Memory Seeps From My Veins

Every once in a while, I'll be driving or walking somewhere, or just randomly doing something, and get sucker punched. I get the wind knocked out of me, my heart beats fast and wildly, and I usually cry at least a tear or two. Why? Because something reminds me of my brother, Xander.

I find it interesting that I don't feel the same way about those dear to me who are still alive. I don't start thinking about my sister, who is in law school in New York, or my brother, in business school in California and feel weepy. When I think about friends whom I haven't seen in years, I miss them, but I don't feel physical pain when I think about them. In fact, I don't actually feel sad about Xander on a frequent basis. I can write about him, talk to strangers or friends about him and I usually can think about him without feeling a twinge of hurt.


But, when something reminds me of him, it hits hard. Today, I was passing by an elementary school when the fire alarm rang. I watched the children file out in orderly progression, which threw me back to childhood and earthquake drills. We would have them on a regular basis at school in Southern California. Because we had to cluster outside based on last name, we were always together during these drills. He and I spent many a drill having a grand time outside on the soccer fields, soaking up the warm SoCal sun. So today, when I saw those little guys outside their school lined up for their fire drill, I thought about calling my brother and reminiscing - when that hit-me-in-the-gut feeling emerged.

Xander's funeral was held in a lovely place in late spring in Rochester, NY, the Lamberton Conservatory. I don't remember much about being there, other than it was crowded (so many people loved my brother!), it was hot, and I was sad. I have a mental snapshot of a woman sitting on a bench, looking years older than her true age, her shoulders slumped with the inevitable realization that she was there because she would never see her son again. Mothers before her have been through the same thing, and mothers after her will again, but it doesn't make it any easier. She sat, greeting visitors with a sad, slow smile and watery red-rimmed eyes. In the background, one of Xander's favorite artists, Sarah McLachlan's song "Angel" warbled from the speakers:

"memory seeps from my veins
let me be empty
and weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight"

This wish that Sarah McLachlan and I shared, to find some peace tonight, was elusive. There was no peace, no solace.

The other day, as I was driving to pick up my children from summer camp, McLachlan's song came on the radio and hit my unsuspecting heart with an enormous hammer. Pow! I was overcome so instantaneously that I had to pull over and stop. I felt like I was driving in a thunderstorm so intense that I couldn't see out of the windshield. My heart pounded and I couldn't catch my breath. I called my sister, the only person I could think to call who could understand where I was coming from with my feeling. It was more than sadness I was feeling; it was regret, remorse, pain, anger, sorrow, all rolled into one neat, carefully tied package.

How do you move beyond the death of your brother? I don't know. You just do. But every once in a while, the dragon of sorrow emerges from his lair and strikes with a pain so swift and deep you wonder how you can emerge. The only comfort I have is that the dragon strikes less frequently as the years pass. But I know he lurks, waiting to strike again. I have no defense, no shield of armor, no sword. I can only hope the dragon grows old.

Raising Moral Children

Children must be raised by their parents to be moral, good humans. I don't think it requires a background in church teachings to do so, nor does it require the word of God to be a good person. I am sure that many would agree with me that there are plenty of self-titled "Christians" out there who are really not terribly good humans. I can think of plenty of times where people were not kind, considerate or honest, and in the very next breath would title themselves "good Christians." In fact, just the other day I was driving and reached a merge point where it was my turn to merge. The school bus to my left had just let in a car, then I was planning on merging after the bus. But, the driver in the car next to me ensured that he was literally inches off the bus bumper, to make sure I couldn't get in. I rolled down my window and waived, but in turn received a good old fashioned flip of the middle finger. Umm, yeah, thanks. So, after I merged in after him, I noticed that nice little fishy sticker on the back of his car proclaiming his faithfulness to our dear lord and savior. Dude, where's the love? Anyway, I digress.

In order to raise moral children, it is important to emphasize that family matters. My children know that we go for a walk after dinner every night, pretty much rain or shine. We examine plants, discuss what went on at school, stop and talk to the neighbors, pat the doggies. Basically all the stuff that lets the children know we need to stop and pay attention to others, not be self absorbed all the time. The other night it was getting a little late and I was about to take the kids upstairs for a bath. Logan stopped me and said "Mommy! We haven't gone for our walk yet, Alex and I need to get our entergy out!" He is starting to realize the value of getting out together and being a family.

Children also must be taught to give of themselves for the greater good. They don't need to give up everything for others, but they should know that there are people less fortunate than they are and be taught a willingness to give away what is theirs. We frequently donate clothing to Goodwill, and when we do, we also pick out a couple toys that are not played with often that someone else might enjoy using. We discuss the hurricanes and how kids who have lost all their toys might appreciate having some new toys to play with. At Christmas time each child picks out a toy at the toystore that they would love to play with themselves, then give it away to organizations such as "Toys for Tots". When we do this, we discuss that there are some children who would otherwise get nothing under their Christmas tree. They get a sense of giving and selflessness by doing this.

The spiritual needs of kids can be met by ensuring they are connected to nature, family, society and living creatures. They must be provided a sense of right and wrong using critical thinking skills. Children must learn to give of themselves in order to reap a sense of belonging and utility toward society. Some suggestions for involving kids in connecting to the greater good are bringing food to new parents, visiting the elderly in nursing homes, serving food to the needy on holidays, participating in park cleanups, or holding lemonade stand sales for a favorite charity (such as Alex's Lemonade Stand.)

None of my suggestions requires a belief in a higher power to control your behavior or require you to be a good person. I do not think that God is necessarily integral in someones life. Having a belief in God does not make you moral, and a lack of belief does not make you amoral. You must teach your children to be moral, thinking, feeling humans. Don't wait for someone else to teach them this!

What can you think of to encourage your children to learn to be moral, involved humans?

Chipmunk, Redux.

Well, for the past week, I have had flies in my office. Not just a few flies. So many that it has made my skin crawl. I believe I killed over 100 flies (yep, 100!) in just three days. It was like Medusa; every time I'd kill off a fly, it seemed as though two new ones took its place. They were everywhere. I thought perhaps a dirty diaper was left in my office, or something, because I was desperate to find the source of the flies. I cleaned out the office, looked under the fridge - woh was that dusty! (but I didn't clean it. Oh well.) Looked under the piano, behind the toy shelves, but nada.

I kept saying to myself "where the heck are those flies coming from?" and my four-year-old's wizened voice kept piping up "they're flying through the kitty door mommy". This, I dismissed. Who has ever heard of a fly flying through a veritable maze to get into the house. (Ominous omen number one.) The kitty door, known as the "Let Meow't" allows the cat ample egress and entry through a U shaped box tunnel without the pet owner needing to open the door sixteen times a day at the whim of kitty. Apparently, though, my kitty sees it as a means of bringing new little pets into the house (see yesterday's posting...)

After about an hour of sniffing around everywhere in the house to find the source of the flies, I eventually got over to the cat door. As I got closer, the smell got stronger. (Ominous omen number two). Sure enough, as I was looking at it, a fly zipped out into the house. Also, the big cat, Watson, was absolutely refusing to go through the cat door. (Ominous omen number three.) I thought it was just because he was lazy and didn't want to jump up to the opening.

Logan and I did a little snooping around the Let Meow't. He looked in one side, but didn't see anything. I looked in the other. Nothing. Relief. There's no dead animal corpse I have to deal with. But still, I had a funny feeling. So I unmounted the Let Meow't from its perch in the window and pulled it outside. I donned chicken pulling gloves. (Latex gloves from my mother, to be used in the rare occurance that I debone a rotisserie chicken, which is to say, never.) Over the gloves, I pulled elbow length plastic newspaper bag, just in case the chicken pulling gloves weren't sufficient enough to keep out whatever putrified matter might be in the box.

I reached in, and touched what felt like a soft baby toy. I pulled it out. There it was. The vile, foul remains of another poor chipmunk. Why it stayed in the Let Meow't instead of either running out or into my house, I won't understand. But there it was. Looking just like yesterday's chippy. But. But... This chippy was a little less, um, perky looking, than yesterday's. His belly was a teeming mass of maggots. Yick. Logan stooped down to look at the chipmunk, then he looked at me, "It's dead, Mommy." Why yes, Logan, you are correct. It's dead. He enjoyed looking at the maggots. At least one of us enjoyed the show. I wrapped up the poor thing in the newspaper bag, sprayed it with bugspray, and chucked it into our garbage can.

I'd love to say that I never saw the chippy again, but the garbage isn't picked up until Friday, and I disposed of it Monday. I'm sure he and his fly buddies will be seen again soon.

Ike

Well, Ike came ripping through Western Pennsylvania yesterday evening, and it was a doozy. The winds were gusting up to 65 miles an hour, that's close to the fastest I've ever seen. The power was browning out repeatedly for over an hour, and we had two very brief complete outages. DH and I were watching the football game (Go Steelers!) and just listening to the wind howl. The cats were not pleased. The big guy kept coming up to us and burying his nose in my lap. The little gal, Crick, was hovering close by on a pillow. Fortunately, the baby and his two big brothers were fine, and didn't notice a thing! They slept like, well, like babies. I just can't imagine what it must have felt like for people to live through a hurricane. It's bad enough having the remnants pass through; a 100 MPH wind passing overhead has to be awful.

This morning, Crick brought us another (another!!) present, a chipmunk. She brought one in last week too. I managed to wrest it from her jaw and catch it to put it out. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if she caught the same little guy and brought him in again later today. He didn't look too bad though. Just scared, and a little damp from cat drool. We've had at least two birds, two chipmunks, a rabbit, and two mice in the past month. She's gotta cut it out! I'm not pleased with having to remove live and dead animals every week. My dad's theory is that she feels we're inept, incapable, pathetic humans who need to learn how to catch live prey. So, she brings in things for us to practice with. Umm, no thanks, Crick. I'd prefer to leave the catching to you. Just don't bring them in, OK?