in their later days. They all shed tears when they recall their boys. Sadness doesn't end. Prayers for this dad and his family.

Got An Email From Aaron This Morning

2011-12-21T08:08:00.002-06:00

Aaron J. Meyer... sent me an email this morning. I saw it first thing on my phone when I woke up. My heart went thump thump. Internet in heaven? Back to reality, the sender was www.AaronJMeyerFoundation.org. Ah, hope was a rush.

Barbershops and Memories

2011-12-15T20:34:00.000-06:00

A guy named Mark gave me my first haircut. Next chair over was Sam. I think Sam became the first person I knew to die, right after JFK; of course I didn't know JFK. For about six years running I've only had my hair cut at barbershops. There was a long stretch where I went to salons and dropped $30.00 plus. What a waste. The place I go now is called Dick and Arnie's. They aren't there. A guy named Kah cuts my hair.

Today I settled into the chair and closed my eyes for some quiet time. Christmas music was playing. I tuned out the background chatter from the next chair. Out from where ever memories linger an image I love came into my mind. Ten year old Aaron was getting a haircut. The cape was wrapped around his neck, his head tilted down and he looked sideways at me, raised one eyebrow and smiled a grin. Oh that was so beautiful. I know it happened. The image had stayed put for 15 years. I know how that haircut ends. Aaron gets out of the chair, puts a Packer hat on his head and we walk out. He rubs the back of his head feeling the fresh cut nubs. "Feel this Dad".

For two weeks Aaron has been in my dreams. First he was a little guy chasing a neighbor who was mowing our lawn. Aaron had a chain saw. I took the chain saw away and picked up Air Bear. He thought he was in trouble. I held him in my arms and hugged him. Aaron asked if I was mad at him. "No, no. I'm not mad at you. I love you Air Bear." I sobbed with Aaron held tight in my arms. I woke up with eyes full of tears.

At the end of last week Aaron walked into a dream. He was big Aaron. Fully grown, wearing a tan sweater. I walked up to Aaron and gave him a big hug. I buried my face into his chest. I could smell Aaron. It was really him. Dreams are more real than memories. In a dream people speak thoughts and we respond. They have mass and we feel them. They have their unique aromas and we sense them. I do love quiet time and dreaming. My son lives where memories go.

Decisions

2011-11-22T20:49:00.001-06:00

A decision to change career paths in 1988 put Aaron, age 1, on a road in Windsor driving a truck at age 18. Somebody's decision to pile mulch on the side of that same road and ring it with massive concrete ended Aaron's journey in 2005. Billions of choices were presented in the interim and any one would have altered the course enough. None more than the decision in November 1990 to buy a house in Windsor.

The owners of that house were first customers of mine. In '89 I had decided to stay in Madison over Memorial Day weekend. I was the only Realtor in the office without plans. The manager decided to give me the opportunity to work with this relocating customer. They had been offered a job and had decided to accept. Knowing what they wanted in a house, I found one in Windsor that looked like a perfect match. The owners of the house had decided to accept a job out East two years removed from deciding to build the house. My customers did indeed love the house and decided to buy. We had become friends and had visited them during the Holidays. Aaron liked their boys and their boy's toys. Andy was one of the kids. Less than two years later they decided to move to Michigan. They called me and we decided I should be their Realtor, and they suggested that we should buy the house. They felt it was the ideal location to raise two boys. We decided we agreed. We moved in in January 2001 before Patrick was born. Aaron was with family while we moved. They brought him to the house after the heavy lifting was done. Aaron ran in with his cousins, Amanda and Kristopher. He rushed into the family room with a question. "Mom, Dad!! Why's all my stuff in Andy's room??!!" Aaron was thrilled that this would be his home.

What was left of the billion decisions that culminated in disaster were ahead of me. Any one could have made the difference. Painful. My resentment toward Windsor isn't what it used to be; I wish I'd never known of the place. I was there today. I have no desire to return. Memories of opportunities taken or not are a pain in my left shoulder near the base of my neck. Sometimes they break my heart and I sob.

Life or Death

2011-08-26T21:11:00.001-05:00

He knew this place was a life or death opportunity. Hate it. Love the friends. How do you hate a place, stay where there are no walls, and go back willingly, and in the end say the experience was the right thing? I think I know; you know it's this or die and you want to live. Aaron wanted to live. He died. Some of his friends live to the death of drugs. When evil seeps into the community the death it spreads doesn't always require a hearse.

Seven years ago we spent a few August Days in Bend with Aaron. A final family gathering. When we checked out of the hotel we had no way of knowing it was the last. Death doesn't end the ache of addiction, it transfers the pain to the living in grief.

Inconveniences and Problems

2011-08-22T21:32:00.001-05:00

Life is inconvenient. It has a way of getting in the way of my well planned and unplanned days. A phone call is how life typically announces itself. Regardless of the ring tone, a noise where there was none cuts into peace--even if that peace was only tolerance of some other inconvenience.

When I am at my best, I live life aware of the difference between inconvenience and problem. When I'm stuck in traffic its an inconvenience for me. The people involved in the wreck which snarled the traffic have problems. My expectations are directly related to my annoyance with inconveniences. I have the ability to choose my attitude toward inconveniences. Problems may trigger emotions which require attention, but my emotions can be checked against my intentions when inconveniences arise. I know the difference. I've had a problem and I've been inconvenienced.

Chances Are

2011-07-20T21:34:00.000-05:00

When you consider all of our ancestors who had to live and survive for us to have life, it's improbable for any one of us to be here. Bullets had to miss their mark. A "No" had to become a "Yes". Missed opportunities were given second chances. Certainly our lives are the fulfillment of lives beyond our own. Chances are this is something we should contemplate.

And then it occured to me that some bullets did not miss their mark. People were in the wrong place at the most inoportune time. Some walked away from crashes, others did not. What becomes of the children of those whose lives ended too soon to have those children? Do they wait on Heaven's deck? Or, are they united with their would be parents for a father, mother, daughter, son relationship in life after or before life?

I saw Aaron and his son. The grass was green and thick. Aaron wore a red shirt and brown pants. He smoked a cig. His son, about 2, played with a ball. They tossed it back and forth. Aaron smiled at his son and encouraged him to play. Aaron appeared to be present with his son but deep in thought. Abundant love between father and son...somewhere in Heaven I suppose.

Best Seats In The House

2011-06-12T11:55:00.000-05:00

"Best seats in the house", I told Aaron. First base line, 15 rows up, seats one and two. Father's Day. We were going to County Stadium for a Brewer game. Just the two of us. No Mom, no baby brother. Aaron was psyched for the game. He'd never been to a Brewer game and this was going to be special...Dad promised.

For a kid or 5 or 6 with an imagination, a trip to the shoe store could be an adventure. A day at a ball park with 30,000 people was probably incomprehensible. We took our seats early with a baseball glove on one hand and a hot dog in the other. I held the drinks. The view of the field was excellent. Aaron could see the players and hear everything. Aaron had an empty seat next to him. "These are the best seats in the house, Dad!" For a couple of innings everything was great. Even a foul ball came near us.

I saw the Mom, Dad, and son walking up the steps toward us. When the Mom made eye contact with me she was smiling like she knew me. I should have looked away. "Hi!" She said. Should I know her? She seems to know me. "Oh, hey." I responded not knowing the name and running a quick search through my archives to see if I could place face and name. Nope...or maybe... All sweet and friendly, the Mom sliced into my heart..."How would you and your son like to sit in row 2? Our friends are sitting behind you and we'll give you our seats in row 2 in exchange for your seats. Is that OK with you?" The look on Aaron's face might have been less shocked if the usher would have escorted me out of the stadium. "Sure." I eagerly offered the best seats in the house and without a hesitation I had Aaron up, gathering our bits and we were on the move to row 2.

This all happened in an instant. The disappointment lasted forever. Row 2 was too low. The heads of some people were in Aaron's way. Some guy on the field stood against the fence and blocked his view. All seats were occupied and Aaron was crowded by the guy next to him. "Dad, why did you give that lady the best seats in the house??!!??" I had no answer. At least none to satisfy him or me.

I know why I said yes. I said yes because I was not confident enough in myself to say, "Thank you for the offer, but my son and I bought the best seats in the house for Father's Day. I'll gladly let you have the seats if we leave early." Without confidence, I was always looking for approval of other people, even at the expense of my boy's feelings. Hmmm.

Next Sunday I will be fishing with Patrick on Father's Day. We're both looking forward to the day. I'll do something with Aaron. Maybe there will be a good seat in the boat for him.

Years In Review. Objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear.

2011-06-07T13:30:00.001-05:00

Looking back on these posts I see into a time when I was as close to God as possible on this side of life; broken and disconnected from material. Mourn with those who mourn, do not avoid them for they are in God's hands. Sounds like something from a prophet.

Spirituality in any form consistently encourages mercy and compassion in place of success and ambiguity. If I can make it one day at a time practicing mercy and compassion instead of measuring success and fostering ambiguity, life as I know it will be peaceful today. That's enough.

This morning I spoke to a school counselor who was present for the Horizon High kids on the day Aaron died. She is convinced of the significance of the mission of Aaron's House. Ties that bind the fabric of a comfort.

2191 Days. 52,582 Hours.

2011-05-08T19:35:00.001-05:00

Six years ago, or 52,582 hours ago, I sat down to write a post titled A Son Turns 18. I remember thinking as I wrote. I can recall how pleasant it was to hear the banter in the next room, the family room, as Cathy, Patrick, and Aaron watched the second to last episode of the season for Gray's (or Grey's) Anatomy. Aaron didn't want the season to end, "We just started watching this! What do they mean 'season finale'????" Looking back at the post from May 8, 2005 might cause me to crack tonight and I'm just not up for more of that emotion tonight.

Apparently every six years the days of the week coincide exactly with the days and dates. May 8 was a Sunday in 2005---and it was Mother's Day. I remember much of that day. Time was slipping into the future and I didn't know. Tick, tick, tick....I remember Patrick making a slushy with his slushy maker and Aaron being intrigued. Patrick made a slushy for Aaron and Aaron dropped a glob of the icey stuff on his bare foot and on the floor. I wiped up the floor and Aaron offered his foot to me to clean up while I was "already down there".

We had an eerie conversation early in that day, six years ago, about how Aaron felt he was a far superior driver than me. As evidence he said he had zero speeding tickets in his 1 year (more like 5 months) and I had 1 in 30 years. Further, Aaron suggested that my 3 incidents backing out of the garage and into 2 other cars and the side of garage showed that I was an inattentive driver where he was the model of prudence behind the wheel. Oh my, that still haunts me.

Two thousand one hundred ninety six days have passed since I saw my son. We shot hoops that day and played some catch with the football. 52,704 hours have passed since I've seen him alive. Time heals no wounds. Much work and much support from skilled people heals wounds. I remember the time when I wanted to turn the clock back and conceding to the impossibility I dreaded time passing moving us further away from the time Aaron was alive.

Yesterday and today were spent sharing Aaron's story at Wisconsin Challenge Academy with a couple hundred Moms and Dads. The story inspires parents to answer for themselves the question, "Now that this has happened what are you going to do about you?" Their answers will include some aspect of forgiveness. The promise of forgiveness is Peace, Hope, Gratitude, and Joy. The dark days are my greatest possession in God's hands.

Wrapping up the weekend a Bob Marley song came on the radio-- Every little thing is going to be all right. Even that takes me back.

Counting Down and Looking Back

2011-04-03T06:42:00.000-05:00

Six years. Maybe I don't remember six days but I do know I didn't like the idea of moving away from the day he died because it meant being further from the day he lived. Six years.

The body dies, consciousness lived before the body and forever. Life after life. If I had understood death better I might have accepted death of a son softer, but I doubt I would have learned as much. Everything is just as it is. Grateful that I explored whether driven by grief, fear, resentment, or any other emotion. The beauty is that I was able to feel all emotions, not just the socially acceptable ones, but also the ones that hurt. They are all gifts of God.

Many cliches were put to rest for ever these past six years. Time took a beating. This I know to be true: Time heals nothing. Peace, acquired through searching, feeling emotions, and sharing, heals wounds. Time is a thief, and it gets way too much credit for nothing.

365

2011-03-28T20:42:00.000-05:00

There was peace. It was realized in August 2004 when we visited Aaron in Oregon. A year had passed since the chaos had ramped up and here we sat, looking to the future and working on letting go of the past.

I see the blog count is at 364. This is 365; a blog a day for a year makes a fair sized book. It's been almost six years. This picture is a favorite of mine. I remember the moment. There should be many more. But no. The shirts were left hanging with no wearer.

The year of blogging is done with this one.

Goodbye Pappa Please Pray For Me

2011-03-21T21:15:00.001-05:00

We had joy we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.

Driving to an appointment with enthusiasm, this 1974 song by Terry Jacks played on the radio. I listened d closely and felt the lyrics deeply. "Goodbye Pappa please pray for me...you tried to teach me right from wrong..." My heart ached and my eyes teared; drops trickled from the outside corners. "Spring is in the air, pretty girls are everywhere..." Oh how I want to see my son growing up with his friends. They're getting married, buying homes, having babies, living.

April is approaching fast. The clock runs down to the Ten Days of May. My chest tightens. My teeth clench. All I want for you is to live Aaron. Just live. Goodbye old friend, it's hard to live.

Love Dad. Six years.

Darkest Days Are Still My Greatest Possession

2011-03-03T16:02:00.000-06:00

Giving away my greatest possession is relaxing. No tension. No anxiety. As easy as pouring water from a jug.

Today I poured the story to UW Extension Continuing Education students. I no longer cry when their tears start to trickle down. There is much joy in my voice when I talk about the last fun days of May. I still crack over the bit about the phone call from the deputy coronor. I didn't break today, can't promise about the next time.

Glad to have the opportunity to share what I have. Would prefer to be able to exchange it though.

Promise

2010-12-20T19:32:00.001-06:00

Six years is about to pass. The son knew what the dad could not comprehend. They knew what they knew and did what they could with what they had. With firmness of a wise man, the son limited the choices but not his father's dignity. Letting go the dad stopped fighting and he let the ego rest.

With the first step of a lifetime journey he knows peace. God is doing for the father what he could not do for himself. A final Christmas gift from one son to a grateful dad.

A Long Walk

2010-12-05T20:58:00.001-06:00

I finished a long walk following a river through a frozen marsh. The river wanders attentively deficient, probably distracted by the slim tributaries that sporadically feed it ideas. Doc, a Chesapeake Bay Retriever who owns me, was trudging a few paces in front of me. The crunch of the cold apple didn't catch his attention and Doc likes apples as much as anything and he knows when I'm eating anything. The second bite I took to share a chunk. I looked at my big headed, four legged pal and said, "Aaron,ah Patrick, er DOC!" Where did that come from?

The Band Perry - If I Die Young

2010-11-09T19:05:00.000-06:00

The sharp knife of a short life...funny how when you die people start listening.

Every time I want to hear this song all I have to do is turn on the radio and search the stations. I wonder if it works like that for everyone who misses a son or daughter.

www.AaronsHouseMadison.org

Who Is This God

2010-09-14T22:53:00.001-05:00

They said their prayers, on their knees, at their beds. All of the family members were remembered as they asked God to hear their prayers. From hut, house, mansion, or cardboard box, prayers are offered to a God as the sun sets around the world.

Who is this God? Is he the God who causes the pain that sends a child to a hospital or is he the God who created the doctors? Is he the God who let's a child walk out healed, or is he the God that allows the parents to leave alone. Is he the God who answers prayers with miracles or the God of No? Is he the God who answers the teenagers prayer for a car, or the God who denies the Mothers prayer to keep her son safe on the highway? Is this the God we ask for peace or the God who who lets our sons and daughters be damaged and destroyed in war?

Maybe this is the God who is alone with us in times of deep sorrow and humble joy. Maybe mercy and moments of peace in times of great sorrow and joy are the miracles and blessings of God. And that's enough.

Harvesting Memories

2010-09-12T22:31:00.001-05:00

Last sounds of mowers
through open doors.
Sights and sounds of young sons,
in my mind.
Harvesting memories
blurred by puddles.

Depths of Grief

2010-09-06T18:54:00.001-05:00

In 2005 I bought a book to understand this blogging thing people were talking about. My first entries were about ideas related to an attitude of abundance. I knew so little. Maybe I learned the door to deeper understanding opens whether you nudge it, push it, or decline to open it. All that's required for the opportunity is to stand at the door.

"Abundance" became a way to say, from the depths of grief, goodbye and I love you. Five years and four months later I may not yet be ready to say goodbye. A photo in the paper this weekend of a DeForest football player in your 15 jersey choked me. It's fall and I will always love you.

Reminder

2010-09-01T18:40:00.000-05:00

Just an observation--You can't always get what you want; but you get what you need.

My son has been sad because something he wants to keep seems to be gone. Something he didn't expect to lose is being lost. Something he worked smart on slipped away.

Today I got a chance to walk in his moccasins. Shows me once again: sad is sad regardless of the cause. Maybe I needed the reminder. I didn't want to be reminded. I wanted what I wanted.