Last night I had the strangest dream...Part II

I woke up Wednesday morning feeling slightly ill that I had had that dream. Why? In an extremely unbelievable occurrence, BOTH of my parents were having surgery on Wednesday. My dad’s surgery was originally scheduled for Friday, but a cancellation moved him up and my mom wasn’t supposed to go for about three more weeks, but she decided to get it done sooner, rather than later. It turned out, everything just happened on the same day.

My parents are divorced, in case I’ve never mentioned that before. They live 500 miles apart and reside in two different states. They are on speaking terms, especially since my sister has given them a grandchild and they generally get along very well, so it’s not a point of stress in our lives. They’re also very young. Let’s just say they’re in their early 50’s and I’m 33, do the math and you’ll probably understand why they’re divorced.

Anyway, because they are so young, I think my sister and I have hard time dealing with their aches and pains and in this case, surgery. My anxieties came shining through in this dream.

The representations of different things in this dream were incredible. My grandparents’ house being a place where I felt safe; the family being together and being “normal”, in my view and the mowing of the lawn as being something familiar to me, a routine; but then the sudden moving out and subsequent immediate moving in of a new family, well, this has me slightly puzzled. I’m not sure what my subconscious was trying to tell me here, but I do have a theory. I think it was because the parents were my age, it was a different issue I’m having coming to light: that I’d like to find someone to settle down with and start a family.

In any event, the dream really shook me and I was very worried for the majority of the day until I heard everything was fine on both ends. I even spoke to my dad on IM that night. My mom was very groggy, so my sister called to let me know to call her Thursday. Dad is now back at work, Mom is resting somewhat comfortably on the couch for the next week or so and I am still looking to settle down and start a family. I think the last one might take a little bit more time.

Last night I had the strangest dream...Part I

My mom’s parents have been gone for a while. My grandmother has been gone for 10 years and my grandfather for almost seven. The house that I spent so much time in as a child, and even lived in for a couple of years as a man in my early twenties, was sold two years before either of them left us. Yet in this dream, it played a huge role in, well, something…

The dream began with a bunch of people, mostly family members, doing odd tasks; cooking, watching TV, chasing small kids around and having casual conversations with each other. None of this activity was really out of the ordinary for anytime that my family would get together.

As for myself, I was wandering around outside. I thought about how the garage used to lean to one side. Continuous years of snow piling onto its roof caused the structure to lean and became unstable. It was fixed long before we sold the house, but I always remember it that way.

Anyway, the dream skipped around randomly and then significant things began to take place. Again, I was wandering around the outside of the house looking at how much the grass had grown and how it needed to be cut. So I grabbed the lawnmower out of the garage, as I had so many times in my youth, and began to mow the lawn in the backyard. It was an odd-shaped yard and if you tried to keep the lines running completely straight, it looked funny, so it was better to just go with the natural flow created by the curvature of the driveway and shrubbery along the line that divides us between our neighbors. When I finished, the yard looked so nice and I was very proud of myself. I trimmed the edges of the lawn and it was really the most work I had ever done in the backyard (It’s in the BACK of the house, who is going to see that??).

Once I finished back there, I moved to the front lawn. The front was small and usually took about 10 minutes to mow, but the two large trees usually left broken sticks and twigs all over the place from the squirrels running through the trees. You had to be careful when mowing the front because the blades would shoot the debris out the back into your bare legs, sometimes cutting them up pretty good.

I’m way off my point here, so back I go.

I finished the lawn, but as I turned to head into the house, a large moving truck pulled up, then another. The first truck was to take everything away. The second one contained the belongings of the new family that was moving in – apparently immediately! Moments later, the family arrived in their minivan. A nice, young couple, probably my age, stepped out and opened the back doors to retrieve their children – two girls and a boy - ages six, four and 18 months.

My family came out to greet them and we exchanged pleasantries. However, in a matter of moments, something clicked inside of me and I began to weep. Moments later, I was really crying, the way I have only cried at family funerals. I ran to the other side of the moving trucks so no one else could see me and I sat on the curb and openly sobbed for what seemed like a very long time.

So what does this all mean? To be continued…

Please don't bury me down in that cold, cold ground

Two solutions to the Anna Nicole Smith "problem":

• Cremate her and put us out of our entire misery. Spread her ashes all over the damned Earth for all I care, just stop making this such a big freakin deal.

• Chop her into pieces and bury them in different locations. Heart/torso in the Bahamas; head in Houston; and ass/legs in LA near Marilyn Monroe. Hell you can even freeze her boobs next to Ted Williams head in Arizona, if you're so inclined.

Interesting people die everyday, none of them get this much exposure in the news - and that is a damned shame.

Will I choose water over wine and hold my own and drive?

An excerpt from this article:

"It's snow. We get a lot of it. So what?" said Allan Babcock, a lifelong resident who owns a popular diner in this village of 650 people located about 38 miles northeast of Syracuse.

Roads were mostly cleared Sunday as workers turned their attention to removing the snow and trimming down 10- and 12-foot-high snow banks.

The intense blast of snow hasn't been blamed for any deaths in Oswego County. Elsewhere, however, more than a week of bitter cold and slippery roads have contributed to at least 25 deaths across the northeastern quarter of the nation — five in Ohio, four in Illinois, four in Indiana, two in Kentucky, seven in Michigan, and one each in Wisconsin, and Maryland and elsewhere in New York, authorities said.

So many people complain, or shiver at the thought of all that cold weather and snow, yet only 25 people have died and while that is tragic, it’s such a relatively small number when compared to say, a hurricane. Particularly, a hurricane that people were told could be the one that sinks their city.

You see, when natural disasters occur in the north, such as massive amounts of snow, people do what they’re told – stay inside and only drive on the roads if it’s an emergency. Northerners know that going outside, and specifically driving, is seriously putting your life at risk. 115 inches of snow have fallen in Central New York and not one person has died because of it. 36 hours in advance of a hurricane people were told to get out. They didn’t and a couple thousand people – and an entire city - died.

Maybe that it would do me good if I believed there were a God out in the starry firmament

It’s amazing how little things can set you off.

I was reading this article, which I thought from the headline would be an interesting story, but it turns out that it got deep into my into my psyche and then I couldn’t stop my head from thinking about my own death…and life, but mostly about how I won’t be here someday. In addition to having to deal with my recent loss, the combination of the two was too much for my mind and I imploded.

I got all twitchy, my breath got short and my heart rate increased. It was a panic attack. I haven’t had one since the day my (now ex) wife told me that we needed to split. I would get them frequently, mostly at night, and I would calm down by getting out of bed, throwing water on my face and lying down with one of the cats. This time however, I’m at work. I can’t get to the restroom without being noticed and I don’t have a cat nearby. To resolve the situation, I grabbed my stress ball off my desk and walked into the back of the file area, which is pretty close to my office, where it’s sort of secluded and dark. I just stood in there and tried to calm myself down.

I started to think about death, my death, and life, my life. I know this will get entirely too philosophical, but what are we doing here? I am back in school, and having a rough time of it, I might add, trying to get a degree so I can work for an organization that helps people. Shouldn’t my willingness/eagerness to want to help be enough? Why do I need a piece of paper to say to the organization, “Hire him, he’s ok. He’s one of us!” On-the-job experience will teach me more than any textbook, classroom or academic paper ever could.

We work so hard, for so long and for what? I know many people who work hard to provide for their families so the next generation can be better. That used to be a good moniker. Nowadays however, how much more does the next generation need? Isn’t this eventually going to wear itself out? Is it selfish of me to say that my life is not about my legacy? My family isn’t going to have it worse than me. I would consider my life, so far, to have been pretty good. In a shade more than 6 weeks, I’ll be 33 and I feel very lucky to have done many of the things I have, but does my legacy need more than that? I feel that, while the environment in which I grew up was not ideal, it has made a strong person. I don’t shy away from things because I had a tougher childhood than what my kids will likely have. By no means was my childhood as tough as so many other kids were either. At least I had a loving family, though my parents divorced when I was young; I had quality interaction with both of them then and to this day. My grandparents had a large influence on me as well because I spent a great amount of time with them throughout my childhood and even into my teen years.

I’ve run far away from the point of this post, so I am going hit the brakes and try to quiet my brain for the remainder of my workday.

It's not that we're scared, It's just that it's delicate

Death has a way of entering our lives at very inopportune moments. I guess though, when is there a good time for death? Death is one a few things that I am afraid of. I am “scared to death” of it, definitely no pun intended.

I bring this up because I spent Monday and Tuesday last week dealing with a death in my family. My great uncle passed away after having a stroke, which was a possible risk after his successful back surgery. He had a small stroke, to which his abilities were limited, but the potential for recovery was there. Then he had a massive stroke and he was left with no chance. My grandmother flew in from California. His children, stepchildren and grandchildren arrived in waves to say their final goodbyes before the doctors took him off the ventilator.

My dad emailed me about the situation a almost two weeks ago on Tuesday. I had pretty much made up my mind afterwards that I wanted to be at the funeral, whenever it was going to take place, regardless of the cost or strain on my personal schedule. On Sunday afternoon, while watching football, I got the call that he had passed.

I am going to skip the inane details of trying to get a last minute flight and the weather issues I had to deal with for now. Maybe by the end of the week, when I have some time, I’ll be able to write about those situations. For now, I’m going to write about a wonderful man; the extraordinary funeral he had and say my own goodbye.

One note before I begin. Due to this uncle existing on my father’s side of the family, I did not spend a great amount of time with him. I would see him maybe once every couple of years at family functions. However, he was also a best friend of an uncle on my mom’s side of the family whom I did see often, so I would get updates as to how he was and what was going on with him on a regular occasion.

That being said, the time I spent with him was always memorable. The first thing I always noticed was his smile. He always had a big smile on his face. If I had the opportunity to speak with him, and most likely I would because he always made a point of mingling with everyone, he would make sure to ask how I was doing, what was going on in my life and was I happy. As the conversation progressed from topic to topic, he always spoke with passion and conviction, regardless of the topic. In our ardent conversations, his face and voice were always animated and I could tell he genuinely enjoyed speaking with me.

It is said that people are not judged by the things they possess, but by the company they keep. If this is true, then my uncle will receive the highest of honors. The turnout for his funeral was phenomenal. Well over 250 people who had been touched by him in some manner showed up to pay their respects and say their goodbyes. There were nine speakers: a son, a stepdaughter, a stepson, two granddaughters, a former student’s mother and two colleagues/friends. While they all spoke eloquently, two stood out.

My uncle was a professor of business and marketing at a State University. He was a department head. He was the student advisor to a number of different organizations on campus. One of his organizations, Students in Free Enterprise, was a competition. His group finished first in regional competitions nine years in a row. Nationally, they were ranked third and this is amongst some of the best schools in the country. There is no division I, II or III. I give you this background because the President of the University was one of the speakers and spoke more highly of him than I’d ever heard of such a common person. However, he wasn’t a common person. He was exceptional.

Above all else, his family came first. He lost his first wife in his late 30’s, while his children were in their teens. He married his second wife in his mid-40’s, bringing her three children together with his and creating one large, loving family. The children all got along very well and remain close to this day. From these two families, he welcomed sons and daughter’s-in-law, as well as numerous grandchildren. His eldest granddaughter spoke at his funeral and she was the most eloquent, poised and composed speaker of the morning. She spoke about sitting on the patio while he would tell her stories, helping her with her homework and listening to talk about anything and everything that was going on in her life. She talked about how difficult it was to see him in the hospital and much she would miss him.

When she finished, the only audible sound in the room were that of sniffles, blowing noses and quiet sobbing. She had everyone in the room thinking about what a great man he was and how much he will be missed. Her speech described and reinforced the very soul and spirit of the man he was: husband, father, grandfather, uncle and friend.

I cannot do justice in my attempts to describe any of what the speakers said that day, so I will not try. The best that I can say about how amazing this funeral was, is that of the 250+ that showed up for the service, around 75 showed up at the cemetery, in 9°, windy, snowy weather, to say their final goodbyes. Among those who showed up for the service were members from my mom’s side of the family as well. Aside from his best friend, my uncle whom I mentioned before, my aunt and uncle, my mother’s brother and sister and another great uncle as well. When I spoke with each of them, after being somewhat surprised to see them there, they each conveyed how much they enjoyed having the opportunity to know this man. His presence went well beyond the boundaries of the two sides of my family and I continued to be amazed.

I wish I could’ve seen him more often than I did. I wish I had seen him more recently than the last time, which was two years ago and I wish that my final goodbye at that time was not my final goodbye.

May he rest in peace knowing that he touched the lives of so many, even those he only came in contact with for the briefest of moments. We will all miss you greatly.

I Will Remember You

Alok Kumar Mehta, Hempstead, NY - 23 years old

Five years ago today, as the world stopped because of these acts of horror and tragedy, Alok was working for Cantor Fitzgerald as a manager in the World Trade Center.

While I could not know the too-short story that was Alok's life, I am certain that his life will always be remembered by his friends, family and those who were acquainted with him even for the briefest of moments. His friends remember his terrible backrubs, his wicked sense of humor and his amazing knowledge of pro football stats. He graduated from Colorado State University in 1998 and had entered in the MBA program at Hofstra. He was interning at Cantor Fitzgerald when tragedy struck.

His friends recall that he was a very caring, open person with a huge heart. He was liked by everyone. Funny, smart, charismatic and he made everyone around him feel important.

That fateful morning, Alok was just a fresh-faced 23-year-old manager working in the World Trade Center, which was probably one of the biggest thrills of his life. I can only imagine the view he had on a daily basis; searching the horizon from his office, high atop the Trade Center. Did he scour the upper Manhattan skyline; the boroughs to the east; maybe he looked down upon New Jersey; or maybe he was able to view the Statue of Liberty lonely standing by herself in the Hudson River, the ever enduring symbol of the United States.

Alok, you are missed greatly by all those who know and love you. You are also missed greatly by those who have never met you, but will honor your life, and your death. Peace be with you.

I urge you to leave comments here for Alok or on these message boards:

September11victims.com

9-11 heroes.us

terroristattack.com

Don't wait up for me tonight, cause I won't be comin' home. And everything's gonna be alright, I just wanted you to know.

My September 11, 2001.

While I realize in the grand scheme of things, my day was nothing in comparison, my point in writing this is that I remember it as though it happened yesterday, not 5 years ago. For the 3,000 people who perished and to the families who are less one or more members, my heart aches for you. Always.

As with most of the country, Tuesday September 11, 2001 started as a typical day for me. I was working at the restaurant, my normal shift of 7 am – 5 pm. The supply order had come in overnight and I, along with another person moved the cases of food and paper goods around to be able to work more efficiently. After finishing, I began preparing my plans for the remainder of the day, who is working each station, when to send them on break, playing all the “what if?” scenarios in my head for the possibility of being short staffed, as usual. Little did I know? As I concluded my daily planning ritual, I took a few phone calls from co-workers and my supervisor as to my previous day’s sales, what my forecast for today looked like and so on. As I prepared the daily bank deposit and set up my money for the day, my then-girlfriend called me on my cell, screaming, “A plane hit the World Trade Center!” My sarcastic response with that small amount of information was, “That’s pretty cool. I wonder who got the worst of that one?” In my head, I imagined some small Cessna bouncing off the monstrosities of lower Manhattan. She hung up, but I wasn’t terribly concerned because I had no idea of the magnitude of the situation.

25 minutes later, I was walking to my car to head to the bank and she called again. “A second plane just hit the other tower!” I now knew without anyone telling me that the first one was no accident. She said the first one had this thick cloud of black smoke rising from it and when the second one hit, it burst into a fireball that rocketed skywards. I was a little frozen for just a moment. Thoughts were speeding through my head as to how to handle this situation. For myself, I wanted so badly to get to a television, but had no way to do so. We didn’t have internet at the restaurant, so I couldn’t keep up with it at work either. I called her back telling her to run over to my apartment, turn on NBC and hit record on the VCR. I wanted as much live coverage as possible to watch when I got home. She was a very good girlfriend at the time and did as I asked. Thank you.

As for my other thoughts, how could I possibly work knowing this was happening? I knew now that for as much planning as I had done, I was going to be very shorthanded now. I called my supervisor and told him I already had a bunch of call offs, I’ve made calls, but no one is answering and could you blame them? I needed help; he had to come help me. I wrestled with the notion of whether to tell the people who were already there what has happened. Would they want to leave? Would they be willing to stay, knowing it was going to be one of those days? My boss called me back saying he was on his way, with help too. He also mentioned that we wouldn’t be busy because people would go to places so they could watch the coverage, not to my place. Never was he more wrong, but more on that later.

While at the bank, they had set up a TV and I saw for the first time the devastation that had already occurred, yet both towers were still standing at this point. We stood and watched in disbelief for what seemed like an eternity. The day was only beginning.

Just after the first tower fell, my friend who lives in Cleveland called to tell me and described it as looking like a “war zone”. He also told me about the Pentagon, since I hadn’t heard about it and the missing plane (United 93) that was last known to be over Cleveland. He told me he’d called me later to update and I thanked him for calling.

The day became a blur for the next 5 hours. 11 am to 4 pm was absolutely crazy! Short-staffed and frustrated, we barely survived until the night manager came in to what he must have thought was a war zone. Nothing was organized, nothing was clean, dishes piled high with no one around to wash them, customers steadily flowing in and out and employees not calling or showing up. It was small compared to what was happening just in D.C., just two hours from where we were and in NYC, but I felt the pressure of having to serve the people who put their trust in us to get them in and out quickly so they could get back to watching the days’ events unfold. Personally, I was agonizing over when I would get home and be able to catch up with what was going on. My cell hadn’t stopped ringing since 230, but I hadn’t answered. The only call I answered was from my mother. September 11th is also my brother’s birthday. Should we still go to dinner? I told her it should be up to him, being all of 14 now; he should be able to make a rational decision.

By 630 pm, I had reasonably cleaned up the days’ mess and finished my bank deposits’. My sales reports completed and brief summary of the days events were written in the log as well, although I knew we would never need to look at it again, 9/11 would forever be ingrained in our memories.

At 645, I was home on my couch with the girlfriend watching my VCR tape that had run out around 330 pm. We fast-forwarded though large portions so we could get to what was happening at the moment. By 8, we left for dinner with my family, Red Lobster, the brothers choice. We talked about what we had seen and heard. We talked about a family member who we knew worked very near, or possibly, in the WTC, we weren’t sure. He was fine. He did work in the north tower, but was not there at the time. I talked about how I tried to call Brian, because I didn’t know where he worked in NYC. I needed to know he was ok. He called me 2 days later, much to my relief. Dinner was solemn, but we still, quietly, celebrated my brothers 14 years.

After dinner, the girlfriend and I returned to the comfort of my apartment. Lying in bed, I held her as Tom Brokaw narrated our evening. We sat quietly as we watched and listened and drifted off to sleep.

Click the title of this post to read the lyrics of Matt Ryczek’s 9/11 tribute song “Goodbye”

Where you are thats where I want to be and through your eyes are all the things I want to see. In the night you're my dreams, you’re everything to me.

RIP
"The Great Mom"