Today is Patriot day or more ominously, 9/11. Many of you have your own stories to tell about that day and the days surrounding those horrific events. Just as when our parents remember Pearl Harbor or the day JFK was shot, we will remember what we were doing, thinking and feeling that Tuesday morning 8 years ago.
On Tuesday September 11, 2001 I was employed by a major airline. My normal role was as the manager of a small team dedicated to employee recognition, meeting and event planning and the assurance that all corporate initiatives were completed by the 32000 worldwide employees in my division. Basically we spent money on fun. It was by far one of the coolest jobs I have ever had. I was also trained for the airlines SAP... special assistance program. The SAP was the go team in the unlikely event of an airline “incident”. I had dual responsibilities including data reconciliation, procurement and as a survivor assistant on the incident site team.
That morning I was working from home, prepping for my proposal presentation for an upcoming division meeting. My husband was living 600 miles away, my daughter was in AZ at college and my son was in his senior year of high school was still asleep. My son was being incredibly difficult that morning, basically refusing to get out of bed and get to school. I, at one point went to get something out of the car he had been driving the night before when I found 2 unopened bottles of beer under the driver’s seat. I was incensed. As I ran back in to the house, I head Peter Jennings say a small plane had hit the twin towers. I had an amazingly strange feeling come over me and I knew, life was about to change. I succeeded in getting my son out of bed by telling him about the crash. As we watched the beginnings of what would ultimately be non-stop coverage, I called our control center. No sooner had I been connected than the 2nd plane hit. I could tell by the colors, it was our plane. There is a sick sense of relief in the airline industry when there is an “incident” and you realize that it’s not your aircraft… As I waited on hold for confirmation that the team was being activated, I began to plan. If I had to leave to work the crash, what would I do with my son? Could my husband get back in town? At that point, the scope of what was happening seemed to only affect my world. I was not yet entrenched along with millions of people around the world, in the gravity of what was happening.
As a SAP team member we were required to keep a suitcase packed with enough clothing to last a week, stored in your car. Ideally the team should be ready to travel within an hour of an incident. I had used my suitcase the prior week to attend a hockey tournament in Boston. As I waited on the phone for confirmation that I had been activated, I asked my son to help me. I sent this poor 17 year old down to the laundry room to grab 5 pairs of panties, 2 bras and so on… when would that ever be appropriate?
I received the confirmation I needed and contacted my husband. My husband had been in a meeting and no idea what was happening. I told him I had been activated and needed to leave. He told me he loved me and to be safe and that he would figure out the next steps in terms of our son. We didn’t know at that time there would be no air travel for days, we didn’t know there were other aircraft under attach. There was just so much we didn’t know. I was packed and ready to go. I looked at my son, so young. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I knew I had to leave. I grabbed my son and held him tighter than I had ever held on to anything or anyone. He was shaking. I looked him in the eye and said, “If you are ever going to be a man, I need it to start right now”. He nodded and kissed me.
I don’t remember much about the drive from my home to the command center. I only remember being hysterical for what I knew would be my only opportunity to lose control that day… As I arrived I was briefed along with those on the team. At that time we were told our plane was the second in to the Twin Towers. We were also told there were a number of planes” out of contact”. At that moment, we were told a plane had smashed in to the Pentagon. As terrible as it sounds, the question of “whose plane is it” went through the room. No one knew the answer to that question. Air travel had been stopped in to and out of US airspace. Planes were grounded immediately. I was asked to help begin the process of designing teams for where we may end up sending manpower. Ironically the company was holding a number of large scale leadership meeting in Chicago that day. We had an abundance of skilled employees should we need them. We were very well prepared for one aircraft incidents. This situation had the potential to involve many planes and many, many lives. We began to prepare for 5 teams. One to be deployed to Boston the origin of the aircraft that crashed in to the towers, one to New York, one to D.C. anticipating the Pentagon crash was ours and 2 teams marked only with question marks. These represented plane we could not make contact with. I walked around the huge room we were in introducing myself and asking if anyone had bio-medical experience. We were given information regarding one of the question mark planes. The pilot made contact and it had landed safely. We were then alerted to Flt #93. Our flight, flying too low over Ohio. The NTSB locals arrived along with the state police and FBI. We were beginning to get a clear picture that this was not just a fluke or major malfunction of the nation’s air traffic system. Flt 175, the Boston flight was reconciled and the passenger and crew list certified. The phone teams arrived and took over as emergency family contact numbers were activated. We concentrated on completing our teams. In between briefings and teaming, we secured blocks of hotel rooms in New York and Boston. These would serve as work locations as well as lodging for passenger families. The response boxes, large metal cabinets with the ability to turn a plain meeting room in to a communication center were readied for air travel. Pallets of cell phones, fax machines, printer and computers were stacked at the dock waiting to be assigned to a site. The Towers came down and word spread that Flt 93 crashed in to a remote section in Somerset County PA. The aircraft in to the Pentagon, not ours. All planes accounted for. We decided we needed 3 team readied for immediate travel. One to NYC, one to BOS and one to Shanksville, PA. The president stops all air travel until further notice. Both air carriers were give special permission by mid afternoon to have one plane go to one location. We decided to send a team to PA based on the premise that we could actually gain access and begin the next steps.
I stood on the tarmac, taken aback by the silence. We all had automatically put ear plugs in… but there was no need. While there were aircraft in every possible section of the tarmac, they were silent. I stood in between an FBI agent and 2 huge National Guardsmen. I had the list and information of those who were flying in the only aircraft in US skies. They were headed to Johnstown, PA and then by bus to Shanksville. None of us knew if the skies were safe or if the aircraft was ok. These dedicated team members, one by one boarded the back stairs of the plane to do what they could for those passenger’s families and loved ones. I read the information on my list to the FBI guy and he verified the team member’s credentials. Many of these people were my friends. Many of them were visibly scared and shaken. Most of them hugged me tight and whispered in my ear. Many asked that if something happened would I please tell their husband, wife and/or children that they loved them. I made promises that day that I prayed I would never ever have to keep. As the plane took off I cried. I cried because I was scared, because I was confused and because I knew what lay ahead.
We returned to the command center only to be told that we could send out another aircraft. The plane to Johnstown had landed safely. Boston was the next team to roll. As we prepared to board the buses to the airport, we were called back. Something had changed and we were now on a 3 hour delay. It was now roughly 6pm. I called home and got updates from my son. I called my husband. We discussed ways for him to back to our son. I called my daughter. She always wants to be in control and she so wanted to come home and watch over her brother. But I explained that I needed to know she was safe at school while I did what I was going to have to do over the next few days. At 8:00 they sent those that lived within an hour, home and the rest went to a hotel. We were now delayed until sometime in the early morning. I went home to find my neighbors in my front yard. They knew where I was and were working out who would feed my son. I came in to the house and made some calls. I was glued to the TV. We had such limited information all day that I only knew what was happening with our planes… nothing else. I had not heard about the people jumping from the towers, the evacuations from New York and all that the outside world had been watching all day. At midnight the call came to be back at the command center at 3:00.
We departed at 5:00 am. The plane was packed with SAP members, FBI, NTSB and a few AFT hitched a ride as well. The plan was to take our plane first to Newark, drop off a team and equipment and then on to Boston. I was to prep the crew, oversee the removal of equipment in Newark, re-board the aircraft and go on to Boston, set up Boston and drive back to New York to lead the team there. As we got settled on the plane, the pilot came on the PA and said that while we were welcome to listen to air traffic, it may be boring as we were the only aircraft in US airspace. They also referred to the hospitality crew, commonly known as F16 Fighter Jets that escorted us on our trip. Everyone put on their headset and listened to a succession of welcomes and sighs of relief from air traffic controllers across the country. “Glad to hear you in the sky”, “Godspeed and God bless” from those unseen but heartfelt comrades. As we began our descent in to Newark, the pilot gave the information, if we wanted to see it, we were about to fly past what had once been the glorious World Trade Center. It was devastating. Smoke still rose from the wreckage and the past 22 hours came hauntingly in to perspective.
Remembrance part 2
We had to do a short landing. The pilot told us to brace as his instructions were to land and stop. He was told that any deviation could cause problems. I had already been instructed to have the flight attendants change in to street clothes prior to landing. This directive was designed to keep them safe in the event there were media in the airport or other undesirables. The pilots had already changed out of uniform shirts in to polo shirts. We landed and immediately stopped. It was rough. As we taxied to our gate there were planes everywhere. I’d never seen more aircraft in one place before. The F16s were next to us the entire time. As we pulled to the gate we asked that those continuing on to Boston stay seated. I went with a number of others in to the terminal to meet with the team from Newark for a briefing. Some of the FBI, NTSB and ATF left our group. One AFT officer who I had sat with on the plane came and hugged me. He wished me good luck and I to him. As we were flying past the World Trade Center, a few moments before, I was in the window seat, he in the middle. He leaned over to see the wreckage with me… in that very short time as we passed by what were the towers, many of us became, emotional. He took my hand and held it very sweetly. I will forever be connected to this man I only know as Kurt. As Kurt hugged me, he whispered his well wishes in my ear, I could feel this huge, well muscled man, trained to deal with incredibly difficult people and situations, tremble. I was introduced to my escorts. 2 National Guardsmen with large guns on not only their hips, but in their hands. We made our way to the tarmac and began off loading the equipment earmarked for the local team. I was given instruction as to where I was allowed, where my parameters were. With every step I took, Guardsmen took an equal step. If I turned to the right, he turned to the right; the soldier on the left would stand guard. I was running, in heels mind you, between 2 belt loaders, one in the front of the plane, and one in the back. I think I crashed into my Guard about 20 times. He always apologized even though it was my fault. At one point I asked if we could compromise on the step to step issue. Right guard said no, left guard said yes. I told them that this process would be a lot faster in they got out of my way. I think I said something stupid like, shoot me if you have too, but get out of my way. They eased up a bit and the transfer of equipment was complete. Those of us who had left the aircraft boarded and we took off for Boston. I was exhausted. I had been operating on pure adrenalin and lots of caffeine. I tried to close my eyes for the short trip to Logan International. I remember my mind racing through what had to be done as soon as we landed. I kept thinking about my husband, kids and family. What would happen if something happened? Did they know what day the trash was supposed to be picked up? Did they know how much I loved them?
We arrived in Boston with little fanfare. The tech team unloaded equipment and headed for the hotel to set up. The site team met with the local team to be briefed and accept the official paperwork for the flight. I had been given information that 2 Logan airline employees had been passengers on 175. The employees were gate agents on their way to Las Vegas via Los Angeles. Because the local team was mostly agents, they were understandably devastated. Not only had they lost 2 beloved colleagues, but they had checked in, boarded and dispatched flight 175. They were shaken and relieved that we had come in to help take some of the pressure off their shoulders. As the team began to hear the details of the passengers and what families were already seeking assistance, the enormity began to sink in.
We were transported to the hotel where we immediately began to set up our work room. Because this was not a normal crash, there was an extra layer of security and many legalities to contend with. The tech team had us up and running within hours, we had everyone in rooms, had met with the catering teams and received our official documents regarding passengers. The normal scenario for a crash has the airline at one hotel along with the official governing body, normally the NTSB. At a nearby hotel, the American Red Cross and the passenger families as well as media and other interested parties. The reason for the separation is the need to have space and time between entities. In the case of 9/11 there were so many planes, so many people and so much detail and data that we were forced to all be in one hotel. FBI, ATF, Mass-port police, passenger families, site teams, Red Cross, the other airline and so on took over the Logan Hilton in what is normally the slowest time of year. The Hilton had actually let their seasonal staff go the Friday before. With the full to capacity hotel and not enough manpower to manage meal times for the various groups, it was decided that all “working staff” would be served 3 meals a day buffet style on what was now being called the “staff floor”. The 3rd floor had numerous meeting and banquet rooms. All entities were assigned rooms and staff liaisons. We were also given our own Mass-port security detail. A large banquet room would serve as our cafeteria. Teams were given credentials allowing them access to the 3rd floor. The elevators and escalators were guarded at all times.
The work of creating passenger files fell to me and a kindly gentleman I did not know. We worked long in to the night prepping for the intense work the next day would bring. At around 2:00am we had finished creating the files and reconciled data based on family phone calls and contacts. We had designed data bases of local businesses for the family reps to access as well as assigned cell phones and rental cars. As we prepared to close up the work room there was a knock on the door. 2 FBI agents and 2 AFT agents came in asking for, me. Ok, I thought …what now… they asked that I contact my airlines legal team back in to Chicago. I did. I was told that I would be used to read some of the data regarding the tickets that were used by what we now knew were the highjackers. I was told I would work with this team providing any information they needed. I know I was shaking. They began by asking me to dissect the ticketing data... where was the ticket sold, who sold it, how did they pay for it. Then I verified the transaction logs. This is the log that is updated every time something having to do with a ticket is touched. When did the passenger check in? Did they change their seat assignment? When did they board the plane? The gate agents were interviewed shortly after the crash as is standard practice. They would have been asked to document their activities and I was simply confirming or not, what they had stated. We worked on this until about 4:30am. As we all exchanged business cards and contact information, we started to leave the work room. One of the FBI agents asked who was responsible for the passenger files. I thought he was asking because they were so neat and organized. Nope, he was asking because they were considered legal evidence and needed to be in a sort of protective custody at all times. It ended up that I was the holder of the files. This meant that with the exception of our working hours in the work room, the files had to remain with me at all times. No problem during the day, but at night, when we closed and locked the work room, the files had to go up to my room with me. I also had to be escorted when bringing the files to and from my room. So each night I called and an FBI or ATF agent took me and my file to my room, at exactly 5:50am every day for the next 3 weeks there was a knock on my door for my morning escort. That first day, my files and I arrived safely in our room at 4:45 am… The first full on passenger family interaction day began for me just 1 hour and 15 minutes later. My escorts learned very, very quickly how wonderful I can be when someone brings me coffee.
At home things were a bit calmer. My husband couldn’t get a flight back to our son and was planning to make the drive on Friday by himself. As luck and the powers that be would have it, some sales reps from his company had rented a van and were driving on Wednesday evening. They happened to have room for one more. He arrived home on Thursday and thankfully his employer understood and allowed him to work from home for the next week or so.
Remembrance part 3
My work days began with a briefing conference call. We learned how much operating cash the airlines had on hand. This was critical because no airline was allowed to fly and no fly means no cash. It was unbelievable how little operating cash was available. While the no fly was hurting all carriers, United and American also had mounting costs dealing with the families, employees and staffing needs for those directly involved. We exchanged data on family contacts, site progress, investigational needs and next steps.
We handed out assignments to the family reps and took stock of who from each family would be our contact. We worked hard with the telephone team as they had been the link to the passenger’s families prior to the team’s arrival. At this point, it was decided that I would stay in Boston. There was little to do for the airline teams in New York. Most of the passengers on flight 175 were from the greater Massachusetts area or from the intended destination of LA. Our main focus was to do whatever we could for the families. Some required counseling and we looked to the Red Cross for almost all of those needs. I worked on the administrative and legal issues. I worked closely with the company when it came time to meeting with the families of the 2 Logan employees. The pilots and flight attendants families were not part of the group we worked with. We only worked with the passengers. I remember when I met with the FBI and AFT that first night in Boston. One of the ATF handed me a manifest. He also handed me the updated contact list. The contact list is the master document that shows who from what passenger’s family has called and made contact with the airline. At that point there were numerous contacts next to each passenger, except for 5. The space next to those names was blank. I felt as though I had been slapped in the face. I stupidly said something like… “Wow, look no one has called about these guys”. The AFT agent just stared at me. SLAP. Ok, I got it. No one would ever be calling about those passengers. In meeting with the employee’s families, I had to discuss the insurance payout and forms, payable vacation and all the details of the benefits the family was entitled to. If I can say one personal piece of advice; get your house in order. None of us know what tomorrow or even today brings. Be sure your family knows everything they may need to know about you, your past and what maybe uncovered in the event of your death.
I didn’t get off the Hilton property at all during that first week. The extent of my fresh air was on the first Friday. The nation held a candle light vigil and we observed it at the Hilton. I used one of my sisters as a lifeline, calling her when I needed a calming female voice. She “went” with me to various activities while I was in Boston, via cell phone. My sister “attended” the vigil with me from her front porch in the Midwest. While my husband and children offered me more love and support than can ever be repaid or properly acknowledged, my sister was as I stated earlier, my lifeline to the outside world. I never have been able to thank her and to this day I cannot put my gratitude in to words. The image of all the staff from airlines, security, Red Cross and victim’s families standing together holding candles was overwhelming. People pulled in off the highway and joined us. I remember seeing a group of motorcycle guys standing off to the side, holding up a huge American flag. The outside of the main entrance of the Hilton had a glass overhang. In the middle of the service I looked up…. All the candles were reflected back down on us… it looked magical and took my breath away. Slowly, everyone noticed the beautiful illumination and we were all so moved. The Logan airport Chaplin presided over our vigil. This dynamic man met with us daily as not only a spiritual guide, but as a trusted member of the community and for me, a newly acquired friend.We continued to plan and execute memorials and prayer services for the victims. We built a Viking boat, set up a service at a football stadium and ran the concession stand, planned a service for a Jewish man at a Christian church, and facilitated a service at a hall at Harvard, work with city officials to assist with parking for events and security against the media for families. At one point we began to work with the coroners to gather DNA for possible victim identification. I worked with the Connecticut State Police when a family member left her dress at home and decided she needed it to attend her daughter’s service. A trooper gained entry into the house, got the dress, and drove it to Boston. We cleaned houses and painted rooms. We took kids for haircuts and shopping for clothes for services. We cooked and served meals. We did anything and everything families needed us to do. I got little sleep but was invigorated by the challenges. I compiled a daily briefing newsletter chronicling the events for the day and updating what families were considered, completed. Once a family’s immediate needs had been met, the family rep took a step back. There is the chance of a growing dependency on both sides so we monitored our team very closely. Each evening we held a team de-brief. We all gathered in a suite and shared our stories of our day and an adult beverage. Much care was taken to ensure a minimum amount of alcohol was available. We had a fabulous team of counselors with us, for us. These de-briefing sessions were mandatory and they were a great way to gauge each other’s emotional state. It was a huge group therapy session every night. We would also announce who would be leaving the next day. Given the situation we were in, there were some relationships formed, quickly and deeply. Some were very healthy and have continued to last to this day. Some were neither healthy nor lasted. As we moved in to the second week, we began to send reps home to their own families. Our little leadership team wanted to do something special for each person as they left. The impact of this time was something that few would ever be able to express to those not involved. The evening before a team member or members were to leave, they were honored at the de-brief. Each was presented with a guardian angel pin, blessed by our new found friend, the airport Chaplin. Each was also given a book I created with photos taken from the airplane as we passed over the World Trade center. The book also included other photos, team pictures and a poem that was our team mantra. Contact information became the first page everyone looked to. When the team member boarded their flight home, they were seated in First Class and presented with a bottle of champagne by the Captain. The Captain also paid tribute to the special assistance member over the PA. I understand that on each flight, the passengers erupted in a tremendous applause of gratitude. When the flight landed at the team member’s home airport, we made sure to have their family as well as many colleagues and co-workers there to meet and greet our returning heroes.When I returned after almost 3 weeks, I asked that there be no fanfare. I was tired, sad and a bit disoriented. I was also worried about my colleague and now lifelong friend who was staying behind to close out the project. The captain did tell the other passengers and they did applaud. I did receive my champagne, still have it. On my final night, there was just me and my colleague. We had received our pins and booklets a few nights before. The team presented me with a gift, a large brass lantern. Odd I thought until I read the inscription on the front. It simply said, “You were the light that guided this team to greatness”. As I came off the airplane I saw my husband, I knew I truly have never been happier to see anyone in my life. Every fear I had suppressed for the past 3 weeks came rushing forward as he held me in his arms. I remember sobbing. Sobbing for all that had been lost, all that still was to be discovered, all I had gained and all that lay ahead.There are a million more stories I could tell you about those three weeks as well as the weeks, months and years since. I have continued relationships with members of the team, families of the victims and those I worked so diligently with. Those are for another time.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
What I wanted to say...
The strawberry blond hair was what I noticed first. Noticed because of its beauty as the afternoon sun shined on it. Also noticed because it was closer to the ground than it should have been.
We had been out attempting to become geocachers. Following a set of direction to find a treasure, our clues had led us to a cemetery. As we drove in I saw a cluster of 3 new grave sites. The fresh mounds of dirt, the flower arrangements piled on top. I was more than a little surprised that the sight didn’t bother me more or stir emotions that seem to always hide just beneath the surface.
The young woman with the beautiful hair was stretched out on a blanket alongside one of the fresh sites. My mom instincts were directing me to rush over, scoop this poor baby up into my arms and make it all better. My widow instincts, dear God I hate that I have widow instincts, told me to stay right where I was and leave her alone. I didn’t know if her loss was a husband, father, friend, mother, sibling or child. But loss is loss. I’ll admit there are some fine tuned details that alter the loss depending on the relationship but as I assumed this woman lost her husband, I thought of all the things I wanted to say to her and those around her. I don’t claim to be an expert but after almost 18 months, I believe I’ve done enough work on the subject to earn some type of degree or certification. Anyone who goes through the process more than likely has as well.
As I watched her for a moment I wondered if her family knew she was lying on a blanket next to this grave. What would or did they think about it? Did they understand that she was just filling the need to have the closeness that is so distinctly and immediately missing from your life when your husband dies? When my husband died, the first day was filled with preparations, phone calls, and people coming in and out of my home. By that first evening I missed his physical presence. I missed the space he took up in our house. I missed just standing next to him and telling him about my day. Funny how the brain works, I wanted to tell him and review with him as I had every day for the previous 29 years, the events of the past 24 hours… the 24 hours that included his death. A cousin drove feverishly from Wisconsin to see him before he died but was sadly too late. She couldn’t stay for the services and asked if there was any way she could go to the funeral home and see him, just one more time. The funeral home was more than accommodating and I accompanied her to see him. As we approached the room where he was, I found myself becoming giddy with excitement. I was elated that I would be able to see him, touch him, talk to him and be close to him. Years ago, I started doing this silly little thing… if my husband was watching TV sitting in his favorite chair, legs stretched out on the ottoman; I had zero chance of getting his attention. Once I grabbed his feet to get his attention. It became a regular habit. I would hold his toes as I stood there between him and the football or hockey game and he would know I needed undivided attention. As I stood in the prep room at the funeral home, I found myself standing at the end of the table, holding his toes as I talked to him. It was comforting in a way that I can’t really explain. It was an intimate moment that I will treasure forever. We were close again, for the last time. So the sight of this woman on the blanket didn’t seem odd or strange. She was close again, for the last time.
I want her to know that the hurt will never go away. But it will become manageable. She’ll discover ways to set the pain aside for the moments when she has to. She’ll find herself breathing through the pain as women do in child birth. She’ll find there are songs she can’t listen to. There will be songs she’ll listen to for the millionth time and actually hear and understand for the first time. There will be days when she feels joyful and renewed, ready to face a new world. Then days when she will struggle to face anything. She may go through physical changes. She may feel older than her parents. She’ll deal with friends who can’t be with her, couples who don’t know how to deal with an un-coupled friend. She may have to fend off unwanted compassion from a male friend. People will talk about her, often. Family will worry and care and not know what to do or say.
As humans we love. Generally that is a welcomed emotion and we all want it in our lives. Love makes us sore to the highest heights and fall to the deepest depths. Love can hurt us and save us. To this young woman I would say, love yourself. It will be hard, but do it. Think of the moment you felt most loved by the one you lost… keep recreating that over and over in your head. The person you lost, loved you. He had to be a great person in your heart and mind or you most likely wouldn’t have cared so much for him. He valued you and now, although it seems impossible, value yourself. Don’t share your trip to the cemetery with anyone. Some who have never been in the situation will think it’s odd. Keep doing what makes you feel comfort. You owe no one but yourself an explanation. Understand your life will now be very different. Different is not always easy but not always or forever bad.
To the family of this woman, give her space but be right by her side when she needs you. Cover her with a blanket of love and acceptance; just be sure not to pull the blanket over her head.
To all of us, love deeply, passionately and openly. Tell those you love, how much value they have and do add to every moment of your life. Accept that we are all different and process the pieces of our lives in different ways and time frames. Embrace the differences those you love bring to your life. Different isn’t always bad. I’m beginning to look towards a different chapter in my life. The woman on the blanket with the beautiful hair will also look, when the time is right…
We had been out attempting to become geocachers. Following a set of direction to find a treasure, our clues had led us to a cemetery. As we drove in I saw a cluster of 3 new grave sites. The fresh mounds of dirt, the flower arrangements piled on top. I was more than a little surprised that the sight didn’t bother me more or stir emotions that seem to always hide just beneath the surface.
The young woman with the beautiful hair was stretched out on a blanket alongside one of the fresh sites. My mom instincts were directing me to rush over, scoop this poor baby up into my arms and make it all better. My widow instincts, dear God I hate that I have widow instincts, told me to stay right where I was and leave her alone. I didn’t know if her loss was a husband, father, friend, mother, sibling or child. But loss is loss. I’ll admit there are some fine tuned details that alter the loss depending on the relationship but as I assumed this woman lost her husband, I thought of all the things I wanted to say to her and those around her. I don’t claim to be an expert but after almost 18 months, I believe I’ve done enough work on the subject to earn some type of degree or certification. Anyone who goes through the process more than likely has as well.
As I watched her for a moment I wondered if her family knew she was lying on a blanket next to this grave. What would or did they think about it? Did they understand that she was just filling the need to have the closeness that is so distinctly and immediately missing from your life when your husband dies? When my husband died, the first day was filled with preparations, phone calls, and people coming in and out of my home. By that first evening I missed his physical presence. I missed the space he took up in our house. I missed just standing next to him and telling him about my day. Funny how the brain works, I wanted to tell him and review with him as I had every day for the previous 29 years, the events of the past 24 hours… the 24 hours that included his death. A cousin drove feverishly from Wisconsin to see him before he died but was sadly too late. She couldn’t stay for the services and asked if there was any way she could go to the funeral home and see him, just one more time. The funeral home was more than accommodating and I accompanied her to see him. As we approached the room where he was, I found myself becoming giddy with excitement. I was elated that I would be able to see him, touch him, talk to him and be close to him. Years ago, I started doing this silly little thing… if my husband was watching TV sitting in his favorite chair, legs stretched out on the ottoman; I had zero chance of getting his attention. Once I grabbed his feet to get his attention. It became a regular habit. I would hold his toes as I stood there between him and the football or hockey game and he would know I needed undivided attention. As I stood in the prep room at the funeral home, I found myself standing at the end of the table, holding his toes as I talked to him. It was comforting in a way that I can’t really explain. It was an intimate moment that I will treasure forever. We were close again, for the last time. So the sight of this woman on the blanket didn’t seem odd or strange. She was close again, for the last time.
I want her to know that the hurt will never go away. But it will become manageable. She’ll discover ways to set the pain aside for the moments when she has to. She’ll find herself breathing through the pain as women do in child birth. She’ll find there are songs she can’t listen to. There will be songs she’ll listen to for the millionth time and actually hear and understand for the first time. There will be days when she feels joyful and renewed, ready to face a new world. Then days when she will struggle to face anything. She may go through physical changes. She may feel older than her parents. She’ll deal with friends who can’t be with her, couples who don’t know how to deal with an un-coupled friend. She may have to fend off unwanted compassion from a male friend. People will talk about her, often. Family will worry and care and not know what to do or say.
As humans we love. Generally that is a welcomed emotion and we all want it in our lives. Love makes us sore to the highest heights and fall to the deepest depths. Love can hurt us and save us. To this young woman I would say, love yourself. It will be hard, but do it. Think of the moment you felt most loved by the one you lost… keep recreating that over and over in your head. The person you lost, loved you. He had to be a great person in your heart and mind or you most likely wouldn’t have cared so much for him. He valued you and now, although it seems impossible, value yourself. Don’t share your trip to the cemetery with anyone. Some who have never been in the situation will think it’s odd. Keep doing what makes you feel comfort. You owe no one but yourself an explanation. Understand your life will now be very different. Different is not always easy but not always or forever bad.
To the family of this woman, give her space but be right by her side when she needs you. Cover her with a blanket of love and acceptance; just be sure not to pull the blanket over her head.
To all of us, love deeply, passionately and openly. Tell those you love, how much value they have and do add to every moment of your life. Accept that we are all different and process the pieces of our lives in different ways and time frames. Embrace the differences those you love bring to your life. Different isn’t always bad. I’m beginning to look towards a different chapter in my life. The woman on the blanket with the beautiful hair will also look, when the time is right…
Friday, August 20, 2010
Honey Do...
Fix the window, caulk the tub, and clean the gutters… Common items on a “Honey Do” list. My late husband fashioned himself quite the Mr. Fix it. He was an engineer so it was assumed he could fix or repair most things. In most cases that was the correct assumption. While it sometimes took longer than expected, things were generally taken care of and his list remained properly attended to. Generally is the key word.
My kids could tell you stories of our Mr. Fix it until you laughed so hard your sides ached and you begged them to stop. They could tell you of the time the brake lights on our old beat up car malfunctioned. The car was so old that we couldn’t get the part at a price we could afford. So he fashioned a hand held press switch to be pressed whenever the brakes were applied. A cord ran from a hole in the trunk, across the back seat and up to the front passenger seat. This became a task for the kids to manage and master. Just as you might call “shot gun”, the kids would call “lights”. The idea was to have a kid hold the switch, each time the break was applied my husband would yell, “Brake” in his big booming voice. The switch would be pressed and the brake lights illuminated. The switch had to be held until the signal to release was given. Now this is unique but also a bit endearing. Imagine the bonding of father/daughter or father/son as they worked side by side to arrive safely at their destination. Seriously? Just don’t mention the times the kids were tired from swim or hockey practice or the driver, lost in his thoughts forgot to give the signal. I believe my kids received more than their fair share of exposure to hand gestures from upset motorists.
The very first house we ever owned was a small 3 bedroom one bathroom bungalow. The house had been in my husband’s family for years and had seen kids, grandkids, and pets. For all that house had been through, it was in better shape than you would imagine. We were able to get a few years under our belts before really having to make repairs. One area needing a great deal of care was the kitchen. We had such plans for that space. We would talk about it when we had down time and needed to dream. We always dreamed bigger than our bank accounts would have allowed. We were talking granite before it was cool. The kitchen we designed during our conversation was roughly 3 times the square footage of our whole house. But really, did it do any harm to dream? Well maybe… One Sunday morning after a wonderful night of adult conversation, I walked into the kitchen to see him standing there staring at the walls. “We can do this” he said very calmly. “Do what?” I responded, trying not to let fear creep into my voice. “We can remodel this kitchen”. “It will be so easy” he said with the giggle of a mad scientist. Now I was scared. He was serious. We couldn’t do this… we have 2 kids, 2 jobs and a dog. When the heck did he think we were going to do this? Maybe I should have actually said that to him, but I tipped toed past him to make coffee. I didn’t see it coming. It really wasn’t my fault. But within moments… Crash! Walls began to come down, the pantry was obliterated. The cabinets ripped from the walls. It all took such a short amount of time. But like a car wreck it seemed in slow motion. Once the dust was cleared and the last of the debris was hauled outside, what was left was a shell. The walls had been ripped down to the studs. You could see the backside of the bathroom medicine cabinet. I always wondered where the little slit inside older medicine cabinets marked used razors lead to. Now I knew… nowhere, just in to the space between your walls. My husband assured me new the drywall would be up in a few days, the new cabinets hung within the week. 3 years later we sold that house... no walls, cabinets or counter tops had been added. No granite…even before it was cool.
So now that I’m living my life without my own Mr. Fix it, I’ve been struggling to get things done around what we called, our dream house. We bought this new construction 4 bedroom 2.5 bath house about 5 years ago. At closing, before I would sign any papers, I declared a moratorium on any do it yourself projects. No repairs could be performed more significant than the changing of a light bulb without professional assistance. My husband reluctantly agreed and I signed the mortgage papers. I did relent on a few things over the next few years. Neighbors, friends and relatives have all very generously offered to fix this and that or take on the odd job around my house. I love them all for their care and genuine offers but I have concerns. What if they fall, or break something? What if they really mess up on whatever they are helping with? I would be crushed and given my way of not rocking the boat, I’d probably never say anything to them about their mistake. Not the best situation. So I’ve thanked them all but respectfully declined. What I needed was a good old fashioned handy man. But who or how? Is there a requirement for the handy man to be an old guy? How do you find one? Is there really a guy who would come to your house and do all your odd jobs? The only handy man I ever really heard of travelled through Mayberry on his way to Mount Pilot and Aunt Bee hired him to fix the shutters or paint the fence. Sarah’s “Honey Do” list: #1 Find a Handy man.
I overheard a conversation 2 guys were having at the Farmer’s Market a few weeks back. They were talking about a service that came and did work at the one guy’s home. I shamelessly jumped in. I wanted information and I wanted it now! I went home and googled the name the old guy had given me. Now I know I’m not supposed to plug a product or service, but really… I have so little power and usually play by the rules so here goes… Mr. Handyman is an actual company in Trenton, MI. In fact they are the Business of the Year for 2010 in Trenton and rightly so. My initial contact was more than pleasant and the young woman was knowledgeable and very sweet. I loved the appointment confirmation the day before too. Promptly at 9:00 am, James rang my door bell. James knew what my needs were and gave me a very fair quote that I readily accepted. Within a matter of 3 hours all the jobs and projects that had been left undone for the past 17 months were completed. The quality of the work was outstanding. I have to say that I am not a big fan of strangers in my home. But I felt completely comfortable with James. I got the distinct impression that James was playing a mental game with all of my projects. He seemed to be setting goals for himself and as he checked each item off the list he was that closer to the finish line. James is an excellent representative for Mr. Handyman in Trenton. At one point James had to run to the store for a part. This was usually the point that all motivation broke down when my husband was my Mr. Fix it. But James returned with no less motivation than he had when he arrived earlier. I began to wonder if James had a Dad that fixed things. I’ll bet he never got to activate the brake lights by pressing a button! I also began to miss the fun we had doing house projects, my husband and me. You see his name was James, Jim as well. But the James in my house fixing things today didn’t ask me for a drink or expect that I’d make lunch or need me to praise his efforts. I miss that.
So now I know if I ever need to remodel the kitchen, I have someone who will complete it in far less than 3 years. And just think... granite counters are still cool!
My kids could tell you stories of our Mr. Fix it until you laughed so hard your sides ached and you begged them to stop. They could tell you of the time the brake lights on our old beat up car malfunctioned. The car was so old that we couldn’t get the part at a price we could afford. So he fashioned a hand held press switch to be pressed whenever the brakes were applied. A cord ran from a hole in the trunk, across the back seat and up to the front passenger seat. This became a task for the kids to manage and master. Just as you might call “shot gun”, the kids would call “lights”. The idea was to have a kid hold the switch, each time the break was applied my husband would yell, “Brake” in his big booming voice. The switch would be pressed and the brake lights illuminated. The switch had to be held until the signal to release was given. Now this is unique but also a bit endearing. Imagine the bonding of father/daughter or father/son as they worked side by side to arrive safely at their destination. Seriously? Just don’t mention the times the kids were tired from swim or hockey practice or the driver, lost in his thoughts forgot to give the signal. I believe my kids received more than their fair share of exposure to hand gestures from upset motorists.
The very first house we ever owned was a small 3 bedroom one bathroom bungalow. The house had been in my husband’s family for years and had seen kids, grandkids, and pets. For all that house had been through, it was in better shape than you would imagine. We were able to get a few years under our belts before really having to make repairs. One area needing a great deal of care was the kitchen. We had such plans for that space. We would talk about it when we had down time and needed to dream. We always dreamed bigger than our bank accounts would have allowed. We were talking granite before it was cool. The kitchen we designed during our conversation was roughly 3 times the square footage of our whole house. But really, did it do any harm to dream? Well maybe… One Sunday morning after a wonderful night of adult conversation, I walked into the kitchen to see him standing there staring at the walls. “We can do this” he said very calmly. “Do what?” I responded, trying not to let fear creep into my voice. “We can remodel this kitchen”. “It will be so easy” he said with the giggle of a mad scientist. Now I was scared. He was serious. We couldn’t do this… we have 2 kids, 2 jobs and a dog. When the heck did he think we were going to do this? Maybe I should have actually said that to him, but I tipped toed past him to make coffee. I didn’t see it coming. It really wasn’t my fault. But within moments… Crash! Walls began to come down, the pantry was obliterated. The cabinets ripped from the walls. It all took such a short amount of time. But like a car wreck it seemed in slow motion. Once the dust was cleared and the last of the debris was hauled outside, what was left was a shell. The walls had been ripped down to the studs. You could see the backside of the bathroom medicine cabinet. I always wondered where the little slit inside older medicine cabinets marked used razors lead to. Now I knew… nowhere, just in to the space between your walls. My husband assured me new the drywall would be up in a few days, the new cabinets hung within the week. 3 years later we sold that house... no walls, cabinets or counter tops had been added. No granite…even before it was cool.
So now that I’m living my life without my own Mr. Fix it, I’ve been struggling to get things done around what we called, our dream house. We bought this new construction 4 bedroom 2.5 bath house about 5 years ago. At closing, before I would sign any papers, I declared a moratorium on any do it yourself projects. No repairs could be performed more significant than the changing of a light bulb without professional assistance. My husband reluctantly agreed and I signed the mortgage papers. I did relent on a few things over the next few years. Neighbors, friends and relatives have all very generously offered to fix this and that or take on the odd job around my house. I love them all for their care and genuine offers but I have concerns. What if they fall, or break something? What if they really mess up on whatever they are helping with? I would be crushed and given my way of not rocking the boat, I’d probably never say anything to them about their mistake. Not the best situation. So I’ve thanked them all but respectfully declined. What I needed was a good old fashioned handy man. But who or how? Is there a requirement for the handy man to be an old guy? How do you find one? Is there really a guy who would come to your house and do all your odd jobs? The only handy man I ever really heard of travelled through Mayberry on his way to Mount Pilot and Aunt Bee hired him to fix the shutters or paint the fence. Sarah’s “Honey Do” list: #1 Find a Handy man.
I overheard a conversation 2 guys were having at the Farmer’s Market a few weeks back. They were talking about a service that came and did work at the one guy’s home. I shamelessly jumped in. I wanted information and I wanted it now! I went home and googled the name the old guy had given me. Now I know I’m not supposed to plug a product or service, but really… I have so little power and usually play by the rules so here goes… Mr. Handyman is an actual company in Trenton, MI. In fact they are the Business of the Year for 2010 in Trenton and rightly so. My initial contact was more than pleasant and the young woman was knowledgeable and very sweet. I loved the appointment confirmation the day before too. Promptly at 9:00 am, James rang my door bell. James knew what my needs were and gave me a very fair quote that I readily accepted. Within a matter of 3 hours all the jobs and projects that had been left undone for the past 17 months were completed. The quality of the work was outstanding. I have to say that I am not a big fan of strangers in my home. But I felt completely comfortable with James. I got the distinct impression that James was playing a mental game with all of my projects. He seemed to be setting goals for himself and as he checked each item off the list he was that closer to the finish line. James is an excellent representative for Mr. Handyman in Trenton. At one point James had to run to the store for a part. This was usually the point that all motivation broke down when my husband was my Mr. Fix it. But James returned with no less motivation than he had when he arrived earlier. I began to wonder if James had a Dad that fixed things. I’ll bet he never got to activate the brake lights by pressing a button! I also began to miss the fun we had doing house projects, my husband and me. You see his name was James, Jim as well. But the James in my house fixing things today didn’t ask me for a drink or expect that I’d make lunch or need me to praise his efforts. I miss that.
So now I know if I ever need to remodel the kitchen, I have someone who will complete it in far less than 3 years. And just think... granite counters are still cool!
Saturday, July 24, 2010
To Serve and Protect…
I’ll start by saying I am not a Police Officer. Never have been and I’m 100% sure I never will be. I have never been married or involved with anyone in law enforcement and who the heck knows if I ever will be. But I can tell you this… when news broke on Friday morning of the shooting in Taylor of a young officer, I had a flood of emotions. As the news came of Corporal Matthew Edwards passing those emotions intensified.
As a kid growing up in the suburbs of Chicago in the 60’s and 70’s, we were taught that police were there to help you. They were in place to be sure we were all obeying the rules and regulations we, as a society had decided we wanted enforced. I remember a time when I was playing at my grade school with my friend Barbara. We were maybe in 4th or 5th grade. It was a Saturday I believe, so the normally packed play ground was deserted. As we slid down the slide or dangled on the Monkey Bars... a man approached us and asked if we would help him find his puppy. We followed him around the playground for a bit and then he headed toward the forest just past the baseball fields. We followed him as well. At one point just before entering the woods, we decided we were bored or hungry or something and turned and walked away. There was no mad chase scene with us narrowly escaping the grasp of this would be kidnapper or a fearful get away that left us breathless. We simply walked back to our bikes and headed for home. As we rode down the middle of the street laughing about what had just happened, a police car came up alongside us. The officer asked us if we would please remember to stay on the side of the road. No reprimand or stopping us and giving us a good talking too, although either would have been in order. He just wanted us to be safe. He cared about us and because this was the way we had always known cops to be, we felt protected. He then asked how our day had been… I know in my heart that had he not already gained our trust, we would never have mentioned the “man with the lost puppy” incident. But we stopped and told him all about it. He listened and nodded and smiled and most importantly, he believed us. He asked us questions and we answered. He never changed his emotions and as I think back on it, his calm set the tone for our reaction to the events that followed. He asked our names and told us to head home and let our parents know what had happened. There was no panic in his voice and of course, he told us to be good girls. Months later we were asked to come to the Police Department and take part in a line up. Another girl had been approached by a man asking if she would help him find his puppy. While I don’t know firsthand, I was lead, much later in life to believe this girl did not walk away as Barbara and I had. The officer who had first been given our story met my mom and me at the door. The Police Chief, a lifelong friend of my parents was there too. I remember thinking my mom seemed nervous. She had smoked more cigarettes on the way to the police station than the short ride would normally allow. Standing in the room and looking though the glass at the men standing in line I was sure I knew who it was… number 2. The officer asked if I was sure and I’m sure I said I was. Outside in the lobby Barbara and her mom were there. Barbara had viewed and made her selection just before I did. We were asked not to discuss the men. Frankly it never ever came up again. Well that’s not actually true. A few months later, I understand there was a trial and the guy was found guilty of whatever he had been charged with. I overheard the Police Chief telling my mom that the positive ID they had received really helped solve the case. Fortunately Barbara chose number 3, the actual “guy with the lost puppy”. My pick #2 was in the head of the water department and had no connection to the case other than being at the Police Department on the day of the lineup.
When I awoke to find my husband struggling to breath and I called 911, it was a police officer who arrived first. As emergency personal continued to arrive, I was escorted downstairs and away from the activity swirling around my husband. From the moment the first officer arrived I began to feel protected. The police officer who stayed downstairs with me was so calm. He was calm but totally connected to my situation. I knew that his training, character and demeanor would help me through the next few hours, days, weeks and months. While I will be forever beholden to the paramedics, my connection is with the Police Officers. For many of you, this is ironic as I grew up in a Fire Department family. I believe in the early morning hours of that first day of spring in 2009, I began to understand why someone becomes a Police Officer.
As I read more details of the events in the early morning hours on Friday, a stormy summer day, I wonder what is going through people’s minds. Will some officers rethink their roles? Will young men and women contemplating this line of work question their decisions? How many extra phone calls home or text messages were sent yesterday by cops, just to touch base? Just to say, “I’m OK”? How many husbands and wives spent a sleepless night as their loved ones worked their shifts? What’s going through the minds of those on the Taylor Police Department? For that matter, any Police Department? How much can Corporal Edwards' 6 year old son and 4 year old daughter understand? How do you mend the broken heart of a child? How do you mend the heart of parents who lose their child? Cpl Edwards’ wife is well protected in the fold of the arms of the men and women her husband worked with. I pray they can all comfort each other now and continue to be there as the harder days that are ahead, approach.
I will say this and know it may not be popular with some. But I strongly question the cuts and downgrades that are being imposed on Police and Fire Departments because of budgetary woes. How do you justify downgrading public safety but keep what I believe most would deem non-essential services, untouched? I know in my town, departments were asked to make cuts. The Fire and Police Chief’s worked hard to do what was in the best interest of the people they serve and protect. City employees are taking furlough days. The wonderful fountain, a summer favorite has been shut down to cut costs. But our library and historical society are balking at giving back funds or making cuts. The city council is not asking for these funds because they want to pay for new items or anything frivolous. They want to avoid further cuts to the protection of the residents of Flat Rock. In Trenton, many senior members of the Police Department took buy out packages in order to save the jobs of younger cops and to keep the police on the streets, to serve and protect. I know many other towns are working hard to keep their Police and Fire personnel intact. I can’t help but think this is a horrible vicious circle… no jobs, higher crime; fewer taxes paid, less city services available, no jobs, higher crime… and so on. I don’t know if the events of Friday morning had anything to do with cuts in Taylor. I do believe we will see more tragic events like this if we don’t have adequate, no not adequate, appropriate protection.
To the family of Corporal Edwards, I am so sorry for your loss. To the Taylor Police and all officers, my sympathies... May you all be at peace and safe.
If you feel so inclined, there is a memorial fund for Corporal Edward’s family set up though the Thin Blue Line of Michigan, P. O. Box 415, Howell, MI 48844. Cards are also welcome at this address.
As a kid growing up in the suburbs of Chicago in the 60’s and 70’s, we were taught that police were there to help you. They were in place to be sure we were all obeying the rules and regulations we, as a society had decided we wanted enforced. I remember a time when I was playing at my grade school with my friend Barbara. We were maybe in 4th or 5th grade. It was a Saturday I believe, so the normally packed play ground was deserted. As we slid down the slide or dangled on the Monkey Bars... a man approached us and asked if we would help him find his puppy. We followed him around the playground for a bit and then he headed toward the forest just past the baseball fields. We followed him as well. At one point just before entering the woods, we decided we were bored or hungry or something and turned and walked away. There was no mad chase scene with us narrowly escaping the grasp of this would be kidnapper or a fearful get away that left us breathless. We simply walked back to our bikes and headed for home. As we rode down the middle of the street laughing about what had just happened, a police car came up alongside us. The officer asked us if we would please remember to stay on the side of the road. No reprimand or stopping us and giving us a good talking too, although either would have been in order. He just wanted us to be safe. He cared about us and because this was the way we had always known cops to be, we felt protected. He then asked how our day had been… I know in my heart that had he not already gained our trust, we would never have mentioned the “man with the lost puppy” incident. But we stopped and told him all about it. He listened and nodded and smiled and most importantly, he believed us. He asked us questions and we answered. He never changed his emotions and as I think back on it, his calm set the tone for our reaction to the events that followed. He asked our names and told us to head home and let our parents know what had happened. There was no panic in his voice and of course, he told us to be good girls. Months later we were asked to come to the Police Department and take part in a line up. Another girl had been approached by a man asking if she would help him find his puppy. While I don’t know firsthand, I was lead, much later in life to believe this girl did not walk away as Barbara and I had. The officer who had first been given our story met my mom and me at the door. The Police Chief, a lifelong friend of my parents was there too. I remember thinking my mom seemed nervous. She had smoked more cigarettes on the way to the police station than the short ride would normally allow. Standing in the room and looking though the glass at the men standing in line I was sure I knew who it was… number 2. The officer asked if I was sure and I’m sure I said I was. Outside in the lobby Barbara and her mom were there. Barbara had viewed and made her selection just before I did. We were asked not to discuss the men. Frankly it never ever came up again. Well that’s not actually true. A few months later, I understand there was a trial and the guy was found guilty of whatever he had been charged with. I overheard the Police Chief telling my mom that the positive ID they had received really helped solve the case. Fortunately Barbara chose number 3, the actual “guy with the lost puppy”. My pick #2 was in the head of the water department and had no connection to the case other than being at the Police Department on the day of the lineup.
When I awoke to find my husband struggling to breath and I called 911, it was a police officer who arrived first. As emergency personal continued to arrive, I was escorted downstairs and away from the activity swirling around my husband. From the moment the first officer arrived I began to feel protected. The police officer who stayed downstairs with me was so calm. He was calm but totally connected to my situation. I knew that his training, character and demeanor would help me through the next few hours, days, weeks and months. While I will be forever beholden to the paramedics, my connection is with the Police Officers. For many of you, this is ironic as I grew up in a Fire Department family. I believe in the early morning hours of that first day of spring in 2009, I began to understand why someone becomes a Police Officer.
As I read more details of the events in the early morning hours on Friday, a stormy summer day, I wonder what is going through people’s minds. Will some officers rethink their roles? Will young men and women contemplating this line of work question their decisions? How many extra phone calls home or text messages were sent yesterday by cops, just to touch base? Just to say, “I’m OK”? How many husbands and wives spent a sleepless night as their loved ones worked their shifts? What’s going through the minds of those on the Taylor Police Department? For that matter, any Police Department? How much can Corporal Edwards' 6 year old son and 4 year old daughter understand? How do you mend the broken heart of a child? How do you mend the heart of parents who lose their child? Cpl Edwards’ wife is well protected in the fold of the arms of the men and women her husband worked with. I pray they can all comfort each other now and continue to be there as the harder days that are ahead, approach.
I will say this and know it may not be popular with some. But I strongly question the cuts and downgrades that are being imposed on Police and Fire Departments because of budgetary woes. How do you justify downgrading public safety but keep what I believe most would deem non-essential services, untouched? I know in my town, departments were asked to make cuts. The Fire and Police Chief’s worked hard to do what was in the best interest of the people they serve and protect. City employees are taking furlough days. The wonderful fountain, a summer favorite has been shut down to cut costs. But our library and historical society are balking at giving back funds or making cuts. The city council is not asking for these funds because they want to pay for new items or anything frivolous. They want to avoid further cuts to the protection of the residents of Flat Rock. In Trenton, many senior members of the Police Department took buy out packages in order to save the jobs of younger cops and to keep the police on the streets, to serve and protect. I know many other towns are working hard to keep their Police and Fire personnel intact. I can’t help but think this is a horrible vicious circle… no jobs, higher crime; fewer taxes paid, less city services available, no jobs, higher crime… and so on. I don’t know if the events of Friday morning had anything to do with cuts in Taylor. I do believe we will see more tragic events like this if we don’t have adequate, no not adequate, appropriate protection.
To the family of Corporal Edwards, I am so sorry for your loss. To the Taylor Police and all officers, my sympathies... May you all be at peace and safe.
If you feel so inclined, there is a memorial fund for Corporal Edward’s family set up though the Thin Blue Line of Michigan, P. O. Box 415, Howell, MI 48844. Cards are also welcome at this address.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Day 1, Getting your game head on...
As I begin to write this it is Sunday evening in Michigan… and very early Monday morning in Sweden. My son has been awake for hours. Over excited for the World In Line Tournament to begin? Well, that and his roommate snores. This is also the time of year when the Midnight Sun is shinnng in Sweden. The light so bright in some regions, a person can actually get sun burn. The phenomenon happens between the end of May and the middle of July. In a few hours the IIHF (International Ice Hockey Federation), the host organization will begin what should be an action packed 1st day of competition.
Crews are polishing the floor of the rinks, refs are reviewing the rules. Ok maybe the ref thing is a bit much. Vendors are setting up booths; cameras are being put in place for action shots. Team USA travels with a fabulous support staff. Coaches, trainers and equipment guys are the backbone of this team’s potential success. The boys have amazing uniforms and state of the art equipment. This team even travels with their own washer and dryer! A huge stock of sticks and wheels made the journey along with a seemingly never ending allotment of tape. Almost anything you can imagine in the “patch them up and get them back out there” kit is also waiting on the bench.
The boys have also packed their superstitions. I assume other sports have players who have rituals and rites of passage that must be performed in order to ensure greatness, but I don’t have a big frame of reference. I’ve always been a very superstitious hockey mom. The details are too deep to go into but… I’ll admit I’m really bad about things being in certain places and if this happens than I do that… it’s bad. But most players have their own, very private tasks to complete, places they need to stand, sticks that need to be specifically taped and food that needs to be consumed at odd intervals. I’m hoping they are doing all of them before today’s game!
Well, happy to report we beat Team Canada, 7-2. Great game with the US coming out hard and fast right from the 1st drop of the puck. I did attempt to watch the webcast but was not able to sync up. I paid my $6.43 (50.00 in Sweden currency) but never saw a second of the game. The IIHF has a live score sheet on their website so I was glued to the refresh key for 2 hours. I actually had a meeting and I guess my colleagues know me better that they should… I was given a bit of slack to run back to my office to check the score every so often. Thanks guys! I spoke to my son and some of the boys later via Skype... very cool. They were tired but happy to have the 1st win under their belts. TNT did a fine job in net and the IIHF had great things to say about our boys. Keep it up and on to the next…
Will I attempt to watch Tuesday’s game on the web? Nope. I didn’t watch Monday and they won… If I watch Tuesday and we… aren’t successful... OMG! Ah... hockey superstitions… gotta love em!
USA! USA!
Crews are polishing the floor of the rinks, refs are reviewing the rules. Ok maybe the ref thing is a bit much. Vendors are setting up booths; cameras are being put in place for action shots. Team USA travels with a fabulous support staff. Coaches, trainers and equipment guys are the backbone of this team’s potential success. The boys have amazing uniforms and state of the art equipment. This team even travels with their own washer and dryer! A huge stock of sticks and wheels made the journey along with a seemingly never ending allotment of tape. Almost anything you can imagine in the “patch them up and get them back out there” kit is also waiting on the bench.
The boys have also packed their superstitions. I assume other sports have players who have rituals and rites of passage that must be performed in order to ensure greatness, but I don’t have a big frame of reference. I’ve always been a very superstitious hockey mom. The details are too deep to go into but… I’ll admit I’m really bad about things being in certain places and if this happens than I do that… it’s bad. But most players have their own, very private tasks to complete, places they need to stand, sticks that need to be specifically taped and food that needs to be consumed at odd intervals. I’m hoping they are doing all of them before today’s game!
Well, happy to report we beat Team Canada, 7-2. Great game with the US coming out hard and fast right from the 1st drop of the puck. I did attempt to watch the webcast but was not able to sync up. I paid my $6.43 (50.00 in Sweden currency) but never saw a second of the game. The IIHF has a live score sheet on their website so I was glued to the refresh key for 2 hours. I actually had a meeting and I guess my colleagues know me better that they should… I was given a bit of slack to run back to my office to check the score every so often. Thanks guys! I spoke to my son and some of the boys later via Skype... very cool. They were tired but happy to have the 1st win under their belts. TNT did a fine job in net and the IIHF had great things to say about our boys. Keep it up and on to the next…
Will I attempt to watch Tuesday’s game on the web? Nope. I didn’t watch Monday and they won… If I watch Tuesday and we… aren’t successful... OMG! Ah... hockey superstitions… gotta love em!
USA! USA!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
The Boys are Back!
25 of the United States most elite In Line Hockey players descended on Lakewood Colorado this past weekend. After an intense 2 days of almost non-stop tryouts, 11 went home, sad, disappointed and dejected. 14 were selected to be the 2010 US Men’s National In Line Hockey Team.
I’ll admit it… I’m a hockey junkie! I love hockey, both Ice and In Line. I grew up in the Chicago area, but never saw a hockey game until I moved to Michigan in 1988. That year I had the privilege of attending a Wings playoff game, in the suites I might add. I remember calling my husband to tell him we had been offered the tickets. “Is this a cool thing to go to?” I asked. Being a devotee of the Wings and having lived away from what he called “real hockey” for a number of years, you can imagine his answer. Joe Louis was buzzing. Yzerman was back after a knee injury and the fans couldn’t wait. My knowledge of hockey only included details like, it is played on ice with sticks and skates. I had zero understanding of the game. Sadly, I can now admit, zero passion for it either. As I sat way up high in our appointed suite, our host for the evening asked me if I was a fan. I believe I said something to the effect of not knowing if I was a fan because I didn’t know the game. For the next 10 minutes he explained. Carefully filling my head with off sides, icing the puck, too many men, blue line, and red line definitions and inside information on the players. I was breathless with anticipation. As the puck was dropped I felt it. My heart raced, my mouth was both dry and salivating for more at the same time, my hands were sweaty and my head pounded. Over the course of the next 100 minutes or so… I was hooked, addicted to be sure. The high was so high, the low was devastating. I don’t remember the score or who we played but really it doesn’t matter. What mattered was I wanted that feeling again and again and again. I wanted more…hockey.
My son began playing ice hockey when he was 5 years old. Like most parents I believe he is great, both off and on the ice. He has played all over the world. Youth leagues, Jr. A, College and professional, he’s played and loved it all. I have too. I love to watch almost any level at any time. When he was in high school, he discovered In Line hockey. If you have never experienced In Line, it’s a faster game with some modification to the rules. It’s also a smellier game! I’m not sure why but I’m sure it has to do with the no ice, warmer setting issue. PJ, my son loves In Line hockey. He has played at most levels and again all over the world.
With the many teams, camps, travel and tournaments there has been a constant stream of players flowing through my life for the past 21 years. I’ve had the pleasure of traveling with some of the teams and interacting with the players. To be at a rink and have a player seek you out to be sure to say hello and give you a hug is a great experience. To cook for a player who you have opened your home to and have that player, years later ask you to cook for them again is so gratifying. I love the relationship I have with so many of the boys. I’ve been nurse, mom, friend, banker, confidant and cheerleader for sons of others. It’s been an honor. When my husband and PJ’s dad died last year, at first I was blown away by the support of the hockey community. But then as time went on and I began to reflect, I wasn’t surprised at all. Players called not only my son, but me as well. Players I had heard about and cheered on from afar but had not ever met, showed up for the services. But, frankly… all of this is in a word… hockey. I cannot speak for other sports but hockey boys may fight to the finish on the ice or court, but outside of the game, their friendships run deep. The passion they have for their sport flows freely through their lives. As easy as it seems to drop the gloves during a game, when the chips are down for someone or something they care about, the gloves are dropped or the sleeves rolled up without hesitation.
In 2002 PJ made his first appearance as a member of the US Men’s National In Line Hockey team. Every year there was the anticipation of the invitation to “camp”. Camp is lingo for the grueling process of tryouts and team selection. Today the 2010 team was announced. Boys from California, Illinois, Missouri, Colorado and Michigan will represent the USA at the In Line Worlds in Karlstad Sweden. Our 1st game is on Monday v. Canada. In 2009 the US won the Silver after suffering their first tournament loss to Sweden in the Gold medal game. This year we are in their house and would like nothing better than to participate in a rematch. The Gold medal game is scheduled for Sunday, July 4th.
The boys will be sending me pictures and updates. Updates are also available at www.usahockey.com. Please look for updated blogs here and let’s get some serious support behind this great team.
Boys, lace up the blades, get your game-head on and have a great time. Represent us proudly as we are all so proud of you.
USA! USA! USA!
I welcome your comments! maxmom16@yahoo.com
I’ll admit it… I’m a hockey junkie! I love hockey, both Ice and In Line. I grew up in the Chicago area, but never saw a hockey game until I moved to Michigan in 1988. That year I had the privilege of attending a Wings playoff game, in the suites I might add. I remember calling my husband to tell him we had been offered the tickets. “Is this a cool thing to go to?” I asked. Being a devotee of the Wings and having lived away from what he called “real hockey” for a number of years, you can imagine his answer. Joe Louis was buzzing. Yzerman was back after a knee injury and the fans couldn’t wait. My knowledge of hockey only included details like, it is played on ice with sticks and skates. I had zero understanding of the game. Sadly, I can now admit, zero passion for it either. As I sat way up high in our appointed suite, our host for the evening asked me if I was a fan. I believe I said something to the effect of not knowing if I was a fan because I didn’t know the game. For the next 10 minutes he explained. Carefully filling my head with off sides, icing the puck, too many men, blue line, and red line definitions and inside information on the players. I was breathless with anticipation. As the puck was dropped I felt it. My heart raced, my mouth was both dry and salivating for more at the same time, my hands were sweaty and my head pounded. Over the course of the next 100 minutes or so… I was hooked, addicted to be sure. The high was so high, the low was devastating. I don’t remember the score or who we played but really it doesn’t matter. What mattered was I wanted that feeling again and again and again. I wanted more…hockey.
My son began playing ice hockey when he was 5 years old. Like most parents I believe he is great, both off and on the ice. He has played all over the world. Youth leagues, Jr. A, College and professional, he’s played and loved it all. I have too. I love to watch almost any level at any time. When he was in high school, he discovered In Line hockey. If you have never experienced In Line, it’s a faster game with some modification to the rules. It’s also a smellier game! I’m not sure why but I’m sure it has to do with the no ice, warmer setting issue. PJ, my son loves In Line hockey. He has played at most levels and again all over the world.
With the many teams, camps, travel and tournaments there has been a constant stream of players flowing through my life for the past 21 years. I’ve had the pleasure of traveling with some of the teams and interacting with the players. To be at a rink and have a player seek you out to be sure to say hello and give you a hug is a great experience. To cook for a player who you have opened your home to and have that player, years later ask you to cook for them again is so gratifying. I love the relationship I have with so many of the boys. I’ve been nurse, mom, friend, banker, confidant and cheerleader for sons of others. It’s been an honor. When my husband and PJ’s dad died last year, at first I was blown away by the support of the hockey community. But then as time went on and I began to reflect, I wasn’t surprised at all. Players called not only my son, but me as well. Players I had heard about and cheered on from afar but had not ever met, showed up for the services. But, frankly… all of this is in a word… hockey. I cannot speak for other sports but hockey boys may fight to the finish on the ice or court, but outside of the game, their friendships run deep. The passion they have for their sport flows freely through their lives. As easy as it seems to drop the gloves during a game, when the chips are down for someone or something they care about, the gloves are dropped or the sleeves rolled up without hesitation.
In 2002 PJ made his first appearance as a member of the US Men’s National In Line Hockey team. Every year there was the anticipation of the invitation to “camp”. Camp is lingo for the grueling process of tryouts and team selection. Today the 2010 team was announced. Boys from California, Illinois, Missouri, Colorado and Michigan will represent the USA at the In Line Worlds in Karlstad Sweden. Our 1st game is on Monday v. Canada. In 2009 the US won the Silver after suffering their first tournament loss to Sweden in the Gold medal game. This year we are in their house and would like nothing better than to participate in a rematch. The Gold medal game is scheduled for Sunday, July 4th.
The boys will be sending me pictures and updates. Updates are also available at www.usahockey.com. Please look for updated blogs here and let’s get some serious support behind this great team.
Boys, lace up the blades, get your game-head on and have a great time. Represent us proudly as we are all so proud of you.
USA! USA! USA!
I welcome your comments! maxmom16@yahoo.com
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Marriage
This is a re-posting of a blog from October 2009. The News Herald is asking what advise you would give newlyweds. This is what I would give…
I was married for just under 29 years. I learned a thing or two. If I had to impart wisdom on staying married for the long haul and enjoying it, it might look something like this:
TALK
Talking is key. The person you are with should want to share everything with you. You should be able to talk about your hopes, fears, joys and passions. I’m a talker… shocking to many of you I know. It took a long time to get my husband to open up about many aspects of his life. I remember before we were even married we started having “tell all” nights. Truth be told they did involve some amount of risk but it really laid the groundwork for what was an amazing journey of conversations over the next 29 years. We would sit facing each other, no TV, music or anything…. you were allowed to ask a question, any question and the other person had to give you an honest answer. Ok some of you are thinking that this is garbage and you would just say anything, but we really did attempt to be as honest as possible. Over the next years we would have versions of the “tell all” nights when we would find ourselves losing our connection. We had rules about what could and couldn’t be repeated or re-questioned. Some of my best memories of my husband are lying in bed next to him talking about our day, our hopes and our future. It’s not a matter of needing a solution from your partner. When you talk to your beloved about a problem or concern, you are basically giving half of it way. I loved when he would share a problem or concern with me. It made me feel valued. We talked all day, all the time. We texted, e-mailed and even faxed. I miss our talks and I still will reach for the phone to share something from my day with him. While we talked about the important stuff of life we also took the time to say the little things. I was told I was beautiful more often than I actually felt it. I told him how handsome I thought him to be. If we were going out to someplace special and I would ask how I looked he always responded… well what he said leads me to the next section…
SEX/MAKING LOVE
First and foremost understand the difference between sex and making love. Also know that need and want are two very different things. Frankly sometimes you just need sex. There is a stronger word but I’ll let you figure it out. Sex is a physical need being fulfilled… Making love is both emotional and physical. If you’re grown up enough to be sexually active, be grown up enough to tell your partner what you want and/or need. If one of you is a morning person and the other is fond of the night time, work it out. Feel free enough to get what you need but be generous enough to give what is wanted or needed. Don’t be afraid to shake things up. Do something unexpected, but nice. Ladies, there is no rule that says your partner is the only one who can initiate a rendezvous. I’ve been told it’s a welcome change for some guys. Now for you men, please…change up the repertoire every so often. Your partner shouldn’t be able to tell time by where you are on her body or what you are doing to her. If you’re doing it right she shouldn’t be able to think at all. Never be afraid to ask questions. But be careful what you ask for, you may get it or some variation of it. Always remember that passion makes almost everything better. I’ve always been a fan of the slow burn, flirty passion that can take hours to reach its peak. But a quick passion filled moment can be just as satisfying. Never, ever fake it. It will come back to bite you in the butt, someday.
HUMOR
I don’t have any idea where I would be today if I wasn’t blessed with both a quirky sense of humor and a partner who both appreciated and encouraged my craziness. Life has thrown way too many punches in my direction to not appreciate the humor that is always in every situation. It’s important to find what makes your partner’s giggle. There is definite value in a well timed full body laugh shared by two people who genuinely care for each other. Inside jokes are a must. I will always treasure the time my late husband made me burst out laughing at a funeral for his uncle. He turned to me and whispered something about his cousin’s striking resemblance to a duck. Of course I looked over and yep… she looked exactly like a duck. I let out a laugh so loud it was embarrassing. On the other hand it was so satisfying and a huge tension release. To complete the image you have to know that my husband never even cracked a smile… his lips didn’t curl. Nothing. I think I may never live down that moment with that side of the family. I purposely made sure to have humor in his eulogy, because it was such a part of our lives together. When out with friends we could look at each other and know that something we had heard was wildly funny, even when it wasn’t intended to be funny and would actually have to turn away for fear we might offend someone by laughing. Find a person you…get and who gets you. Find and hold on to the person who can know when to laugh with you and of course know when to and how to cry with you.
FAITH
Ok, this gets tricky. While faith in a higher being is a wonderful thing and I’m all for it, I’m not talking about that kind of faith. I’m talking about believing in someone when there is no earthly reason to believe in them. Blind faith is dangerous. But a deep faith is a must. Have faith that you chose the right partner. Have faith in yourself. Make decisions together, the big ones and the little ones. Ask each other’s advice and opinions. Have each other’s very best interests in mind at all times. Always trust that the decisions your partner makes are from the heart. Assume best intentions. Remember just because someone is louder, doesn’t make them right-er.
LOVE/LIKE and LUST
You need all three of these to keep it all together. I believe you should always love the person you’re married to, but in all honesty you will probably not always like each other. Believe it or not, it’s ok. You should never marry someone you just love but do not like or lust after. You should never marry a person you just like, but do not love or feel lust for. My guess is that you know lust alone is a tough sad state. Danger zone! All three of these are fluid. We feel them coming in and going out of our hearts, minds and spirits at speeds that can make you dizzy. To me love either is or isn’t there… Like and lust can and should be cultivated and cared for tenderly and consistently.
I will never claim to have all the answers or to have had the perfect marriage. But I know some things to be true. I know what my heart told me at the time was right. Given how I feel now that the love of my life is gone, I know this all to be true in my head as well. So my parting thought is to lead with your head, but listen with your heart.
I was married for just under 29 years. I learned a thing or two. If I had to impart wisdom on staying married for the long haul and enjoying it, it might look something like this:
TALK
Talking is key. The person you are with should want to share everything with you. You should be able to talk about your hopes, fears, joys and passions. I’m a talker… shocking to many of you I know. It took a long time to get my husband to open up about many aspects of his life. I remember before we were even married we started having “tell all” nights. Truth be told they did involve some amount of risk but it really laid the groundwork for what was an amazing journey of conversations over the next 29 years. We would sit facing each other, no TV, music or anything…. you were allowed to ask a question, any question and the other person had to give you an honest answer. Ok some of you are thinking that this is garbage and you would just say anything, but we really did attempt to be as honest as possible. Over the next years we would have versions of the “tell all” nights when we would find ourselves losing our connection. We had rules about what could and couldn’t be repeated or re-questioned. Some of my best memories of my husband are lying in bed next to him talking about our day, our hopes and our future. It’s not a matter of needing a solution from your partner. When you talk to your beloved about a problem or concern, you are basically giving half of it way. I loved when he would share a problem or concern with me. It made me feel valued. We talked all day, all the time. We texted, e-mailed and even faxed. I miss our talks and I still will reach for the phone to share something from my day with him. While we talked about the important stuff of life we also took the time to say the little things. I was told I was beautiful more often than I actually felt it. I told him how handsome I thought him to be. If we were going out to someplace special and I would ask how I looked he always responded… well what he said leads me to the next section…
SEX/MAKING LOVE
First and foremost understand the difference between sex and making love. Also know that need and want are two very different things. Frankly sometimes you just need sex. There is a stronger word but I’ll let you figure it out. Sex is a physical need being fulfilled… Making love is both emotional and physical. If you’re grown up enough to be sexually active, be grown up enough to tell your partner what you want and/or need. If one of you is a morning person and the other is fond of the night time, work it out. Feel free enough to get what you need but be generous enough to give what is wanted or needed. Don’t be afraid to shake things up. Do something unexpected, but nice. Ladies, there is no rule that says your partner is the only one who can initiate a rendezvous. I’ve been told it’s a welcome change for some guys. Now for you men, please…change up the repertoire every so often. Your partner shouldn’t be able to tell time by where you are on her body or what you are doing to her. If you’re doing it right she shouldn’t be able to think at all. Never be afraid to ask questions. But be careful what you ask for, you may get it or some variation of it. Always remember that passion makes almost everything better. I’ve always been a fan of the slow burn, flirty passion that can take hours to reach its peak. But a quick passion filled moment can be just as satisfying. Never, ever fake it. It will come back to bite you in the butt, someday.
HUMOR
I don’t have any idea where I would be today if I wasn’t blessed with both a quirky sense of humor and a partner who both appreciated and encouraged my craziness. Life has thrown way too many punches in my direction to not appreciate the humor that is always in every situation. It’s important to find what makes your partner’s giggle. There is definite value in a well timed full body laugh shared by two people who genuinely care for each other. Inside jokes are a must. I will always treasure the time my late husband made me burst out laughing at a funeral for his uncle. He turned to me and whispered something about his cousin’s striking resemblance to a duck. Of course I looked over and yep… she looked exactly like a duck. I let out a laugh so loud it was embarrassing. On the other hand it was so satisfying and a huge tension release. To complete the image you have to know that my husband never even cracked a smile… his lips didn’t curl. Nothing. I think I may never live down that moment with that side of the family. I purposely made sure to have humor in his eulogy, because it was such a part of our lives together. When out with friends we could look at each other and know that something we had heard was wildly funny, even when it wasn’t intended to be funny and would actually have to turn away for fear we might offend someone by laughing. Find a person you…get and who gets you. Find and hold on to the person who can know when to laugh with you and of course know when to and how to cry with you.
FAITH
Ok, this gets tricky. While faith in a higher being is a wonderful thing and I’m all for it, I’m not talking about that kind of faith. I’m talking about believing in someone when there is no earthly reason to believe in them. Blind faith is dangerous. But a deep faith is a must. Have faith that you chose the right partner. Have faith in yourself. Make decisions together, the big ones and the little ones. Ask each other’s advice and opinions. Have each other’s very best interests in mind at all times. Always trust that the decisions your partner makes are from the heart. Assume best intentions. Remember just because someone is louder, doesn’t make them right-er.
LOVE/LIKE and LUST
You need all three of these to keep it all together. I believe you should always love the person you’re married to, but in all honesty you will probably not always like each other. Believe it or not, it’s ok. You should never marry someone you just love but do not like or lust after. You should never marry a person you just like, but do not love or feel lust for. My guess is that you know lust alone is a tough sad state. Danger zone! All three of these are fluid. We feel them coming in and going out of our hearts, minds and spirits at speeds that can make you dizzy. To me love either is or isn’t there… Like and lust can and should be cultivated and cared for tenderly and consistently.
I will never claim to have all the answers or to have had the perfect marriage. But I know some things to be true. I know what my heart told me at the time was right. Given how I feel now that the love of my life is gone, I know this all to be true in my head as well. So my parting thought is to lead with your head, but listen with your heart.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
