21 YEARS

I AM A SURVIVOR!

A lot can happen in 21 years! That's more than two decades. It's just six years shy of being half my life! Let me provide the highlights:

Overcame depression

Bought first house

Adopted children

Found love

Found myself

Loved myself good

Moved to Indiana

Found my beach

Lived near the mountains in Boulder

Raised kids

Lived a life

Now I'm not done. I'm not dying. I'm celebrating my life!

You see, 21 years ago on this day, I tried to end it. I wanted and attempted to take my own life by asphyxiation. Thankfully, I failed!

It was the one failure in my life I could accept.

Up until that moment, I told myself I had lived a long string of failures...that I WAS A FAILURE!!! I won't go into all the reasons why. It just was who I was at the time.

Today, I stand tall as a survivor.

Look at the list above of all the things I would have missed out on, namely BECOMING A DAD! I would've missed out on the two biggest blessings in my life. Their names are MERIKATHRYN DOYLE & MAKENNA DOYLE!!!

I think of all the friendships I would have never cherished, the stages I would have never rocked, all the meals I would have never cooked or enjoyed, the blog posts I would have never written, the simple everyday treasures of life I would have missed.

Goodness and mercy sure have followed me. I am humbled. I am blessed.

Here's to 21 more precious years--to explore the depths of love, who I am and who I can become. Life as a survivor is much sweeter than life as a perceived failure!!!

Thanks for being a friend, listening and celebrating life with me.

Anniversaries suck

Today is the 6-year anniversary of Mom's death...and the first that I've spent in her house...

That was the text from Dad almost 6 years to the hour!

I had just left him 15-20 minutes earlier and stopped to get gas for the long drive home with my girls. We didn't make the drive for another 8 days.

Here was my first post after she died:

http://nolesrock.blogspot.com/2015/

Anniversaries suck!!!

Communicating with Dad

I celebrated my 53rd birthday without a lot of fanfare. I didn't even hear from my immediate family--daughters yes--not Dad, not Keely...they had forgotten. :(

So I reached out to Dad by text at almost 9 p.m. Here was his text response:

I started to send you a Happy Birthday wish a couple of times and got distracted...

The next day we texted again, as he'd received a piece of mail for me at his house. That was 7:25 p.m. on September 12, 2021. A few days later, we had a text convo about a movie I knew he'd like about the explosion of music in the late 60's out of Laurel Canyon, CA. He'd seen the trailer for "Echo In the Canyon," and had plans to watch it, but never got the chance. A couple of weeks later, he was sick with COVID-19.

Monday, 9/27, Dad had gone to St. Vincent's for pneumonia-like symptoms like those he'd suffered just before Father's Day Weekend the year before. That time it was bacterial pneumonia, easily treated. This time it was viral. It would kill him within a week. I asked if he was ok that evening. By 8 p.m., he knew that he was COVID positive and texted me back. I followed up with texts the next afternoon and the following day. Wednesday, 9/29, was our last text communication...our last communication ever.

After receiving my sister's update on Dad's progress at St. Vincent, Carmel, where he'd been hospitalized since Thursday 9/30, I texted one last message at 12:47 p.m. "You still with us?"

It was around that time that I made a post to Facebook, then penned the poem for Dad that I shared at his memorial service (a post for a future date).

Dad died at 8:30 that night. Keely called me devastated. I was numb and didn't know what to feel. At that moment, my only thought was, "How am I going to get home?"

Last night, I sat on Dad's living room couch and tried to remember what it felt like in this house with him here. Tomorrow will mark one month since he stayed here and slept in his own bed.

Our last communication by e-mail (we hardly ever spoke on the phone...I'm not a big fan) was in early July when I reached out to him about collateral relationships and some things that were bothering me. Dad got a little defensive and said he felt personally attacked. I did not intend to come across that way, but I can see the accusatory tone of my message. We e-mailed all the time, mostly stuff we found interesting or funny. Dad used to e-mail me Daily Bread messages which he subscribed to and would forward. I began marking them "spam." Such was the nature of our bittersweet relationship.

Prior to that, we'd e-mailed in December 2020, and Heidi's fiance had just been down for a visit. Dad was looking forward to marrying them. I'd e-mailed him about a book I'd just read, written by a Vietnam vet, that I knew he'd enjoy.

A late November e-mail exchange came right on the heels of my three month visit with Dad in Cicero. I hadn't intended to be there more than six weeks. When it turned into fourteen, I just tried to make the most of it...and good thing, too. It was our last visit, the last time I'd ever see my Dad alive...last time I'd look into his eyes, hug him and tell him I love him. :(

I won't bore you with details of every communication we ever had, but I do want to touch on some highlights...

MAY 2020: E-mailed dad some race memories of going to the track with him as a kid, of the first race in the 70's he ever took me to. We sat in the first turn right behind the wall...MAGICAL! I've always gotten homesick for Indianapolis in the month of May every year. Last year was no different. He thanked me for sharing my memories.

FEB 2020: I'd seen a WFYI (Indianapolis PBS station's) documentary about Crispus Attucks high school and e-mailed my family about it. Dad's response surprised me and blessed me so much I'm recapturing it here:

Wow! I have to say I was deeply, deeply moved by this documentary. It resonated even more with me seeing that the first principal of Crispus Attucks HS grew up in Lyles Station, just a stone's throw from where Mom and I grew up in Tower Heights in Princeton. Two of our classmates in high school were Lester Lyles, of the Lyles Station Lyles, and Richard Pritchett, whose mother was a Lyles by birth. It was very touching and saddening at the same time to see the deep-rooted racism in the Indiana culture which, by God's grace, benefitted so many African-Americans through their hardships. Ironically, those many and veried hardships molded strong leaders from their heritage into almost super heroes for their posterity to follow and emulate.

I highly recommend it to all of my posterity. It's well worth the time it takes to watch it. Thanks, Chris, for finding it and sharing it. (from his Feb 13, 8:16 p.m. reply)

OCT 2019: I'd shared with Dad all of my earliest memories of living in Princeton and our 1974 move to Indy. His response touched me, "Wow, that was quite a stroll down memory highway! Some of the minutiae I didn’t even recall. I miss our breakfasts when we talked about a lot of those things." 

AUG 2019: I sent Dad some encouragement and told him I love him. He responded in kind.

DEC 2018:  He e-mailed, "I just found out last week that you’re back at Tracy’s taking care of the girls. I think that’s great. But we haven’t talked in a long time and I’d like to catch up. When would be a good time to call? Love You, Dad." which led to a nice exchange where I talked about it being the hardest Christmas without Mom. He ended the exchange with this message to me on Christmas Eve morning, "Wish you could be here. Have a Merry Christmas again with Paula & Ivey Jean. Love, Dad"

NOV 2017: I checked in with Dad on the anniversary of Mom's death every year for the past 5 years. This was no different. He'd forgotten that it was the 29th, as he'd been busy that morning. He was actually dealing pretty well. I wasn't. I'd just lost a dear friend from high school to alcoholism. :(

Earlier that month, I'd reached out to him after having a breakfast that reminded me of our times together--SO many breakfasts shared between us! He responded the morning of Nov. 4th, "Thanks for the memories and words of love. I am still doing well, but I have been missing Mom's constant companionship more this year than last... I'll try calling you later today or tomorrow. Love you. Dad"

DEC 2016: We exchanged e-mails three days before Christmas and he noted that I sounded upbeat and was glad that Tracy and I were getting along for the girls' sake. He wrote, "Give Tracy & the girls my love. Talk to you when you call. Love you." That's the thing. He was SUCH a great Papaw to my girls and a Dad to my ex. He loved her like a daughter until he died. She expressed how much that meant to her upon learning of his death.

There are so many wonderful exchanges between us about family history, my girls and how much he loved and missed them, our crazy family, missing Mom, etc. I just wanted to provide a snapshot as I walked down memory lane this morning. Thanks for coming along.

Nice to know you

It's not like I needed vindication...or even the affirmation, but it was nice.

A highlight of Dad's 10/17/21 Memorial Service at Cicero Christian Church was my sister Heidi's tribute. She'd been close with Dad and really made an investment in their relationship over his last three years with us. What she shared was Dad's heart. What she did was touch mine. She had gotten Dad talking not long ago about what he admired most about each of his children. That's what she shared with each of us on Sunday.

She said, "Chris, what Dad loved most about you is your fire, passion and your love for your girls." You know, it's hard for me to type that without tearing up. He saw me. He knew me.

Those kinds of compliments didn't come easy for Dad, especially not for his eldest son. We were too much alike in a lot of ways, most of all, hard-headed and opinionated. To say we butted heads a few times would be putting it mildly. Our last big fight was in late September of last year while I was staying with him. He'd misread some situations, listened to some naysayers and criticized my role in my daughters' lives. I had no idea why he was attacking the one area where I am MOST proud--my fatherhood.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a great dad. My ex-wife told me that all the time. My siblings (well, all of them not so long ago) thought the same. People who know me or see my relationship with my beautiful girls tell me the same. It's pretty apparent. I'm not bragging, it's just the God's honest truth.

I chose my children. They are adopted. I tell them all the time that I won the "dad lottery," because I got two of the best--freaking amazing girls (women, now) who are intelligent, funny, opinionated, strong, passionate...I have a very long list of attributes, but I won't belabor the point. You get that I'm pretty much their biggest fan and I couldn't be prouder of them.

Until that moment last year, I thought Dad was really proud of the job I'd done raising them. He came back around.

Dad wasn't one to apologize often. You knew that he felt remorse and he showed it in his actions. It was just hard for him to verbalize. And he was hard-headed, like me...stubborn as a mule, really. But in some of his conversations with Heidi, he did express his remorse. When he told her that my job as a Dad was well-done and a source of pride, that made everything right.

I wasn't privy to that conversation, though, until Heidi shared what she said (above) at his memorial service. It caused me to break and I had to quickly regather myself. We were midway through the service.

I learned a lot from my dad and I blogged about it two Saturday's ago. 

It was nice to know that he really did know me. I am passionate, like he and Mom. I do have a lot of fire in me--for my kids, for just causes, like equality and for doing good. Those are qualities they taught me by living them in the open for 66 and 72 years, respectively. It was also nice to hear that he verbalized his admiration to my sister. It was affirming and uplifting.

Thanks, Dad. You're already missed.

Words, Actions and Christianity

 Four things I've been reminded of in recent days:

1. Life is short, say what you mean to say
2. No one gets to rewrite your narrative
3. The pen is mightier than the sword
4. Actions speak louder than words

The first one goes without saying, but do we say what we mean? Are we direct with our words? Are we intentional with them? I try to be, and that's why, when given the perfect opportunity yesterday, I sat down with my niece and her new husband and shared what was on my heart. I got to hear their story, the whirlwind love affair, marriage and brief history. I was intentional with my heartfelt words of encouragement and affirmation. A long time ago, my then pastor preached a sermon that "only the builders will be paid for their labor," using a Scripture in Nehemiah.

I wasn't always good with using my words. If I was intentional, it was usually to tear someone down. Words can hurt, they cut deeply when used in that way. I want to be a builder who reaps a reward. I want to be an encourager, one who lifts others up. Life has taught me to be more positive, affirming to others and intentional with my words in a good way.

Second on the list is also something that was discussed over coffee at Mom's dining room table. This week, several of my family members have had their dirty laundry aired out over social media, with others trying to rewrite the narrative and to own it. Your story is your story. Period. YOU get to tell it the way you want to. No one else can own YOUR story. It belongs wholly and solely to the bearer of it. And since no one has lived your life, what does their editorial matter? It doesn't. The former family members who did this to me and others were summarily hushed and shunned. They don't own the narrative of my life or anyone's but their own. In fact, none of them have even attempted to walk a mile in anyone else's shoes. All they have are uninformed opinions and half-truths. They took them and ran a mile, though. It was futile. Their words fell on deaf ears. Our life, our narrative, that simple.

Third, "The pen is mightier than the sword" is a metonymic adage, created by English author Edward Bulwer-Lytton in 1839. Not to toot my own horn, but I've wielded my weapon effectively for years. In times of conflict, I've found strength, solace and peace in the written word--my words. That came into play this last week, as well, but we won't rehash that drama here. Suffice to say, I didn't have to resort to fisticuffs because I know how to "take someone down," so to speak, or to disarm them using "the pen."

And finally, since we began this blog post speaking of words, they are indeed just that, words. Though they can be used intentionally to build up or tear down, and to attack, deflect and defend, they do not amount to a hill of beans in the end. Words without action, without any real intentionality behind them, are like dust in the wind, carried off into the stratosphere. There have been a lot of words bantered around by my family. There have been empty threats and broken promises. Their word is not their bond. Their words don't make them any better than anyone else, and they aren't fooling anyone, either. Saying you are a Christian, for example, means absolutely nothing if you don't show it. Faith is meant to be lived, or as Scripture says, it is as a loud gong or clanging cymbal. We have a lot of musicians in this family, I just didn't realize that most of them were percussionists.

So be intentional with your words. Write your own narrative and own that shit. Defend yourself and disarm others, but don't resort to physical violence (unless they leave you absolutely no other alternative). And back that shit up! Don't just use lots of words to sound <insert desired effect here> but BE THAT! Be intentional with your actions, as well. Show the world who you are by doing/being. Words can be powerful and effective, but they can also be empty and hallow. Only shallow people live by words, alone. Only fake Christians use them to prop up some false version of who they really are.

And on that last part, this author has not worn the label Christian for quite some time. In 2005, when I first started this blog, I was in the process of deconstructing my faith. These days, I consider myself more a student of The Dao, even though I'm not a practicing Daoist. I'm a spiritualist. I draw Truth from any place I can find it--Buddhism, Paganism, Hinduism, Daoism, Islam and Christianity--wherever. People trying to knock me don't see the Christian virtues I live out everyday among the homeless in Boulder. Again, they don't own my narrative, have never walked a mile in my shoes, have never even come to the source, just believed what they wanted to believe, then cast aspersions. I'm not a fundamentalist Christian. I know the Bible and I still quote it, as I have on this blog post. There are some great nuggets of Truth and Wisdom, but that faith tradition hasn't cornered the market on those things! In fact, Christianity is one of the new kids on the block. Try getting an education before you speak, folks! And go to the source instead of repeating pure garbage and hearsay...please and thank you.

MY SISTER THROUGH THICK AND THIN

 

Keely and Pops

Let me just tell you about my parents' best friend, their daughter, my ride-or-die sister, Keely.

She is a saint. Does her halo lean a little to the side? Yes. She's human. She just has saintly qualities...like how she took care of our parents. Her love and loyalty to them was on display daily. Ever since Mom died in November 2015, she's been a constant in my Dad's life--always there, always getting shit done, taken care of. She was an excellent caretaker. He wasn't always easy to love. They got into it plenty of times. But did she ever quit on his difficult ass? NO! Not one time did she walk away mad and stay mad. She loved "Pops," as she called him. She became his best friend, his "stand in" for Mom. He was lost without her. Keely was like a rudder in Dad's life through all of the hard times, the bad times, the breathtaking grief.

Until her move to the other side of town, she was the one who lived closest to Dad. She was fifteen minutes away and her family was at his house in Cicero as much as they were home on Schlak Acres. They shared too many meals to count. She cleaned his house, landscaped, cleaned the office he managed at Edgewater Crossing, his 55-plus community. She's STILL doing that!

And Dad trusted her...so much so, that he put her on his personal bank accounts. She had power of attorney over his medical care. She was named "Personal Representative" in his will and given full control over his assets. She, like no one else, knew his wishes. She was left to carry them out, as he instructed.

Keely knew Dad's heart better than anyone besides Mom, too. She saw through all the gruffness and bluster of a grieving, aging man. She adored her Pops. They had a special relationship I could have only wished for, but I was never jealous. I loved her and Dad's relationship. I admired the way she was able to look past the surface and love unconditionally. Keely is wired that way. She's not surface. She's real, sometimes raw, but she's as faithful as they come. I've witnessed it firsthand. She's my ride-or-die. And she was that for Mom and Dad, too.

Keely and Her Precious

No one knew Mom's heart better than Keely, either. Mom was "Her Precious." They were best friends to the bitter end. That's no exaggeration, either. Mom would tell you. Keely made an investment in Mom (in both our parents) that is unmatched by anyone. She loved Mom like no other.

I wish I had a more recent photo of them together, but the ones here will have to suffice. They capture the essence of their lifetime of devotion and unconditional love.

In Mom's final 17 months on Earth, no one took care of her like Keely did. I was up here several times to see it with my own eyes--all the tender care, the blood thinning shots twice a day, the love between them. She was strong when Mom grew so weak. She was her rock...and their bond was rock solid.

They lived near each other, worshipped together, served together, laughed and loved on Keely's girls together (all the grandkids, really). I know that my girls loved their Grammy AND their Aunt KeeKee in equal parts! All of the grandkids loved the both of them.

I loved them. Mom and I always shared a special bond. I was her first. We grew up together. But we drifted apart. Keely was constant, steadfast. I admired their relationship so much!

What I will never, ever forget, is the great care that Keely, alone, gave my dying mother in her last days. I saw it firsthand. I felt it.

I also witnessed what a blessing she was to my own children, Merikathryn (MK) and Makenna. As I said, they LOVE their Aunt KeeKee, just like they loved Mom, "their special Grammy," as they called her. Every time we came to see Mom in 2015, and trips since, they WITHOUT QUESTION stay at Aunt KeeKee's. She's had favorite aunt status from early on.

But her goodness does not just extend to family. I've seen Keely's Christianity in action. She always has time for people--the frazzled waitress, the kid with special needs, the stranded motorist/stranger. She has a heart the size of Texas! Don't let her rough edges fool you--and she WILL cut a Motherf---er! don't get that twisted--but she LOVES people and treats them with dignity and respect. I've seen her go out of her way to help those in need. I've heard her kind, encouraging words to the downtrodden and marginalized. She is eager to do good, always.

Sure, she has some flaws. Who doesn't? It's part of our human existence. But Keely is a bonafide SAINT!

I only strive to be the person she is. I admire her greatly.

Among her many attributes, I respect most her ability to parent, mostly alone, not just her bio-children, but her adopted ones, too. I greatly admire her loyalty as a friend, not just to me or Mom and Dad, but also to Leah and Christine, her two besties. She's a ride-or-die kind of person. That's just her nature. I also admire her soft side that not everyone gets to see. She's full of compassion, tenderness, creativity, kindness and empathy. She's a rare breed of human being and a real Christian.

Show Keely love and respect and you'll get the same tenfold! She'll ALWAYS have your back. She's had mine.

My sister is beautiful, too. I mean we all were blessed with good genes, but she's the only redhead. She's the baby of the family and it seems like God saved the best for last. I'm lucky to call her my sister.

Let the haters--and she's got some--say what they will, but I KNOW Keely. She wears her heart on her sleeve most of the time. You'll always know where you stand with her. I'm thankful to be in good standing ;)

I couldn't ask for a better one than her.

Thanks for taking care of Mom and Dad.

Thanks for taking care of my babies.

Thanks for loving me, too.

I got you.

Being Dad

 I'm not gonna lie, I had a pretty good dad. He was hard-working, devoted, artistic, spiritual, funny, playful at times, rigid at others, but he was always my dad. I didn't have to struggle through divorce, death or any traumatic drama brought on by my parents. They were pretty solid, married for 47 years. They loved me. Dad loved me...in his own, weird way.

Was he always present? No. He was away on National Guard Duty or travelling the southern third of the state as a bank examiner in my earliest years on this planet. When we moved to Indianapolis in 1974, our family grew from four to five with the addition of my middle sister and Dad's promise to Mom was that he'd get off the road and spend more time at home with us. His desk job with the State of Indiana provided more at home time and he was able to commit to coaching my first three years in baseball at Meridian Street Methodist and later my sisters' softball teams at St. Alban's. But when he joined the executive staff at a trade union, he was forced to travel more. I began to feel his absence again from my life. Also, I was becoming a teenager know-it-all and we butted heads a lot. But even Dad's absence for periods of my life taught me.

Dad (head coach, rear) and Mom (assistant, left) are seen here with my sister's team.

I became a Dad in 2001. At that time, I had a demanding job that required travel on a moment's notice. I didn't like being beholden to a pager that would go off at all hours or having a travel kit packed in case of emergency. I was determined to be a consistent presence in my daughter's life. When her sister came in 2004, I doubled down on that commitment. So that when unemployment hit in 2009, I relished the chance to be a fully invested, stay-at-home Dad. What I saw as my Dad's "failure," I was determined not to repeat. And in my case, I understood the importance of my decision because I had little girls.

All that to say, I was determined to be a better father to my kids--more present, more aware, more empathetic, more authentic, less critical and a primary caregiver. I knew that I'd have a chance to make money again when they weren't so young and impressionable. It was a conscious choice to do with less, so that I'd have so much more.

But my Dad was the primary bread-winner my whole life. The seven of us were never in dire need of anything. We grew up in a middle-class neighborhood on the northeast side of Indy with rich neighbors to our north and poverty-stricken ones to our south. I was never in fear of doing without. In that sense, my Dad was a great provider. He worked hard, took pride in his white collar job (with no college degree) and made enough for us to live a comfortable life.

We took family trips. We ate well. We had adequate healthcare. We went to church on the regular. Our lives were what I'd call "normal."

Dad on a mission trip to Uganda

On the spiritual front, my Dad was a seeker. He grew up Catholic, but wasn't content with just being spoonfed a few Scriptures at a time from the priest. He and Mom joined a Catholic Bible Study and began exploring their faith together. Mom converted to Catholicism, so that she could fully celebrate the sacraments with Dad. We attended Mass until Dad got fed up with the Church and we left. Finding our home in Protestantism, we were baptized by the Baptists and again by the Pentacostals. I always say I grew up Catho-Bapti-costal. The point is, we were led by my parents down a spiritual path that shaped and informed us from an early age.

Aside from his work ethic and his spiritual quest, my Dad was an artist. He picked up the banjo and attempted to learn to pick, using finger picks and a copy of "Dueling Banjos" on 45. This was before the movie "Deliverance" made that song into the Hillbilly Anthem it has become. I didn't particularly care for that song or the banjo, to be honest. But Dad also loved to draw and to build stuff. He was creative.

My Dad was a consummate smartass, too. But he wasn't just sarcastic, he could laugh at himself and find humor in off-beat situations. He, my Mom and I loved SCTV when that sketch comedy show came out. His personal favorite was "Farm Film Celebrity Blow-Up" featuring the iconic John Candy and Joe Flaherty. He loved the comedy of Bill Cosby and Steve Martin. I grew up watching the Not Ready for Primetime Players on Saturday Night Live. Dad was known for his zany antics and he could surprise you at times. He had a persona his friends called "Father Jimmy Mike," for a quirky priest he liked to portray. I developed a sense of humor largely because of him. I'm a total smartass like he was. (Mom was very funny, too.)

Both of my parents inspired my love of music--one of my passions. But it was Dad's vinyl collection that got the most rotations, from "Meet the Beatles" to "Harmony" by Three Dog Night. He was a huge fan of Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys. Like Mom, he loved vocal harmonies. But unlike Mom, he loved great guitar solos, too. "Hotel California" was one of the first 45's he ever bought for me, for that reason. I grew up on a healthy dose of Beatles, Beach Boys, Mamas and Papas, The Carpenters, Eagles and an endless stream of "golden oldies" from Dad's mix tapes.

We sang as a family at church. Mom sang in the choir. We were involved in church musicals and other productions. There was always music playing in our home and in the car. I owe a great debt to my Dad for appreciating good music, especially rock-n-roll, but he also loved classical, gospel and bluegrass.

Dad taught me how to mow the yard, to throw a football (I have a pretty good spiral), to do light vehicle maintenance (I've never once changed my own oil) and to laugh at myself. He taught me there were more important, eternal things, than just work, money and possessions. He inspired me to be creative and musical. He was poetic and a romantic, so he inspired me to write, as well. He was never afraid, ashamed or embarrassed to show my Mom affection. He was very opinionated and outspoken, so modeled that for me, as well.

He was far from a perfect Dad, but I learned a lot from him--good and bad.

I was a pretty lucky kid.

I'm a great Dad because of what I learned.

Thanks, Dad.

(EDIT: I forgot to mention him as a Papaw to my girls and 12 other grands...HE WAS AN OUTSTANDING PAPAW!!! All of them will tell you the same. So there's that...)

Being Alone in this World

I am a pack animal. I need a pack.

I am a tribesman. I need a tribe.

I'm beginning to feel alone in this world.

I am losing my pack, my tribe. I'm 53 and my parents are gone. I'm a father of grown children, beginning to spread their wings and fly.

Last year, I moved to Boulder, unfamiliar territory and terrain, to be near my children. I knew that once I departed on that train out of Indianapolis station, I'd never see my father again. I just knew.

The image of him, standing there, misty eyed, maybe feeling a bit like I am right now, in the middle of the Amtrak/Greyhound lobby, is emblazoned on my mindscreen. It was a bittersweet moment to walk up those stairs while he stood still, looking up, watching me go.

The train ride, my first long distance trek, was fascinating. Arriving in Colorado at daybreak, I made my way up to the observation car and sat in a chair, my head on a swivel. To my left, I could see the rays of the sun breaking the horizon, a new dawn. To my right, I could see the purple silhouette of the Rockies. As those behemoths began reflecting the orange glow of the sun, I could see their snowy peaks reaching elevations of more than 14k feet! It was a glorious site and the beginning of a new adventure.

But despite that majestic and wonderful start, it was still, by far, the most difficult transition I've made in life, second only to the transition from full-time dad to limited time dad in 2012.

And there's the rub...again in August 2020, when I said goodbye to my daughters and drove away in a rented truck, the trauma of 2012 was relived. They moved to Boulder that month. I was already at my dad's house spending the last three months I'd ever get with him.

So I arrive in Boulder just before Thanksgiving last year and my daughters are settled into a suburban home with their mom. I didn't see them until the day after Christmas...for 3 hours. :(

Everything seemed to have changed nearly overnight.

My daughters, who had earlier that year, urged me that they still needed me as a presence in their life, really didn't need me present. That became clear over the ensuing months, in the harshest part of winter. I was hating life, hating Boulder and pining for my beach in Southwest Florida.

I didn't leave. I stuck with my commitment, but floundered a bit in my resolve. I wondered why in the hell I was out in that Rocky Mountain climate. It was a difficult transition, to put it mildly. What was my purpose?

I thought I'd found it in a female companion, but we've really not even made it out of the gate.

Then, I get the call from home that Dad is heading to the ER with pneumonia-like symptoms. COVID, they determined at the hospital that day and sent him home. His home quarantine lasted three days. His stay at the hospital five. So in the span of a week, my dad went from bad to worse. Monday he was gone.

I've been without parents for three days, beginning my fourth. I'm slowly coming to terms with it, but I hate it.

My parents were YOUNG, goddammit! We're only 19 years apart in age. I grew up with them!

I should have had them around into my 60's. My daughters deserved to have their Grammy and Papaw a little while longer...present at important events through their young adulthood--graduations, celebrations of relationship, etc.

While we are grateful for the time and events we did share with them, it still stings, though. And quite honestly, I'm pissed. I feel like I was sold short.

My tribe is disappearing. The elders are gone.

Maybe it's time to assume my role, but I wasn't ready.

I'm still struggling to find my new purpose. My pack is dwindling.

I needed to vent with this post...there is surely more to come, stuff about my dad's life and influence. If you follow me on Facebook, you'll see that he influenced me artistically and musically. I'll have more stories and music to share, for sure, but right now I guess I'll sit with this anger, my grief. Thank you for listening to my broken heart, sad song. 

Goodness & Mercy EVERYDAY!

 I had a revelation of sorts the other day. It wasn't a particularly good day. I'd just told the Universe I needed something to break. I was searching for a "goodness and mercy moment."

Well, I got to thinking about what that verse says, that Divine promise and Universal Truth--"Surely goodness and mercy will follow me ALL THE DAYS of my life," emphasis mine. So if that's true, then goodness and mercy aren't only present on the days I realize it, like the times those hounds of heaven have tackled me, taking me by surprise. No, they are always on my tail, like bloodhounds. I just don't always look for or recognize them.

I'm usually looking for the big surprises, the unexpected turn of events or a sudden human interaction that blesses me. But like this morning, it was a small, simple, seemingly mundane thing. I was waiting for a business to open and so I popped in my earbuds and played a song that inspires me. Today, that song hit me right in my soft spot and I began to tear up with happy tears. "The only thing I need I already have. The fullness of your mercy in my hands. The only one who loves me as I am..." and suddenly I recognized goodness and mercy were on me again. It was a gentle reminder that I am good enough, that I am loved, that I already have all that I need.

So don't always look for goodness and mercy to "attack you," to rattle you to your core. Sometimes they come gently and in seemingly mundane ways, through various media. Today, for me, it just happened to be music. Be present. Stay aware. Goodness and mercy just might surprise you.

Peace, love and positivity, my friends.

INTENTIONALITY

I am intentional with my words. I am trying to be more intentional with my thoughts, too, but they are sometimes harder to reign in. I am intentional with my actions.

Why do I say this? With intention, of course.

A couple of posts to social media the last couple of days have had me in tears. Sweet, intentional comments or posts that hit me right in my soft core. This morning, I took the time to comment on them. In the most recent one, I heaped praise on a married couple whose presence in my life, though brief in the span of time (I turn 53 in 3 months), has been impactful. I was intentional with my words and chose them carefully. I wanted them to feel honored, cherished, loved, appreciated and special. They are just those kind of people who give and give and probably do not hear enough what they mean to their friends, to the world.

I have the same intentionality with my daughters, my sister and those I highly cherish and admire.

Last night, I was intentional in my actions, passing up one opportunity for camaraderie, dancing and festive music to attend another musical event. I went to support a new friend, a great guy and musician, who was having his first gig in months. It was a more lowkey affair, but his obvious appreciation in his countenance and in his words meant a lot. It was an investment in our fledgling friendship and it was intentional. It was a worthwhile investment.

Say what you mean to say. Do what your heart is telling you to do. It will pay big dividends, some immediate and some down the road. But in life, and it is short, BE INTENTIONAL! Your words are so important, but even moreso are your actions! Let people know how important they are to you.

What struck me most this morning was that most of us would be more loving, more expressive with that love and more intentional if we knew we were dying. Well, guess what? None of us are guaranteed another hour, day or year. We are all headed toward the grave. Why not be intentional now?

I know things are coming clearer into focus now that I’m over half a century old. I get that my mortality is more real to me now than at any other point in my life. Still, it feels good to spread love, light and positivity. If I could only give my younger self one piece of advice...

Don’t hold back in this area. Be the reason someone smiles today.

Love Starts with You!

 So in my last blog post in March of this year, I wrote about important life decisions, like should I stay or should I go [Cue The Clash]. Well, the same special person who inspired that post, has me at it again...this time about love. Oh, and I've decided to stay.

Our very first concepts of love must be rooted in the care and nurture of our parents from birth. Once we are of age to conceptualize the idea, we've had years of physical touch, coddling and affirmation. But as we grow, we can sometimes forget that love starts with self.

I forgot this for many years. I craved attention, physical touch and all the things that spoke love to me--AFFIRMATION, that's a big one for me (and a lot of men, I've learned)--but I had a very critical nature. I was my own worst critic. After years of tearing myself down, giving no room to myself for growth and making typical mistakes, I really did not like myself very much. This came to a head in my 30's. I downright despised myself.

Thankfully, that was just a dark period...which we won't go into. As I approached my 40's, and realized I was just human, I began to cut myself a little slack. Then, after my marriage crumbled, I had all this time on my hands. I did a lot of reading and soul-searching. I was 43 about to be 44, the Summer of 2012. With my wife and kids several states away, I had time on the beach to do a lot of both. The watershed moment came when I found a book at the Fort Myers Beach Public Library titled, "The Mindful Path to Self-Compassion," by Dr. Christopher Germer.

This book was transformational.

I began to see myself again as a little child. I began to cut myself way more slack and speak to myself as if I still was that frightened little boy. I found so much grace and mercy. I learned the effects of years of negative self-speak and I determined to change my inner dialogue. The Summer of 2014, I decided to start loving myself.

It's been seven years since then.

I really do see myself in a totally different light. I give myself all the grace in the world for being human. I laugh at the silly little mistakes now instead of beating myself up internally. Life has become so much sweeter to me as a result. Problems tend to roll off my back instead of becoming insurmountable obstacles.

Now, I still get overwhelmed at times. I still don't know how I'm going to overcome everyday obstacles from time to time, especially when 3-4 "must conquers" pile up. I still obsess over shortcomings and failures. But the biggest change in this "coming of age," has been NOT FEELING LIKE A FAILURE. I don't allow any of my shortcomings, my procrastination or my mini-failures to define me. These human foibles don't make me a "failure." They make me human. And I'm okay with that.

All that to say that I now love myself. And that's huge. If you don't love yourself, you have nothing to give to others. You are deficient in the "love quotient." Many of us are. We just haven't mastered the art of positive self-speak, i.e. self-compassion. Thank God, it took me 40+ years, but I did!

Now that I love myself and know how to allow myself room for error, I am able to do the same for others. That nurture that I learned as an infant, I can now pass along to others, to see them as hurting young children. I can now give love because I know love, at a cellular level.

Thank you to the special someone who I mentioned at the outset, for speaking my love language, affirming me and reminding me that I'm worthy of love. I have a lot of love to give because of the fact that love starts with oneself. I love myself, therefore, I have (in Dr. Gary Chapman's words) a full love tank from which to share with others. That's another good self-help book, Chapman's "The Five Love Languages," so add that and Germer's "The Mindful Path..." to your reading list, please.

Love yourself first. That's the moral of this blog. Once you've filled up your own tank, you have plenty to go 'round.

Transitions, Decisions and Me

Encouraged to keep writing and posting by one of my newest friends, here I am at the keyboard again contemplating my life...

This move to Colorado from Florida via Indiana has been one of the hardest transitions of my life! 

While I made the move to remain close to my daughters, the fact that I've seen them so few times makes it that much more difficult. Those girls are my rock...have been for the better part of 20 years. I was their primary caregiver at different times of their life, but most recently in Tallahassee from February 2014 until July 2020 (about 60% of that period). To go from full-time parent to hardly seeing them has been a huge adjustment for me. It's taken a toll on my psyche to be sure.

Beyond that, I've struggled to find housing security out here, adequate employment, a community of believers for support or any open music venues. The lack of an outlet for my music looms very large. I haven't had a gig since March 15, 2020, almost one year ago, now. Since last March, I might have played once at church, but I don't recall, as my Tallahassee church went virtual around that same time. They were a huge support to me and helped me greatly in getting my things from Florida to Indiana. THANK YOU, GOOD SAM TALLAHASSEE!!

The musical community was another great support network back before COVID. Out here, venues are closed and most artists are struggling. There are no places to gather other than online. There are occasional street performers in downtown Boulder and the theaters are slowly opening at minimum capacity for shows. But until we get COVID under wraps, there won't be any gigs for us struggling musicians.

The City and County of Boulder did not exactly roll out the welcome mat to me. In fact, they've made it rather clear, I'd be better off elsewhere. They've even offered me bus fare to get there. But my heart is still here in the Gunbarrel community, where my daughters live with their mom. It's not been an easy go, but I did survive the first winter out here. Due to the issues I stated, above, I've been wrestling with the idea of heading back south, to a sunny, 7-mile strip of white sandy beach. In my mind, I see myself sunning by the tiki bar at The Outrigger or sharing beers with the locals at The Mermaid on Fort Myers Beach. I'd have opportunities to play there. I have "family" there and a place to stay. It's so tempting...

But before I left Tallahassee in early August 2020, I made a solemn vow to my daughters--that I'd make it out to Boulder and stay here until I saw my youngest, who is almost 17, graduate from high school. The girls seemed keen on that idea, even telling me how much they still needed me around. That's why this transition has been so hard. I've made this move for the right reasons, but I don't feel like my good intentions have been met with reciprocal intent. And the City of Boulder has not made it any easier.

That's where my mind and heart have been of late. I've confided in a few of my closest friends. They know how conflicted I am right now. This feels like a week of decision. I'll let you know how it goes.

Thanks for listening. :)

GOODNESS AND MERCY

 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life...
Psalm 23:6

View from Boulder's Central Park of Flatirons to the Southwest

I wanted to post an update since my last blog post was six months ago.

I made it to Boulder, Colorado (see above). I've nearly survived my first Rocky Mountain Winter and other than one record-setting day last weekend, a few days of bitter cold and some hurricane-force winds a couple of times, it hasn't been that bad. THERE IS LOTS OF SUNSHINE HERE! In fact, we get ten more days of it in Boulder than does Tallahassee, Florida! I can handle the winter when the sun is out and the average high is mid-40's. It's been MUCH colder in the Midwest this winter.

My last post focused so much on my spiritual journey, I feel compelled to update you on that. It, of course, continues, as it is a lifelong quest for truth, wisdom and understanding. I can't say that I've practiced a lot of presence since I've been here. I think I've only watched Eckhart Tolle once!

I have, however, continued my practice of gratitude. It goes into my journal and my morning meditations. Still very grateful for my life, for all the blessings and gifts--for love, joy, peace, patience, understanding, empathy...the list goes on. As I said, I'm very grateful for the amount of sunshine, positive energy and Vitamin D out here in the foothills and front range of the Rockies. It's a survivable climate. And Spring is right around the corner.

I still struggle with housing stability, but I've met some of the coolest people out here in Boulder. It is a very giving community. It is diverse with a lot of Hispanic and Native American influence, which describes about 2/3 of my new friends. I have a small community of great people, a support network, a new therapist, a great doctor, Medicaid and food security. The rest will follow.

But what continues to amaze me the most is the fact that GOODNESS AND MERCY seem to chase me down even on days when I least expect it or feel that I don't deserve it. The coolest things seem to happen, or unexpected opportunities arrive, or excellent friendships materialize and I find these blessings in the most unlikely places! I've told my closest friends that the verse in Psalms (top of post) rings true now more than ever...and I need it!

I've been paying forward the blessings as much as I can. I feel that I've put a lot of good karma out there and it is coming back to me. I believe it starts with a heart of gratitude and being humble enough to see it. That power doesn't reside in me. It is the Divine.

Well, I wish I could give the myriad of examples that come to mind, but my online time today is very limited, so I'll leave it at that. Just know that my needs are continually met. I'm so grateful for my support network and especially for people like Steven, Angela, Gregory, Jen, "Boots" and Helen, to name a few. It's been a tough transition, for sure. A scary one, even. I did NOT look forward to moving to this hostile climate. But as it turns out, it's really very hospitable. Most of January was spent above normal temps! It's the people who I associate with, though, who make the difference. That's where I see the Divine almost daily.

Peace, positivity and love, my friends!