THOUGHTS: The Unjust Bitterness of Grief

On Monday evening, while I was doing my radio show, I wound up posting this as a facebook status:

"I miss my son. I miss him with parts of me that I've buried over the years with denial and grief. He'd be 7 years old in about an hour and a half, and my little boy Malcolm has already experienced over 7 times of what Tiberius had on this earth. It's not fair, but as much as I hate it, I'm convinced that Tibbs was one if the lucky ones that accomplished his mission in the blink of an eye. We shoul

d all be so lucky. God didn't take his angel back. He took my son, or rather, my son went to the next place, teaching in four short months lessons about love and joy that the rest of us will take lifetimes to understand. Tibbs, I love you, I miss you, and I'm trying to understand why you left, but I just have to trust that you made the right decision. I'll see you again, and I can't wait to tell you about your little brother, your mom, the dog we got, Alaska! (We moved to Alaska! How cool is that?!) You probably know all of this already, but indulge an old man, young by your new standards I suppose. I think about you all the time, son. Be good, and I'll be patient. I love you."

It was this weird catharsis of stream-of-consciousness that I really didn't feel like I had any control over.  I started writing, and I just couldn't stop.  I wanted to just put up a quick note, and I didn't even want to touch on the subject.  But I did.  I did and it was like the dam broke.  It just came pouring out, sentence after sentence, and I wasn't even aware of what had happened when it was all said and done.  I felt like I had blacked out, like the thought was there, and for a brief second, I actually felt it, and then it left.  It left.  It's gone.  Oh, I know it's there somewhere, hiding out in one of the dark recesses of my brain or my heart, somewhere being buried by the stupid self conscious that's trying to "protect" me from the hardship that is grief.  But dammit, I want to feel it.  I want to meet it and deal with it, because as it sits, it's just been looming in over everything like a storm cloud in the distance, ominous as it slowly moves and just sits over me.  I want the storm.  I want the wind and the lightning and the rain and the floods.  I want the earthquake.  I want the strife, something tangible that I can put my hands on and wrestle into submission, or at least let wrestle me into submission.  At least to have some sort of interaction with this monster.

Monday night was the first time I felt like I saw it's face.

The messed up part is that I don't often think about Tibbs.  I think about the grief.  I WANT to think about Tibbs.  I want to remember him, remember my son learning how to laugh, learning how to make cooing noises, learning how to roll over, but instead all I'm allowed to focus on in my head is the grief that seems to smother his memory at every turn.  Every time I start to feel something, it goes away, and I just become bitter.  I'll even do stuff like play a certain song, look at pictures, try to remember a smell, and all I seem to be left with is that empty, cold, disdain for what I should feel that's buried.

I don't want to say that I hate this thief of my son's memory, this monster that's taken its place.  I understand it's reason for being, and I'm accepting of that.  I just want to be able to coexist with it, to establish a relationship with it, so that, every once in a while, I can humbly ask its permission to move on by and go visit Tibb in my head, tell him about the life that his mother and I have delicately and brutally patched together for each other in the aftermath of his short and powerful life, and how painfully difficult and beautifully rewarding it's been for both of us.

Sigh... I just feel like I'm forgetting too much, and I loathe it.

THOUGHTS/CHRONICLES: Demons

This past weekend, my wife and I relocated Schleicher Pad North to an adjacent flat across the driveway from the former location. The new digs has a little less room but a much friendlier floor plan, a washer and dryer, and a great, usable room for Malcolm (with a queen bed, so guests are now more welcome than ever). Financial constraints aside, this new place is incredible, and, should we survive the impact of the move, this will be much better for the family.

The young ladies at Green Coffee Bean have named the new BattleWagon "Big Red Juicy Fruit", but I just can't accept that. It's going to be the nickname for a while, until I can think of the name of the Loony Toons character Chuck Jones made that's big and red and only wears sneakers...

Lots of thoughts lately about the viability of an Eco-Village here in southeast Alaska. My dream has recently become an infatuation with what used to be called Bell Island Hot Springs. The place is ideal for creating a treehouse village and resort, a place for creative people to hide out and salt of the earth people to live off that earth. The property was owned by a geologist in Texas who passed away less than a month ago. I'm hesitant to contact his widow and see what is to be done with the property, but it is a wonderful place.

The whole idea of not just living my dream at all costs it's starting to really scare me. For years, I've been quietly accepting that I've done just enough of my passion to satisfy my own goals, but not nearly enough to realize them fully. Working an 8-5, not doing much of anything else, except spending time with one hell of an awesome two year old.. It's great, but it's not setting the example I'd like to set for him. I don't want him to settle and stagnate like his parents have lately. There is not nearly enough time to do everything, and I sincerely hope the Boy realizes that at a young age. I hope to inspire that somehow, and maybe that's the motivation I need.

THOUGHTS: Who and Why

I think of those two questions often in regards to myself, and it often seems I don't consider those questions nearly often enough. What, when, and where, in regards to a person seem pretty irrelevant, easily answered by who and why. Who are you? Why are you here? If you can answer that, then it explains what you're doing where and when.

The easy answer for me: I'm Russ. But I am strugglimg to really answer that without answering where and when. Now I'm in Ketchikan, and I'm trying to supper a family with a lower-middle class income that allows us to make it from paycheck to paycheck, barely. But even then, I don't really answer the who, and definitely not the why.

Look at a climber, someone who ways top ramen for months so they can eat top ramen for another few weeks at 20,000 feet. Who is he? He's a climber. This is what he does. Why? Regardless of what you may understand, it's in his bones, his soul, to push the envelope of what normal people accept as their limits. He believes in it. It's his faith, his driving force, his reason for being. Same goes for the mother, the test pilot, the space jumper, and, far too infrequently unfortunately, the political or the business owner.

So who are you, and why? The challenge for what may likely be another month without a blog are to try to answer these questions, and if you can't, then take a look at your life and see what you're missing. Feel free to share your stories on here with me and our readers.

THOUGHTS: Balance and Uncertainty

As life proceeds to deal me curses and blessings, I keep finding myself trying to distinguish between the two. I've found in all my years that the amount of deception that either will carry is bizarre and fascinating at the same time. What is originally perceived to be a very, very good thing can sometimes turn out to be a horrible burdon, partially because it really did have something to hide, but mostly we didn't see whatever it was in its entirety, be it a new friend or love interest, a job, a car, a house, a meal at a restaurant. When they're new, these things can look amazing, convincing us sometimes that our lives will never be the same without them!

Then, after we spend some time with it, the flaws start to show. Or, if we were disgusted originally, the really beautiful parts start to show. we discover and feel guilty or disheartened when the outcome isn't anticipated.

The universal variable in all of this is our personal needs to both judge a new situation, and to try to predict, our even control that situation's outcome.

The remedy, then, would seem to be obvious. Surrender control, accept things as they are, and love it all unconditionally, for you will always receive either love in return or a lesson that will help you love your life better.

We have to trust that there is a balance, and not that we should believe there's a plan, or that things happen for a divine reason. (This phrase strikes me as to obvious to base a part of a belief around. Of course things happen for a reason. The door flew open. The reason is that I kicked it really hard!)

Instead, there is one principal which has been both scientifically proven and theologically endorsed (yet not politically, no surprise). It's been stated in nearly every faith's served texts, and written into law in physics by Sir Isaac Newton. The ultimate statement of balance, the Golden Rule, karma, find your phrase for it.

It tells us simply that things happen, that the energy we put into the world, we receive from the world. When we can have acceptance for what things are, even if what things are seem drastically depressing at first, that acceptance allows us to appreciate the knowledge learned, the strength gained, the inevitable reward somewhere along the line, and sometimes, even, the humor in any given event.

In closing, I can issue a small challenge: look at a situation in your life. The nastier, the better. Maybe you lost your job or your husband recently left you. Maybe your dog passed away. Maybe you stubbed your toe because the lights were off and your two year old woke you up in the middle of the night. Whatever the situation, I want you to list off twenty good things about it. These can be things you've learned about yourself, things that have happened as a circumstance or result, etc. prove to yourself that there is blame in everything.

I love you all.

Justice out

CHRONICLES: Fire Houses, Radio, and Sick Trucks

The past few weeks have been crazy.  First off, Miss Cat has purchased Hagrid, the 2nd BattleWagon from me in hopes of having a Plan B to caravan around the country in.  Well, after driving it to her house, the next day, Hagrid died in the driveway and refused to start.  So that leaves us in a spot where we figure out what to do next.  Depending on what the damage is, it may be an easy fix, or it may be a deal where we find her the fifth BattleWagon and help her dreams come true.  Strife.

To make matters worse, Big Red, my new Jeep truck, has developed a rather significant oil leak, which may be a simple seal and cheap to fix, or it may be something big.  At any rate, hoping to err on the side of caution, it's going to stay parked until I can get the Hagrid situation sorted out for Miss Cat.  We have another vehicle at our disposal for family stuff, and Big Red can wait for the good service from the local mechanic.

The radio show has been mellow, and I'm hoping to ramp it up a little bit soon, get some people to co-host with me, play some good tunes, and laugh a little bit more.

The latest news is that I got to do a scavenger hunt at the fire station tonight.  I finally fulfilled one of my life-long goals and got on with the Ketchikan Volunteer Fire Department.  Tonight we had drill, and our assignment was to find various tools on the Engine, Ladder, and Rescue trucks,  It was pretty cool, and I learned a crap ton of stuff.  I'm excited to get going with all of this.

CHRONICLES: Changes and News

For the longest time, one if my fantasies has been to own three full-size Jeeps. Shortly after my oldest son passed away, one of my failed coping mechanisms was getting a 1977 Jeep Cherokee Chief. It was failed because it needed way too much work and I was not prepared for that. Even though my mind was all messed up, I still made a very wrong decision at the time.

My fantasy of three is like this:  One J10 pickup for work, hauling stuff, plowing snow, helping friends move, etc. One Cherokee Chief as an all around vehicle, for playing, commuting, groceries, soccer games, road trips, hikes, etc. Finally, a Wagoneer, to be tricked out with the big engine, power everything, DVD player, TVs, rims, and a sweet motor to make it rip down the road in a time that would rival a sports cat yet be elegant enough that if my wife and I wanted to go out to a fancy dinner or pick up some fancy guests, we'd have a vehicle to impress them.

As fate would have it, I've found the first of three. A really nice J10 down in Skagit, Washington showed yup on craigslist. I fell in love.

With some juggling, I lucked out and found a buyer for "Hagrid", BW-2, the van I picked up in Denver after the death of the first B-Dub. It's been a great vehicle, but it's usefulness is admittedly limited. In this time of family work, a van is just too big with not enough useful space. A pickup will take stuff to the dump, move furniture, get us around us the weather gets crappy, and will let me occasionally play in the mud.

So, shortly, I'll be posting pictures of the torch for Hagrid being passed on to a friend of mine, an adventurous young lady named Cat, who has been invited to contribute to this blog with the continuing adventures of the BattleWagon. I'll also post about the torch being lit for BW-4 when it gets here, a week from Sunday.

The adventure continues. Keep yours going, too.

CHRONICLES: The Blessings of Family

At the beginning of last week (showing my lack of certain attention to the blogging stuff), my Aunt Memo and Life-Mate Dave came up for a visit on their way north to Sitka, Juneau, Anchorage, and Denali.  They were in Ketchikan for a few days.  I managed to snag a few days off, with which I was able to take them to the Saxman Totem Park, Ward Lake, and Totem Bight.  All that tourist stuff aside, the best part was the nights we had them over, eating and drinking and spending the family time that we've made less accessible with our time up here in the Great Wet North.

One night, Lyss had made fish tacos with some cod that our neighbor Greg had caught the previous day.  That night, as we were leaving, Greg asked us if we wanted a big king salmon filet.  Dinner for the next night was planned.  Lyss baked it with some garlic, pepper, lemon juice, and olive oil.  It was spectacular.  But, as good as the food was, it wasn't as good as the time spent.

Memo is my dad's sister.  That side of my family is small.  I only have one cousin who I haven't spoken to for a number of years, since before Bart was in high school as I recall.  But when anyone comes to visit, it's a rare and special occasion.

After they left, I was fortunate enough to have the distraction of going to Sitka myself for a few days for work.  When I got back, I took Malcolm and Dash and went down to Herring Cove to watch the salmon run.  He was pretty impressed with the whole thing, although we were both disappointed we didn't see any bears.  Next time, maybe.