My Brother Billy: RIP

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This is a short story with few characters.  It began ten or so years ago, but it did not end until February of this year, Anno Domini 2023.  It is but a brief waypoint in the relationship I had with my brother before he died on July 6 of 2022.  Before we begin my story, let me introduce the “cast” of characters.

William Paul Persico:  Younger brother to John Persico Jr.  Born on March 31, 1958.  Billy as everyone called him was almost twelve years younger than John.  Billy and John grew up in the same house, but their paths hardly crossed.  They shared little in common.  Billy dropped out of school in the 9th grade after staying back two years.  Billy’s main values: Drinking, smoking, drugs, and partying with his friends.  Later in life, Billy started to pay more attention to his son Jacob.  They shared some very special times together before Billy passed.

John Persico Jr.  Brother to Billy.  Born on September 17, 1946.  Joined the military in September of 1964 at the age of 18.  Hardly had any contact with Billy for many years.  Not much in common.  John’s main values: Education, hard work, and honesty.  Others might disagree with this rather positive outlook but hell, I am the one telling this story.

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ABOVE PICTURE – JEANINE ON THE LEFT AND KAREN ON THE RIGHT.  HIKING IN FEBUARY 

Jeanine Persico:  Billy’s older sister and John’s younger sister.  Born on August 30, 1951.  Spent thirty-five years working for Social Security.  Received early retirement.  After her mom and older sister Sheri died, she seemed to adopt Billy as a basket case that she needed to take care of.  Continually enabling him (In my mind at least) by giving him money and never expecting him to pay it back.  Jeanine’s main values:  Family, friendship, loyalty, compassion, and avoidance of conflict.  Jeanine is much like our mother.  A loving kind person who takes care of people.

Karen Y. Persico.  Wife of John Persico.  Born July 5th, 1944.  Karen had to listen for many years to my complaints about my brother’s perceived lack of positive attributes.  She was always kind to Billy when he called and once visited but shared my disapproval for his profligate lifestyle.  She never questioned or complained of any money we loaned to Billy.  Karen’s values: Family, frugality, hard work, education, and music.  She shows her love for others through her cooking, crafts, and music.

Linda Therrien:  Billy’s common law wife and companion for twenty or so years.  Born October 13, 1946.  Billy lived with Linda in a mostly loving relationship.  Two lonely outcast souls that seemed to find each other and as Judge Judy once said, “There is a cover for every pot.”  Linda’s values:  Unknown.  It will not really matter since Linda plays a very small role in this story.  Linda is a walk-on and walk right off in this story.

The story that follows has some roots in what happened after my mother Dorothy died.  She passed away on Feb 2, 1994, at the age of 67.  After Billy’s divorce, he had continued to live with our mom.  My sister Sheri who died on December 22, 2002, along with my sister Jeanine and I agreed to let Billy have the house if he paid the mortgage, taxes and maintained it in a reasonably good state.  It did not take long before we had to pay all of the former out of our own pockets as Billy remained unemployed and more interested in partying with his friends.  Billy was turning the place into a crack house for his druggie friends.  Sheri, Jeanine, and I met to discuss the situation.  We agreed to sell the house and split the proceeds four ways.

The practically non-existent relationship that I had with my brother went even further south after we sold the house.  He once said that my sisters and I got all the brains, and it was not fair.  He felt that he should have kept the house and that we could keep paying his bills.  I was living in another state and wanted nothing to do with him.  About the only time for the next ten or so years that I heard from him was around Christmas time.  I guessed he was angry about the house but I did not care.  The less that I heard from him, the happier I was.

Jeanine would fill me in on Billy’s various shenanigans which were always good for a laugh.  It seemed that he had little desire to do anything with his life except drink, drugs, and smoke.  The only time that I did hear from him was to borrow some money.  Jeanine routinely gave him money.  I was a more difficult touch as I did not feel any guilt over his lifestyle.  I did occasionally break down and give him some funds when I could afford it and did not expect to be paid back.  I had nothing to worry about on that score.

More years went by and sometime around the beginning of 2008, Billy contacted me and asked for a loan of $300 dollars.  It surprised me that he was so adamant about it being a loan.  He did not expect it to be a gift.  He assured me that he would pay me back in full before Christmas of that year.  I gave him the loan and reassured him that I did expect it to be paid back.  You can guess the outcome.

Christmas of 2008 came and went, and I did not hear from Billy.  I was angry and fed up.  I called him after the holidays were over to find out where my money was.   I received the excuse that he just did not have it and he was sorry.  I lost my temper and cursed him up and down.  But I was not through with him.  I went to the computer and wrote the meanest, cruelest letter that I have ever written.  I told him that if he had been run over and was dying in the streets and all it took was one cent to save his life, I would not give it.  I read the letter to my sister Jeanine.  Sheri my younger sister by one year had died of cancer six years before.  Jeanine did not say much at the time.  I put the letter in an envelope and mailed it to Billy and Linda.  At the time, I had no regrets.  I thought of it as a form of tough love or shock therapy.  I thought it might make a difference.  Why did I not have a real brother instead of someone like him, I often wondered?

Well, communication between Billy and I grew less and less frequent.  Considering it had never been frequent, it was more like hardly ever.  I reasoned that Billy had received my letter and was now even more angry than before.  Five or more years went by.  Christmas cards and Christmas calls did not happen between us anymore.  Then gradually, a call every six months or so would happen.  Karen and I started to send and receive Christmas cards to and from Billy and Linda.  I guessed that he had put my mean letter behind him and was attempting to move on.  I wanted to forget the letter and often thought of apologizing for it but just could not bring myself to do it.

Billy died at the age of 64 on July 6, 2022.  He had suffered from many illnesses primarily but perhaps not entirely due to his lifestyle.  According to Linda, he went into their bedroom to lay down and take a nap.  She went in later to talk to him and found him dead.

The story really begins here.  The stuff above is simply prelude. 

Jeanine:  Calls me on phone from RI to Wisconsin.  “John, Billy died yesterday.”

John: “How did it happen?”

Jeanine: “Just passed away.  They are calling it a heart attack and will not do an autopsy.”

Jeanine is crying and very distraught.  I reasoned it best not to go into any details at this time in terms of funeral or whatever.  Knowing Billy and Linda had no money, it would fall on Jeanine and I to take care of any burial expenses.  Some days go by, and I call Jeanine.

John: “What do you want to do about the funeral?” 

Jeanine: “I would like to have a regular church funeral and burial for him.”

John: “I am sorry that he passed but I am not willing to go for a big elaborate funeral and burial.  I will split a cremation and simple burial with you but that is as far as I will go.  I am not going to pretend that I am all teary eyed about his passing.” 

Jeanine: “I will get back to you on this.”

A few days later, and Jeanine calls me back.  Without talking to me she has made funeral arrangements and set a date for the service.

John: “Jeanine, I told you that I am not willing to spend this kind of money on such an elaborate funeral.  This is your show and your expense.  I am not planning to come out for the funeral.  Billy was less a brother to me and more just someone I knew in passing.  I am not going to be a hypocrite now and pretend to be all mournful.” 

I had discussed my response to Jeanine with several friends and asked each what they would do.  Most agreed with me and said they would set a limit on how much they would spend.  They all implied that Jeanine felt guilty and was making reparations by this funeral.  I did not feel guilty except for one thing.  The mean nasty letter that I had sent to Billy thirteen years ago.

I could tell that Jeanine was somewhat miffed by my response.  A certain distance seemed to come between us.  For my part, I thought she went overboard.  As things worked out, she did not have enough money to cover the gravestone that she wanted to put on Billy’s plot.  I sent her a thousand dollars to cover a portion of the expense.  It seemed to mend our relationship and in February of this year, 2023, Jeanine came out to Arizona to visit for a week.  The story continues from there.

Jeanine and Karen went to the health club the second day of her visit to work out together.  Upon their return, we have the following discussion.

Karen: “Jeanine wants to tell you something, but is afraid that you will be very angry.”

John: “Ok, I promise no matter what, I will not be angry.”

Jeanine: “Do you remember that letter that you sent to Billy many years ago?”

John: “Of course, I remember it.  I still regret that I never called him up to apologize for it.”

Jeanine: “Well, Billy never got it.”

John: “What do you mean he never got it?”

Jeanine: “You told me about the letter and I went over to Billy’s apartment each day to intercept the letter.  One day when Billy was not home, I went over and asked Linda if she had received a letter from you.  She said that it had just come that morning.  Billy had not seen it.  I asked her for the letter and told her I needed it and not to tell Billy about it.  Linda simply gave me the letter and I destroyed it.”

John: “Are you kidding me?  You were tampering with US Mail.  This is a serious offense, Jeanine.  For thirteen years, I fretted over sending that letter and whether I was going to apologize for writing it.”

Karen: “You promised not to be angry.”

John: “I am not angry.  I don’t know what to feel: relief, disappointment, gratitude, regrets.  It is just hard to believe this.  You waited thirteen years to tell me.  Well, it is all just water over the dam now.  I will never know what would or would not have made a difference in my relationship with Billy.”   

The End – Almost

The last few years of Billy’s life, he seemed to change.  I was noticing postings of his on Facebook and he seemed happier and more thoughtful.  He was taking time with his son Jacob and was engaged in other activities besides drinking and smoking.  Jeanine told me that he had quit drugs, drinking, and smoking and was trying to clean up his life.  I was skeptical and did not believe what I was hearing.  Jeanine often had rose colored glasses when it came to Billy.  With the advantage of hindsight, I believe he really was making an effort to live a real life.  I wonder if I could have been a better brother to him or how I could have made a more significant contribution to his life.  I wonder whether or not Billy’s not receiving the letter was a good or bad thing.  Mostly, I am glad that he did not.

“None of you believes until he wishes for his brother what he wishes for himself.”  ― Prophet Muhammad  

  

Famous Last Words or Can Your Epitaph Change the World?

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Once upon a time at the Frederic library, a group of people who met regularly over coffee were discussing the reported last words of Voltaire.  The  discussion soon wandered into the last words of other famous people.  Several of us could think of comments made by some well-known people on their death beds.  Many of these comments are very interesting; perhaps because you don’t think anyone is going to lie when they only have a few minutes to live.  Or perhaps, we are fascinated because of some irony that these last words provide.

Voltaire is alleged to have refused to repent his sins because “He did not want to make any more enemies before he died.”  He was referring to the fact that Satan would be upset if he now recanted on his lack of belief in religion or Christianity.  Socrates last words were:  “Crito, we owe a rooster to Asclepius. Please, don’t forget to pay the debt.”  (Asclepius was the Greek god for curing illness, and it is likely Socrates’ last words meant that death is the cure—and freedom, of the soul from the body.) (Wikipedia reference)

Regardless of the reason for our fascination with these “last words”, there is no doubt that many of us find considerable inspiration in the last words of others.  I am going to share some that I like in my blog today.  If any of these motivate you, please feel free to send me your comments on why they inspire or excite you, or simply send me some famous last words that you like.  I may post again on this subject if you can send me enough inspiration.

  • Adams, John (1735-1826) “Thomas Jefferson–still survives…” (4 July 1826. Jefferson died on the same day.)
  • Barrymore, John (1882-1942) Die?  I should say not, dear fellow.  No Barrymore would allow such a conventional thing to happen to him.
  • Eastman, George (1854-1932) “My work is done, why wait?” (His suicide note.)
  • Marx, Karl (1818-1883) “Go on, get out.  Last words are for fools who haven’t said enough.”
  • Picasso, Pablo (1881-1973) “Drink to me.”
  • Runyon, Damon (1884-1946) “You can keep the things of bronze and stone and give me one man to remember me just once a year.”
  • Stein, Gertrude (1874-1946) “Just before she died she asked, `What is the answer?” No answer came.  She laughed and said, “In that case what is the question?” Then she died.”

The above list of my favorites was taken from a much more extensive list that can be found at https://www.djsmapping.com/words.shtml,   “Real Last Words from Famous People.”

As you ponder my list, will it provoke you to think the obvious or maybe not so obvious?  Is it too early to wonder or maybe even plan what you will say for your last words?  My friend Harold’s last words were, “No regrets.”  Harold was the most positive person I have ever met in my life.  Right up to the end (he died of pancreatic cancer), he truly had no regrets in his life.  I always found that unbelievable as my regrets would fill a book.

I wonder what my last words will be.  I am not anxious to find out.  At 76, I am still enjoying good health, a great spouse, and more peaceful days then when I was younger.  My last words will have to await my last breaths.  Truly, none of us will know what our last words will be until our final hours regardless of how we approach death or how we want to die.

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Nevertheless, while we may not have a choice over our last words, we can decide what we want written on our tombstone.  This is something we do have a choice over.  Do you want to leave only your name and date of death on your tomb or do you want to leave some inspiration for future cemetery wanderers?  (I am aware of those individuals who choose to be cremated, which while very cost effective and environmentally ethical is almost a boring way to leave this planet.)  One of my favorite things to do on vacations is to wander in old cemeteries in countries or places that I am visiting.  They are free to visit, and they provide an almost endless source of inspiration, wonder and even amusement.  For instance, in Boot Hill cemetery in Tombstone, Arizona, one of the tombstones reads as follows:

“Here lies Lester Moore.  Four slugs from a 44, no Les, no more.”

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What would you like written on your tombstone?  What do you want the world to remember you for or think of you as they pass by your resting place.  This can be a fun and thought-provoking activity.  Here are some thoughts I have for my epitaph.

  • I searched for the truth but never found it.
  • Why?  Why?  Why?
  • The more I learned, the less I knew, until I knew everything about nothing

Feel free to send me your epitaph or post it in the comments section.  I will look forward to being inspired. 

Farewell to Life or Farewell to Death?

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Many years ago, I traveled down a wooded path that I had never been on before.  This story is about how that journey led me to the life that I am living today.

I was eighteen years old.  I had recently graduated from high school.  No awards, no summa anything and no college that would take me even if I had applied.  I always loved to meander in the woods and thoughts of heaven or hell were not intruding on me this bright sunny warm day in June.  As I trod a path that did not look very worn, I suddenly noticed a fork in the trail.  I could just make out somebody sitting between the two roads.  As I drew closer, it was apparent but none the less quite surprising to see that it was an old woman sitting on a log.

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“Good afternoon,” I said to the old woman.  “Same to you, young man,” she replied.  “I have not been on this road before; can you tell me which fork goes where?”  “Well,” she answered, “The right fork is the Farewell to Life fork and the left fork is the Farewell to Death fork.”  Thinking the woman was a little batty, I gave her my thanks, wished her a good day, and proceeded to take the right fork.

I thought a little about her response as I continued on my journey.  I wondered if it really meant anything.  Would one fork bring death and the other life?  I laughed as I assumed that it probably would not matter since I had chosen the life fork.  I was planning to be among the living when I reached its end and not among the dead.  I looked back and the crazy woman was nowhere in sight.

More than fifty-five years have passed since I met the old lady.  I have walked many roads, paddled many rivers, visited many lands, and wondered about the meaning and purpose of life innumerable times.  During my seventy-five years on this earth, I have said dozens of farewells to life.  All of them to date were farewells to the lives of people who were my friends and relatives and mentors.  My father died at 60.  My mother died at 67.  My sister died at 56 and my cousin and best friend died at 47.  Farewell is one of the saddest words in my vocabulary.  As I have aged, the number of farewells that I have had to say each year seems to be growing exponentially.

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A few weeks ago, I was on a solo hike in the Chequamegon National Forest about thirty miles north of Thorp, Wisconsin where my first wife was from.  I was on the Jerry Lake Segment of the Ice Age National Scenic Trail which goes through the Chequamegon National Forest.  I was intending on hiking down the trail to Jerry Lake and back.

Now I have never been known for my sense of direction.  My first wife and I always fought over which way to head but my masculine pride would never admit that she was usually right.  Marrying a second time, I finally found someone whose sense of direction is even worse than mine.  Both Karen and I are lost without a GPS or compass.  The good thing is that I now readily admit that I could get lost in my small back yard.  My masculine pride no longer prohibits me from shouting out “I’m lost.”

As I proceeded down the trail, it seemed that I was not getting any nearer to my intended destination.  It should have taken me about an hour to get to the lake and I had now been hiking for about two hours.  Two thoughts struck me at the same time.  The first was that I was lost.  The second was that I was approaching a fork in the trail ahead and something or someone was sitting between the two paths.  As I neared the fork, I rubbed my eyes just in case I was seeing things.  There on the trail ahead was an old woman who looked suspiciously like the old woman whom I had met fifty-five years before.  Of course, I thought, it could not be.  She would have to be well over a hundred years old.

senior-woman-sitting-log-holding-long-cane-senior-woman-sitting-log-holding-long-cane-countryside-village-people-131962771The strangeness of the situation caused me to be somewhat nervous about proceeding further but I thought, I have nothing to fear from an old lady.  Coming nearer to the woman, I jokingly asked if she was the same old woman whom I had met years ago and if she remembered me.  “Yes”, she said, “but you were much younger then.  How did your journey down the Farewell to Life trail go?”  How could this be I thought?  I don’t believe in magic, miracles, or spirits but suddenly, I began to take her words quite seriously.

“I am not so sure that I took the right trail.  Over the years, I have had to say many farewells to people whom I loved and who passed away long before they should have.  Life does not seem very fair to me.”  “Life is never fair,” she replied.  “Humans weigh things as though some type of cosmic scale existed, and that life could be apportioned perfectly equitably.  You have had a long life.  It has been very successful.  You have had more than your share of fame and fortune.”

“I am very confused.  I chose the Farewell to Life path but what would have happened if I had chosen the Farewell to Death path?  Would I live forever?”  She looked at me very gravely and said “I don’t think you really understand.  The Farewell to Life path is a path where you say farewell to the lives of others.  You yourself then went on to have a long if not happy or prosperous life, did you not?”

“Yes,” I said, “But what would my life have been like if I had chosen the “Farewell to Death path?”  “You would never have had to say farewell to any friends or anyone you cared about.  You would have gone to no funerals, burials, or memorials.  No farewells to the deaths of friends and families.  You would have died many years before those you loved.  Do you think this would have made you happier?  A short life that would have had little tragedy or reason to mourn would have been your legacy.”

“I do not think that would have made me happier.  Why can’t there be a third path in life?  Why are we doomed to either a long life with much unhappiness or a short life where we never experience the joys of getting older and wiser?”

The old woman slowly stood up.  She picked up a hiking stick and proceeded to walk off into the distance.  Before she left, she turned and looked into my eyes.  Very solemnly she explained, “I told you that life is never fair.  Humans always want what cannot be.  Farewell.”

Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death like autumn leaves. — Rabindranath Tagore

 

The Man Who Wanted to Die Last

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Most men I know when you start talking about death and dying usually say that they hope they die before their partner.  The motive is quite obvious.  Who wants to be alone.  There is almost nothing worse than loneliness for human beings.

Now imagine spending forty or fifty years living with someone.  You eat together, sleep together, travel together, make love together, raise children together, work together, talk together, and laugh together.  This goes on for year after year.  In a happy marriage or partnership, the relationship is one of joy and delight.

269318614.galleryNow suddenly your partner for one reason or another is gone.  She or he passes away.  You come back to your home after the funeral and well-wishers have left, and you are now alone.  You are more alone than you have ever been in your entire life.  You go from room to room and no one else is there.  The bedroom is empty.  The kitchen is empty.  The living room is empty.  You notice the picture of you and your spouse at your anniversary party hanging on the wall.  It brings back memories and tears.  Every day for many days, objects, thoughts, and reflections will bring back good times and bad times that you shared with your lover.  You will reflect over and over again about these past times.  No doubt you will feel remorse about some things that you did and wish you could undo.  You will also miss the fun things that you enjoyed together and the many good times that you had together.

The above scenario is very sad.  But there is one way you can avoid it.  You can pray that you pass away before your spouse or partner or loved one does.  Leave the planet earth sooner than they do and avoid the pain and heartache that comes with the death of your beloved.  This is the solution that I have hoped for many times.  I have always planned to leave my wife financially well off so that when I do go to the vast beyond, she can continue to live a happy life.  I thought this sounded like a grand plan until the following incident occurred.  It left me feeling selfish and self-centered.

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It all began with a mission retreat that Karen and I started going on several years ago.   A good friend organizes the trip twice a year to bring food and needed items to an orphanage in Sonoita, Mexico and a Saint Vincent de Paul center in Puerto Penasco, Mexico.  We have as many as 15 cars in an auto caravan bringing items down.  Volunteers from Casa Grande, Eloy, and Arizona City (many from local churches as well as friends of Evelia) will join the caravan each year.  We typically leave on a Friday and come back on a Monday.  While down in Mexico, we stay at Puerto Penasco and enjoy the beach, ocean, and seafood for a few days before coming back across the border.

IMG_5379Each evening after dinner, we enjoy food, dancing, and music at the Playa Bonita restaurant.  It is right on the beach and while enjoying shrimp cocktails, we watch the most beautiful sunsets I have seen anywhere.  As night falls, a band or singer will begin entertaining our group.  Evalia loves to dance and will make sure that we all have a spin with her on the dance floor.  The dance floor is outside where we eat.  Almost always the weather is balmy and comfortable.  Infrequently one might need a shawl or a sweater but an active time on the dance floor will mitigate any night chills.

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One night after dinner and drinks, three of us, Steve, Alexandro, and myself decided to go sip some tequila and smoke some cigars where it would not impose on anyone’s sense of smell.  We typically go out to the back of the restaurant.  There are a few round tables there and it is quite secluded.

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Steve is Evelia’s son, and he often comes on the mission tours.  He is a real nice guy who was studying to be a deacon in the Catholic Church.  He married an Italian woman who is a medical doctor but after several years of trying she has been unable to acquire a permanent work visa for the USA.  Steve and Julia now reside in two countries.  Steve in the USA and Julia in Italy.  They reunite frequently in either Italy or the USA.  I think it is Steve’s plan to eventually join Julia in Italy.  Steve owns a management consultant firm and does not want to retire yet.

I had never met Alexandro before.  This was his first time on a mission retreat, and I never saw him again after this night.  We did some brief introductions, shared the bottle of tequila, and lit our cigars.  We chatted about the usual subjects, politics, wives, sports etc.   As the conversation became deeper and more serious, we started talking about aging and the impacts it was having on each of our lives.

Alexandro told us that his wife was an invalid and severely disabled.  She required considerable medical care.  He was the primary caregiver as they had no provision for medical assistance in the home.  It was evident form our conversation that Alexandro spent a large amount of time and effort in providing compassionate care for his wife.

I began thinking about how much love we all seemed to have for our spouses.  I started thinking about what I would do without Karen who provides so much compassion for me when I am sick or when I need support.  I could not imagine a life without her.  I stated emphatically that I hoped I did not ever have to deal with a life alone.  It was my desire to die first to avoid the pain of heartache and loneliness.

Alexandro spoke up and his words surprised me.  He said, “I hope my wife dies first.”  I could not believe what I had just heard.  My immediate thought was “What a selfish bastard!  He wants his wife to die before he dies so that he will not have to take care of her anymore or deal with her problems.”  I remained silent for a minute or so while I wondered how any person could be so heartless.  My curiosity finally got the better of me and I asked Alexandro “Why do you want your wife to die first?”  He replied “My wife needs so much care and there is no one else around who could provide enough care for her.  I do not want to think of her alone and without me to provide the care.”

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I heard Alexandro’s explanation and suddenly I was inundated by a tsunami of guilt and an earthquake of self-reproach.  How could I have thought so miserably of a man with so much character that he would sacrifice himself for his spouse?  On the other hand, how could I be so selfish that all I could think of was that I wanted to die first to avoid the feelings of loneliness and heartache that accompany the death of a loved one.

I sat speechless for quite a while as I reflected on my thoughts about what I had just heard.  Never before had I heard anyone say anything like Alexandro did.  It never occurred to me that my life and my feelings are not the hub of the universe.  The sun does not rise and set by how I feel or how I should feel.  “Compassion literally means “to suffer together.”  When we are confronted with the suffering of another, it means that we will take steps to help relieve that suffering.  Perhaps suffering for another person may not mean dying for them, perhaps it means living for them.

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Que Sera, Sera

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I think that I am a coward.  I don’t want to grow old.  They say that growing old is not for the faint of heart.  Every day, I understand that aphorism more and more.  In the last thirty days, four friends have passed away.  Mickey, Glen, Bill, and Dick.  I could write a blog about each of them.  They were all just nearing 80 years of age.  Not one of them died of Covid.  Had you known any of them, you would have been truly fortunate.  Perhaps, one of my greatest blessings in life has been to have people like this for friends.  People who lived life to the fullest and cared about other people.  Men who went out of their way to help not just family but strangers.

Two weeks ago, we found out that Karen’s oldest daughter Julie had five brain tumors.  For the past year or so, she had been acting very strange.  She had frequent bouts of forgetfulness along with severe headaches and neck pain.  Doctors had been treating her for an enzyme imbalance for several months, but she kept getting worse.  Her husband thought it might be the onset of early dementia.

Finally, someone decided to do an MRI for her.  At first, it looked like one large brain tumor but a neurosurgeon looking more closely at the scan found four other tumors.  Julie had been diagnosed with leukemia when she was six years old and for ten years had undergone frequent trips to the hospital for chemo and radiation treatment.  They believed that the tumors were related to the radiation treatments.

Julie is now fifty-three years old.  She went in for surgery on Tuesday of this past week.  She was in surgery for nearly seven hours.  They chose to remove the largest tumor but indicated that they would need to go in for another one at a later date.  They were not able to remove the entire tumor since it was awfully close to the optic nerve and they were afraid of damaging it and causing blindness.  Ironically, they want to use radiation therapy to try and remove the rest of the tumor.

Karen flew out Friday night thinking that she could try and help Julie when she returned from the hospital to her home.  Only one person could be in the hospital each day with Julie and her husband was the obvious choice.  Karen worried all week as complications arose each day and Julie did not seem any closer to coming home.  As I write this, it is now five days past surgery and Julie is still in the hospital.  She has been in and out of intensive care since the surgery.  Karen and Rob (Julie’s husband) have agreed to alternate days spent with Julie at the hospital.  So Karen is in Minnesota now and I am watching the home front here in Arizona.

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I am growing old, but I am growing more tired of seeing people I care about either get sick or dying.  I went to a concert last night with two friends Evelia and Angie.  Karen originally was going to go but being with her daughter was the greater priority.  The concert was put on by the True Concord Singers and Orchestra in Tucson.  It was held outside on a patio at what appeared to be an old mansion that had become a private men’s club.  It was called the Mountain Oyster Club.  Since it was members only, they would not let us dine there.  I had originally thought that after the concert we could dine at this exclusive club but that was not to be.  We ended up going to a resort called the El Conquistador.  My two companions are both Latina and I wondered what they thought about dining at a place called El Conquistador.

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The concert was called “The Trailblazers” and consisted of songs arranged by women composers and based on the works of noted women writers and artists.  Some of the composers included Judith Weir, Hildegard von Bingen, Emma Lou Diemer, Ysaye Barnwell and Alice Parker.  The writers and poets included Emily Dickinson, Maya Angelou, and Edith Franklin Wyatt.

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The fifteen songs performed were arranged along a series of themes.  One set of the songs was called “Remembering Those We’ve Lost.”  Thinking back to my lost friends while these songs were performed brought tears to my eyes.  Reflecting on what it might mean to me if Karen should pass away before I do, I could not bear the thought.  Coward that I am, I am hoping to pass from this world without too many more losses of those I love.  Here are a few of the lyrics from the songs in the concert.  It is of course quite different and much more moving hearing these sung but the lyrics themselves are quite compelling.

From: “My Companion” by Edith Franklin Wyatt (1873-1958)

Let the roadside fade:

Morning on the mountain top,

Hours along the valley,

Days of walking on and on,

Pulse away in silence,

Let the world all fade,

Break and pass away,

Yet, will this remain,

Deep beyond all singing,

Beautiful past singing.

We are here together,

You and I together,

Wonderful past singing.

From: “Wanting Memories” by Ysaye Barnwell (1946- Present)

I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me,
To see the beauty in the world through my own eyes.
I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me,
To see the beauty in the world through my own eyes.

You used to rock me in the cradle of your arms,
You said you’d hold me till the pains of life were gone.
You said you’d comfort me in times like these and now I need you,
Now I need you, and you are gone.

I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me,
To see the beauty in the world through my own eyes.
Since you’ve gone and left me, there’s been so little beauty,
But I know I saw it clearly through your eyes.

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I finished a run this morning in the mountains.  Saw a large coyote on the trail and thought at first it was a deer.  You are not likely to see a deer in the desert, but the coyote was large and brown and from a distance it did look like a small deer.  As I ran, I could not help but thinking of the song by Doris Day “Que Sera, Sera.”  The lyrics that go “Whatever will be, will be.  The futures not ours to see, Que Sera, Sera.”

We scheme, we plan, we strategize, we organize, we bribe, we cajole, we blackmail so that we can control the future.  We pray to whatever god or gods we believe in to keep our loved ones safe from harm or pain.  I am sure that every one of you reading this would rather suffer death or pain before seeing your family, friends or children suffering.  Jesus said, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” John 15:13

But as written in Ecclesiastes, it is all vanity.  Nothing but vanity.  I can’t stop a single person I know from dying or suffering pain.  The best that I can do is to be there for them during their suffering.  This is the role that my spouse has chosen to take with her oldest daughter.  It is a role that I would gladly have pass by me since coward that I am, I find it harder to watch my family, friends and others suffer then to deal with my own suffering.

I once loved the poem that admonished us to: “Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be.”  Now I wonder, what could Robert Browning have been thinking?  I am waiting for “the best that is yet to be.”  I must be missing something.  As each day goes by and as yet another friend leaves this earth, I am more and more wondering what I will have left when they are all gone, and I am the only one here.

Nothing I have ever worked for, saved for, bought, owned, or possess will have any meaning without the ability to share it with those I love.  I think about walking through the house where I am now sitting without my spouse or friends or family and it is by far a fate worse than death and dying.  I won’t rage into the night.  I am reflecting upon death as a comforting blanket than I can pull over my head and use to hide from the sorrows of the world.  I will not rush it, but as many have realized that have gone before me, at some point, we all know that our time has passed, and that we must leave this world.  As for what will come after, I can only say “Que Sera, Sera.”

I think you will enjoy this song:  https://youtu.be/xZbKHDPPrrc 

Que Sera, Sera

When I grew up and fell in love
I asked my sweetheart, what lies ahead
Will we have rainbows
Day after day
Here’s what my sweetheart said

Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future’s not ours to see
Que sera, sera
What will be, will be

Joy and Sorrow

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Joy and sorrow are the Yin and Yang of existence.  One day we find joy and the next day we find sorrow. 

I found joy when my first daughter was born.  She was premature by a few weeks and so we could not take her home right away.  It was in 1967 and I was in the birthing room with my ex-wife Julie when Christina was born.  Both of us could not have been happier.  Over the years, I found joy in spending time with my daughter, taking her to the library, racing her on her bicycle, going to the boundary waters with her and taking her out trick or treating on Halloween.  I found joy watching her grow up.

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I found sorrow when my first wife and I separated in 1982 and I had to leave my daughter behind.  I found sorrow when my daughter Christina started college and decided she did not want to talk to me anymore.  I have found sorrow for the past 30 years or so at no longer seeing my daughter or even knowing where she lives.  I find sorrow that she never calls me or cares about having anything to do with me.

I find joy with my wife Karen when we sit and talk and eat together, now for nearly 40 years.  I find joy when Karen is happy, and we exercise or travel or go for walks together.  I find joy in helping her to stay healthy and knowing that she appreciates my efforts.  I find joy in growing old together and watching us both develop wrinkles together and claim similar aches and pains.  Our companionship is one of the greatest joys of my life.

I find sorrow when I think too long about what is too come.  I have seen too many elderly couples decline and it is often a sad sight.  I find sorrow when I think that in not too many years, Karen or I could be facing our final years by ourselves.  I find sorrow in thinking too much about what might be and how it might happen.

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I find joy in my writing.  I love the process of putting ideas into words.  I love getting comments on my blog and I love seeing the Google analytics regarding how many people are reading my rants and thoughts.  I love responding to people who leave comments.  I love the task of finding new ideas and themes to write about.  I love the community that I often find with other writers.  Something about the very word itself though unspoken is beautiful and magic.

I find sorrow in running out of new ideas and the occasional barren oasis that seems to sit in front of me as I struggle to find something to write about.  I find sorrow in feeling that I am not making any difference in the world with my writing.  I find sorrow when I compare my stats to others and think that some people get more readers in a day than I get in a month.  I know I should not compare myself, but I do anyway, and it always makes me sad.

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I found joy in getting to make amends with my father and mother before they died.  He died at 60 years of age and my mother died at 67.  I had hated my father and I was apathetic towards my mother.  I found joy in knowing my mother better and understanding the demons that she had to deal with.  I found joy in confronting my father and having him apologize to me for the misery that he caused my sisters and I when we were growing up.  I spoke at his funeral and found joy in the words I gave because I told truth.  My father had changed before he died, and I could see that in his friends and his new family.

I found sorrow when I was growing up with my family.  Hardly a day went by when I was not tormented or blamed for something by my father.  I found sorrow because my sisters and I were isolated and could not even find support in each other.  I found sorrow in my life as I felt so alone.  Later when I heard the song “Motherless Child”, I knew I was that motherless child.  A counselor years later told me it was because children expect their mothers to protect them.  I found sorrow in that it was not until my mother died that I realized how much misery she had in her own life while living with my father.  She had little time or energy to protect her children.  All of whom were abused by my father.

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I find joy in nature.  I run, ski, bike, swim canoe, camp and love being outside.  I find joy in the forests, in the lakes, in the ocean and in the mountains.  I find joy in flowers and watching the trees bloom and the leaves turn colors in the fall.  I feel joy in staring at a moonlit sky and looking for falling stars, constellations, and comets.  I find joy in sunshine and a cloudless day, but I also find joy on a rainy day with clouds billowing and promises of storms to come.

I feel sorrow when I see a tree hacked down or a lake defiled with oil and garbage.  I look at the sky and feel sad that we put up so much junk in the air that people are choking, and asthma has become common.  I find sorrow in the polluted oceans and in manicured lawns where water is wasted growing grass that has no reason for being there.  I feel sorrow that we put development over nature and destroy vast acres of beautiful land to put up parking lots.

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I receive joy from my exercising.  I love the feel of the mountain runs that I do each morning.  I love the stretch from yoga each evening.  My body feels so alive when it is moving.  I have done scuba diving, skydiving, bike racing, marathons and two triathlons.  I have never been a major competitor but the joy and fun of racing with others is indescribable.  The joy of being one big family even if only for a few hours.  Celebrating life and the ability we have as athletes.  No one regardless of how they do or how late they finish is ever ridiculed or laughed at.

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I receive sorrow and pain from exercising.  Some days it is hard to get up and go out.  Some days I feel sad wondering when my last run will be, and when I will no longer be able to handle the inevitable falls on the trails.  I have had sorrow from Morton’s neuroma, plantar fasciitis, back pains, hip pains and sesamoiditis.  Some of these problems have taken me years to overcome and some I have had to adapt to and live with.  I have sat for hours and picked cactus spines out of my legs and feet and arms.  There might not be a great deal of sorrow in this activity but there is a great deal of pain.  I think sadly of some of the longer runs I once did and some of the longer bicycle trips I once took and some of the week long canoe trips.  I know that I no longer have the energy for any such trips.  They are now sadly only memories that are slowly fading away.

My greatest joy in life has come from reading and learning.  I would rather die than not have a book to read or the chance to learn something new.  The joy I find in books is ineffable.  I want to learn the rest of my life and continue to find new things that will excite me.  I find joy in challenges to my ideas and beliefs.  I find joy in discovering that I was right, and I find joy in discovering that I was wrong.  Books have always been dearer to me than friendships.  Books bring me to places that I have never been.  Books help me to meet people that I can only dream of meeting.  Books do not desert me at 3 PM in the morning or chastise me for putting them down.  I find joy in history, science, mathematics, politics, psychology, spirituality, biographies, dramas and plays.  Books were my companions when I grew up and they were my family.  Books gave me unconditional love and were my steadfast friends.

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Books have brought me great sorrow.  I read the Little Match Girl a dozen times or more and each time I cried when I read this story.  Countless other stories and events have 83909b1f6d72b56470333621cbd1ebf2-the-little-match-girl-hans-christianbrought sorrow to my heart over the years.  Life does not always end happily.  Lives do not always find the justice and honor they merit.  I have felt sorry for the heroes and heroines who did not get the fates they deserved.  If only I could somehow right all the wrongs and set history on the paths it should have taken.  I find books tell me about my shortcomings and highlight areas where I need improvement.  It is always sorrowful to find that I am not as good as I would like to be.

Writing this has been cathartic.  For me, the writing itself is mixed with elements of joy and elements of sorrow.  So joyful to remember some things.  Remembering others so very sorrowful.  Some remind me of the joy still in my life.  Some sorrows make me want to live my life over.  But would it be any different?   Would it be any better?

What are the joys and sorrows in your life?

Dick Doyscher: A Man for a Few More Seasons

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If the world is full of extraordinary people, Dick Doyscher is probably not considered one of them.  Therein lies a major flaw with our priorities.  Every day, we are inundated with news of people who capture the limelight.  Some for stupid reasons, some for evil reasons but very few for reasons that are really meaningful.  We have become so accustomed to stories of people who have won 4000 gold medals, who have made $50,000,000,000 dollars with a new line of running shoes, who are four year old virtuosos that can sing the Soprano role of Gilda in Rigoletto or who can dance “Thriller” better than Michael Jackson.  We are bombarded with endless details of nut cases who have gone out and shot 45 people with an assault rifle.  The news is so full of garbage that people like Dick Doyscher are invisible.  Dick may not be extraordinary, but he is truly remarkable.  To paraphrase the “History Guy”, Dick deserves to be remembered.

As we get older, we no doubt read more and more obituaries.  The typical obituary is not like an obituary written for Princess Diana or Kobe Bryant.  People write books about the rich and famous.  The typical obituary for us common folk is one or two paragraphs long usually ending with something like:

“They worked as an air conditioner repair person for thirty years until they retired.  After retiring they took up gardening and were known for helping their neighbors plant flowers.  They were loved by all and will be dearly missed.” 

Perhaps a beautiful life rolled up into a few paragraphs and a short sweet ending.  You still know little or nothing about the deceased except that they loved flowers and died.  So sad.

Well, I wanted to say something about Dick while he is still alive.  You should know why he is a remarkable individual because I am sure it will not be listed in his obit.  He is now 80 years old as he loves to remind us.  He is fond of saying, “Well, when you are as old as I am.”  I think he knows this drives me crazy.  I will perhaps never be old enough to say “I told you so” to Dick since he will either a.) always be older than me or b.) when I turn 80, he will not be around anymore.  So really, I am writing this blog about him as a way of getting even with him for all the times that he has flaunted his age in our library group.  But before I tell you why he is remarkable, a short background on how I came to know Dick.

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Ten years ago when we moved to Frederic, I discovered a bunch of guys (See the “Old Library Guys”) who meet daily in the Frederic Public Library for free coffee and donuts.  There are about seven or eight of these guys who are sometimes joined by wives or women in the library.  We are not gender exclusive, but our conversations tend to be around politics, cars, guns and local goings on.  A few years ago, we created a “Last Man Standing Bottle.”  We purchased a bottle of “Old Grand Dad 114 Proof Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey” (Seemed appropriate) and sealed it in a wooden case with seven of our names on it.  Three of the men on the bottle are now deceased.  Dick and I remain among the living with two other men.

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When I first met Dick, I cannot say that I was impressed.  He was a retired mechanic with a younger attractive wife (Gladys, who I will talk about later) and no formal education beyond high school.  Dick liked cars and guns and some music.  He did not show much interest in reading the great books, traveling to exotic places or listening to classical concerts.  He did like one pianist named Lorie Line than he had heard but he felt little need to explore other pianists.  I nicknamed him “Dick the Stick.”  This was short for “stick in the mud.”

By all known stereotypes, Dick should have been a classic Red Neck.  Now even Red Necks can be kind and caring individuals and you might be thinking that perhaps Dick the Stick was a kind individual who lent money to other people and helped them dig their gardens.  If so, you would be dead wrong.  Dick does not believe in lending money.  He says we should go to the bank for that and he does not do much heavy lifting since he has a bad back.

So nothing remarkable about Dick yet.  But as the years went by, I started to learn more and more about Dick.  Politically, he did not conform to stereotypes.  He is one of the most open minded and creative political thinkers I have ever met.  He argued with me for years that the USA is in a sort of decline like the Roman Empire.  It took me several years to come to believe that he is probably right.  Nevertheless, he supported Obama and Biden even voted for them despite his belief that we were wasting our time voting.

Many of our politicians seem to thrive on fear or greed.  Many of the constituents that continually reelect these self-serving politicos swoon to their melody of greed and fear.  The politicians pander to these base needs as they extort more and more money for their never-ending re-election campaigns.  The broader interest of the world is suborned to the petty greed and fear of their constituents.  Dick is not swayed by either fear or greed.  Dick is a thinker who sees beyond any narrow horizons to think about the good of others and not just his family and friends.

Now Dick has been a hunter and still has a cache of guns in his house.  But again breaking stereotypes for such men in the North woods, Dick is no supporter of the NRA nor some of the rabid positions they have taken on gun control.  Dick is a pragmatist when it comes to gun control and supports an element of sensible controls without trying to take all guns away from the second amendment supporters.

I mentioned his wife Gladys.  Gladys loves to travel, but Dick the Stick says, “My traveling days are over.”  When I first heard many years ago that Gladys was going on an exotic bike, hike or kayak trip, I thought to myself “Well, Dick, you will never see her again.  She will find some kayaking stud and that is the end of your relationship.”  To my surprise, Gladys returned home trip after trip.  Over the years she has gone on many trips abroad without Dick the Stick and always comes back.   Dick is more than supportive and never questions her trips or the financial aspects.  He is one of the least jealous men I have ever met.  Gladys and Dick respect each other as individuals, and each pursues interests both together and apart.

Gladys mirrors another remarkable aspect of Dicks character.  Both are very caring individuals without being obvious or obtrusive about it.  Dick befriended Brian Rogers who was one of the men in our “Last Man Standing” group.  Brian had cerebral palsy and was becoming more and more disabled from the disease.  Dick seemed to know just how to help Brian and they became very close.  Brian would not take charity or help from anyone and was very independent.  However, they formed an almost symbiotic relationship with Brian helping Dick with his depression and Dick helping Brian with his cerebral palsy.  It was a beautiful relationship which ended when Brian died.

Dick has helped other men in the group who need help.  I am often surprised by his ability to transcend insults or sometimes mean-spirited attacks by people in our group.  He will forget the insult and if he sees that the person needs help, Dick will make a phone call, pay a visit or extend a hand to help.  I might say “Screw him Dick” but Dick will say “He is not feeling well” or “He has had a string of bad luck.”  I will stick by “Screw him” but not Dick.  Dick is always willing to forgive and forget any slight that I have seen leveled at him.

His wife Gladys works part-time with a community church, but I have often seen her at other churches where she helps out with the events or dinners.  Many of the churches in our community have an aging population and need help with volunteers because of the older ages in the church.  Gladys has done more than her share to help other churches.  I mentioned that she mirrors Dick, but it is fair to say that it works both ways.  Dick mirrors Gladys in her compassion for others.

beaver tshirtNow less this sound too much like a soap opera, I should point out some of the character flaws that are obvious with Dick.  He once had a battle with some beavers that resided on his property.  These beavers were adept at building a dam using a stream that flowed near a road leading to Dick’s house.  The dam would cause the water to back up flooding the road.  Dick would go out there and break up the dam but faster than you could say “Dick the Stick” the beavers would rebuild the dam.  I asked Dick why he did not shoot the suckers.  Dick replied that he promised Gladys that he would not kill them but try to get them to relocate.  So periodically Dick would come in with his back aching from breaking up the dam and I would say “Give me your rifle and I will shoot the suckers for you.”  Dick would never do this.  I finally bought him a t-shirt with “Beaver Advice” on it.

new-2018-summer-vladimir-putin-t-shirts-menI mentioned that Dick does not want to travel anywhere (Except maybe Duluth).  I would attribute his “been there, done it” to a possible birth or brain defect but to be fair Dick did go to England, Peru and a bunch of other countries when he was younger.  Furthermore, unlike some people, he is always interested in hearing about the travels of Gladys and others in the group.  I am going to Russia this coming year and I keep telling him that I am going to have an audience with President Putin.  Dick often jokes about Putin and his strong political resolve.  I may bring him a Putin t-shirt when I come back from Moscow, assuming that I am allowed to leave the country.

Well, “That’s all Folks” as Porky Pig used to say.  I am not expecting Dick to go anytime soon.  But in case he does, you will all know some things about him now that probably will not be in the Frederic Inter-county Leader.  I think he is a remarkable man and maybe if he reads this, he will remember me in his last will and testament.

Death in Arizona City

There are many ways to die but most of us will not get to choose the way we die.  Saturday on a three-mile dusty stretch of two-lane highway between Sunland Gin Road and Arica Road in Arizona City, two people died.  One made a choice, the other did not.

It started out as just another sunny and cool January morning in Arizona.  At 8:30 AM, I dressed to go for a run up at the Casa Grande Mountains.  I was going to drive to the post office first to pick up a delivery that Alexa had told me was made.  She had also told me what the merchandise was and I was excited to get it. The post office in Arizona City is only open between 9 AM and 11 AM on Saturday and I intended to go there first to be sure that I got there before it closed.  I then wanted to go to the Health Fair that the Chamber of Commerce in Casa Grande was putting on.

The Health Fair was scheduled to start at 10 AM and end at 2 PM.  I planned to get to the fair about the time that it would start.  There are always a lot of handouts and goodies at these fairs and the earlier you get there, the more stuff you can pick up.  I thought I could squeeze a decent run in sometime between the post office and the health fair.  I had to be back home from the fair before 2 PM to pick my wife Karen and her friend Nancy up.  The three of us were going to Tucson for a Dulcimer Jam that would start at 3:30 PM.  Following the jam, we were going to have a potluck and some conversation.  Thus, I was a man with a tight schedule.

I left my house at about 8:55 AM.  I live about two miles from the Arizona City Post Office. The parking lot there was not crowded, and I immediately found a place to park.  I went in and checked my mailbox but there was no package notification in my box.  I then went to the desk and asked the clerk to check if any packages had arrived for PO BOX 2498.  She said, “No problem” and went back into the storage area.  She returned shortly.  “Sorry, she said, but there are too many packages to check and they have not been posted yet.  You will have to wait until Monday.”  I left the Post Office moderately disappointed and headed up to the Casa Grande Mountain Park by way of Sunland Gin Road.  It is about 4 miles from the Post Office to the Arica Road Trail head.  There was little traffic on the way, and I arrived at the trail head about 9:15 AM.

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I put my extra gear on, mostly some pads and armor and commenced running up a trail.  I was not sure how long I wanted to run but I figured maybe 40 minutes or so.  I run with armor because it helps when I fall.  Running these mountain trails, it is not a question of whether I will fall, it is only a question of when.  I have already hit the ground twice this year.  One was minor and no pain.  The other hurt and left me bruised.  After falling, I laid on the ground for a while and stared at the clouds drifting by before trying to stand up.  Finally, I got enough courage back and the pain had subsided enough to enable me to finish my run.  Bruised, battered and my confidence shaken but knowing that I still had a few more runs in me before I called it quits with my running; I finished my run.

However, today was different.  I started off feeling very well and with over fifteen trails to chose from, (I often add or change my route depending on how I feel) I felt strong and decided to run one of my favorite routes.  I was about fifteen minutes into the route when I heard the sirens start off in the distance.  It is not unusual to hear sirens, but these did not stop.  They went on and on for what seemed like forever.  I guessed based on the direction that they were coming from that it was an accident on Sunland Gin Road.  I had two reasons for believing this.  First, this is the major and heavily trafficked route out of Arizona City and second, speeders and impatient drivers seem to abound on this section of Sunland Gin Road.  Last year, three people were killed when a driver drifted across the lane and rammed head on into an oncoming car.  Anyone living in Arizona City has seen several near misses on this road when some driver decides to pass them with little margin for error.  It does not matter that it is only three miles long or that the speed limit is 50 mph, many drivers do 70 mph or more on this road.  I assume following anyone doing the speed limit drives some of these impatient people crazy.

I finished my run in about 37 minutes and got back to my car.  I put my gear in my car and pulled some pants on over my running tights.  I drove off at a few minutes to 10 AM.  I went down to Sunland Gin Road but did not see anything amiss as I made a left turn to the freeway.  It took me about ten minutes to arrive at the Promenade Mall where the Health Fair was being held.  I parked across the street, walked through the car show outside the Mall and into the Mall area.  There I saw the Chamber of Commerce booth where some friends were handing out tote bags.  I greeted my friends (I volunteer at the Chamber on Wednesdays for four hours) and proceeded to systematically visit any booths or tables that either interested me or had some good swag.  It was about 10:15 AM.

I stopped to chat at several booths.  I do not like to appear greedy and just grab the swag and I usually find some vendors who might be helpful to me for any number of reasons.  Nevertheless, I picked up two calendars, 2 mini-calendars, several pens, a banana, a bottle of water, a sweat band and lots of good information relating to home improvement.  I finished going up and down each aisle and double checked to make sure that I did not miss any vendors.  On my way out, I met two more friends who were vets and briefly said hello.  I ended up hitting the men’s room before getting to my car.  It was now about 11 AM.

I took the freeway back to Sunland Gin Road but decided to get off on Jimmy Kerr Blvd. which runs parallel to the freeway.  I wanted to come back to the intersection of Jimmy Kerr and Sunland Gin so that I could pass Carl’s Jr. and stop in for a breakfast burrito.  I went about two miles down Sunland Gin road and suddenly realized that Carl’s Jr. was on Toltec Road and not Sunland Gin.  Burger King was on Sunland Gin.  I decided to just go home and skip the burrito.  As I neared the top of the overpass that connects the I-10 exit to Sunland Gin, I could see in the distance many police cars and lights and it appeared that the road was blocked off.  I had time to make an immediate left turn onto I-10 before I was committed to trying to drive down Sunland Gin Road.  I doubted that going down Sunland Gin Road was possible.

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I headed south on I-10 and got off on Toltec Blvd.  I drove over to Carl’s Jr. and parked. I went in and they were no longer serving breakfast burritos since it was past 11 AM.  They did have some breakfast burgers left so I ordered one and a drink and proceeded to call my wife Karen to tell her about the accident.  It was now two hours or so later then when I had first heard the sirens and the road was still blocked.  As it turned out, the road was not opened until about nine or ten hours later.  We both surmised that a really bad accident had happened on Sunland Gin Road and (Sad to say) we both knew why and how.

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I arrived home and after some relaxing, showering, changing up and loading the instruments and food in the car we left for Tucson.  The jam went great and about 20 people were playing various instruments but mostly dulcimers.  We ate at 5:30 PM and conversation carried us to nearly 8 PM.  We packed the car up and headed back to Arizona City.  I had not thought any more about the accident until we were near our exit.  As we approached, we saw a lot of cars that were coming down Toltec Road which normally would have been coming down Sunland Gin Road.  Apparently, Sunland Gin Road was still closed.

As soon as I came home, I logged onto a Face Book chat group for Arizona City where residents bring up issues and ask questions about what is happening in the area.  Of course, the questions were about the accident and what could be done.  It seemed like everyone knew that two people had died.  Given the history of this road, it does not take a rocket scientist to surmise that two cars had hit in a head-on collision.  The only real question was how many were in each car and how many had died.

One person made a choice to pass and died.  The other person did not make a choice and died involuntarily. 

The following is an excerpt from the Arizona City Facebook chat with a typical selection of comments and questions regarding the accident:

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As you might notice from these comments, the range of solutions varies widely.  Some want more policing.  Some want a passing lane.  Some want a four-lane highway.  Some want better driver education.  Some want people to smarten up and not be in such a hurry.  It is a difficult issue.  People don’t usually respond well to persuasion and people do not want their taxes to go up to pay for new roads.

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So, what will we do?  Are these deaths the cost of riding the highways?  Are we content to simply let more people die on this road?  Not very difficult to decide unless it is you or a loved one who will die.  The cost/benefit equation can change very radically when it impacts us personally.

 

 

 

 

 

3611– Wednesday, June 12, 2019 –  Fear of Death and Dying

 Have your ever cursed out an “old” driver for going to slow?  If so, I am sure that you are not alone.  I was once one of those who had no patience for the old folks poking along doing less than the speed limit on a beautiful Sunday afternoon.  Karen would always remind me that “You will be old someday.”  I did not believe it.  The problem is that I am now an old driver.  I probably drive slower and more cautiously then I did years ago, but so as not to offend anyone, I usually set my cruise control about 5 mph over the speed limit.  I figure it is too slow to get a ticket but too fast to piss off anyone who hates slow old folks behind the wheel.  Of course, my logic sucks.  I am beset by mortals who obviously have both no fear of death and no fear of getting a ticket.   Why are people in such a hurry today?  Where the hell is everyone going?

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The subject of my blog today concerns the poor old guys and gals who want to live a few years longer.  One would think that at age 70 or greater, the elderly would be reckless and carefree.  After all, I have had 72 good years on this earth, why should I fret if I die tomorrow.  The strange truth is that the older we get, the more cautious we get.  It is almost like thinking that if I give up smoking, drinking, motorcycles, wild parties and wild women or wild men, I will be able to live longer.  I doubt seriously if the time to be safe is after age 70.  It seems to me that logically, the time to be safety conscious would be when you were young and had many potential years ahead of you.  Why be safe, when your heart or brain might blow out tomorrow.  This is a paradox that I do not understand, but I observe it all around me.

I have friends who don’t want to travel because it might be dangerous.  I have friends who have concealed carry permits because they might get mugged and this even in Frederic.  I have a daughter who has security lights all around her house and is planning to install a security camera.  I have friends who live in gated communities with security guards.  I have friends who will not drive in the city or at night.

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In each case above, my friends would not have thought twice about it a few years ago.  But something happens as we age.  Suddenly, we worry.  We worry more about things that in the past would not have given us a glimmer of concern.  Now we want to know what the weather will be like before we go out.  We want to know if a neighborhood is safe before we drive though it.  We want to know if a chosen vacation spot is safe to visit.

Why again I ask, would anyone with so few years left to live, worry about their safety?  They say that growing old is not for the faint of heart.  I can see why.  The older we get; the scarier things are.  Is it simply a bit of DNA that ordains old people should die safely in their beds?

A little caution as we age is no doubt common sense.  Old people are more brittle and less flexible.  We do not bounce when we fall, and we can no longer put one foot behind our heads while standing on the other foot doing a Yoga posture (not that I ever could).  We do not have as much balance and we should rightfully be staying off of high ladders and roofs.  We take more time to mend and with less time left on this earth, we don’t want to spend our last days in a cast or hospital room.  We will probably end up in a hospital room anyway, but I doubt it will be because we did anything foolish like bungee jumping or wing suit diving.

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Aging, for many of us, will be a process of pulling our blankets ever closer and ever tighter.  The days of throwing off the blankets in wild abandon and streaking naked through our gardens are probably over.  Somewhere between the two extremes we must find an accommodation with growing old.  To die or not to die is not the question.  The question is how to die.  I always liked the quote in Julius Caesar by Shakespeare “Cowards die many times before their death, the valiant never taste of death but once.”  Or to paraphrase Patrick Henry, “I know not what course others may take, but give me a party or let me die comfortably in my bed.”

“You can’t possibly be afraid of death, really, you can only be afraid of life.”  — Carl R. Rogers

When I Die?

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“Every now and then I think about my own death.”  Martin Luther King was only thirty-nine years old when he said these words and shared his thoughts about what he wanted his life to stand for.  I think about these words a great deal these days but more in connection with my own life.  The thought that someone only 39 years old had to contemplate the ramifications and implications of death is alarming.  No one should have such worries until old age.

“It is necessary to meditate early, and often, on the art of dying to succeed later in doing it properly just once.”
― Umberto Eco, The Island of the Day Before

I don’t know when I started to think about dying but at age seventy-two, I suppose it is worth reflecting on.  Wasn’t it Socrates who said that the “Unexamined life is not worth living?”  Death is one part of life that many of us may put off thinking about until perhaps it is too late.  I have had ample evidence that death is inevitable.

My grandfather died at the age of fifty-six when I was only eight years old in 1954.  My father died in 1985 when he was 60 years old and I was not yet forty.  My mother died in 1994 when she was 68 and my oldest sister died in 2002 when she was fifty-five years old.  I have had many other relatives and friends who have already departed this world at an earlier than expected age.  I seldom am surprised anymore by anyone else’s death.

Every now and then I think about dying and how I will succumb to Charon.  Will I go willingly? Will I go honorably?  Will my life have meant something?  Will I have made a difference in the world?  The how, when and where of death holds fascinating opportunities for reflection.

“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
― Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Occasionally, I think about going out of this world, fast.  I had a Yamaha FZ1 up to 160 mph on the I35 going to Duluth one morning.  A crash at that speed might not have been going out in a blaze of glory, but it would have been quick.  I wonder if it would have been painless?  That would be a plus.

Sometimes I think about going out heroically.  I dive into some icy river or rush into a burning house to save some poor soul.  I don’t make it.  Will the world remember me as a hero or some idiot with heroic aspirations who failed at his hero task?

Part of me would like to die in bed.  I think of the remark that Clive Cussler made that the best way to go is in bed with your accountant telling you that you are ten dollars overdrawn in your account.  I would die peacefully with my beloved Karen and sister Jeanine at my side.  I would use my last breath to tell them how much I love them.  No pain but no heroic antics either.  Sort of a blah death in a way but it does have an appeal.

I was doing a morning run this week when the thought of dying kept intruding into my run.  I sometimes think about how long it would take a bullet to hit me when I run in the mountains and desert.  There are always some folks who seem to prefer shooting near the park rather than in the approved shooting ranges on the other side of the Casa Grande Mountains.  I can hear the boom of their shots echoing across the desert valley.  I wonder precisely how long it would take a stray bullet to strike me?  A friend of mine said much less than one second.  I count the seconds anyway after I hear a boom and wonder what my last thoughts will be.

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Death accidently shot while running in the mountains would no doubt be a fast but ignominious way of dying.  I am opting for something a little more glamourous.  I think about the headline in the Casa Grande Dispatch the next day.  “Man accidently shot while running trails in the mountains by MORON exercising his Second Amendment rights.”  Man and MORON would be linked for all eternity.  How will anyone weave this into my eulogy?

“I mean, they say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time.”
― Banksy

Some of you reading this might be thinking “This guy is really morose, maybe even suicidal.”  The experts say that reflecting on death too much might not be healthy and might be evidence of suicidal tendencies.  However, (as you might expect) other experts say that reflecting on death is a normal and even important aspect of aging that may help prepare us for the coming trials of old age.  A quote I rather like goes like this “Old age is not for the faint of heart.”

My sister (who seems to know everyone in the State of Rhode Island) is five years younger than I am and manages to go to at least one or two funerals a month.  I avoid funerals, but I prefer them to weddings.  While funerals may be no more honest than weddings when it comes to the things people will say about the departed, at least funerals preclude any errant delusions of grandeur (For example, living happily ever after).  How many newlyweds will manage to live happily ever after?

I have always said (half-jokingly) that I want to go first.  I want Karen to live on long after I pass away and have a good life.  Many of the things I do today are in a sense to help prepare for that eventuality.  I had expected that Karen would no doubt survive me as women generally live longer than men.  Besides, my life has been lived much faster than Karen’s and thus I have used up more of my “thread of life.”  However, with old age I have had second thoughts on this expectation.

“Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones. A legacy is etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about you.”
― Shannon Alder

A few weeks ago, I was sharing a bottle of Brandy and some cigars with two friends, when I said that I hoped that I would go first as I could not think of being alone in this life without Karen.  One of the other men astonished me when he said, “I want my wife to go first.”  I immediately assumed that he was being selfish but being curious I asked him why?  He explained very sincerely that his wife had been quite sick and that he had no one else to take care of her.  He did not want to leave her alone without his help.  I was moved by his charity and unselfishness which suddenly made my position seem quite the opposite.  Selfish!  Selfish!  Selfish!

Another joke I have often made was that I married a nurse so that she could take care of me when I was old and feeble.  I always thought this was funny.  In the last few years, I have had a different perspective.  My spouse (who really is a nurse) is getting older and frailer.  The wear and tear of aging is very visible in new creases, new lines, slower movements and lower energy levels.  The realization hit me like the proverbial brick a few years ago that I might be taking care of her rather than the other way around.

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I doubt that anyone who knows me would ever think of me as a “caregiver.”  But I have always been a pragmatist and so I have started taking some caregiver classes and classes on aging.   I have also taken one on the various aspects of Dementia and Alzheimers.  I will grow old along with my spouse and do what I can to take care of both of us.  I may not always believe that the “best is yet to be” but I will do my best to help make this possibility a reality.

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“To fear death, gentlemen, is no other than to think oneself wise when one is not, to think one knows what one does not know. No one knows whether death may not be the greatest of all blessings for a man, yet men fear it as if they knew that it is the greatest of evils.”
― Socrates

I don’t want to glamorize getting old but neither do I want to disparage the possibilities that old age has for many of us.  I will never know the how, when or where of my dying, but I can live my life the best I can and each day try to be the best person, husband, friend, father and neighbor that I can be.  Each day life offers me more choices to grow old with dignity.  To face the difficulties of aging more boldly and maybe even heroically.  To paraphrase Martin Luther King, when I die:

  • Don’t tell them about my titles
  • Don’t tell them about my degrees
  • Don’t tell them about my jobs
  • Don’t tell them about the books I wrote or the places I have been
  • Tell them I wanted to be a good person and was honest enough to know that I usually fell short.

Time for Questions:

Do your ever think about dying?  What do you want to be remembered for? How would you like to die?  Do you think you will go fast or slow?

Life is just beginning.

“In the end, I won’t say that I have ‘NO REGRETS’ because that would be bullshit.  I have more regrets than I can count.” —  J. Persico

 

 

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