Why not

Out of the blue, I'm just going to throw this up because one battle has been replaced by another. I delivered the eulogy at my mother's funeral this past weekend, and I'm just so incredibly crushed by her leaving us, I want my attempt to make her proud live forever - so I'm just going to post this and run off for a while again. You'll see I have a reference to a boy in there, so yes - I have a little boy, and I guess it's not terribly important to me to relate to you all how he got here, but I love him with every fiber of my being. Here goes:


This past summer my wife and I took a vacation to the Washington Coast with some of our closest friends. We all have two year olds, so we consider vacationing together kind of a support group.

Knowing Gus, I figured he would be initially cautious, but once he got a flavor for splashing in the water, he’d want to get right in. This concerned me. So I did some research.

I learned about sea creatures, winds, swells, and other such matter. Then I read about rip tide and what I found surprised me.

It turns out if you get swept up in a rip tide, if you try to swim against it you’re doomed. If you fight it it’s useless. You’re only hope to survive isn’t to swim, it’s to let it take you – you need to completely let go.

This operates against logic, against human will.

To fight it is futile. You have to surrender to it to have any hope.

When Mom was first diagnosed, I thought the decision on what to do next was obvious:

You fight it with all of your strength.

Go in swinging, go down swinging.

Doctors didn’t give her much in the way of hope. Her chances were slim. Fight it and you have maybe a year, and it wouldn’t be a very pleasant year. Don’t fight and you have a few months.

But this is my Mom we’re talking about. Stubborn. Resolute. Iron-willed.

And yet after a flirtation with a protracted battle, she did the unthinkable and she just stopped.

Stopped chemo, stopped taking her blood pressure medicine, ignored her diabetes. She stopped fighting against the tide.

She let go.

This is my Mom we’re talking about. Realist. Practical. Wise.

I can’t say that I agree with her decision, but I recognize that she gave us a gift. She let go in order to make full use of the time she had left. So instead of the next chemo appointment, the next meeting with doctors, the next round of being too sick to get out of bed, she connected with her friends, she was visited by family, she got to spend time with her grandchildren Jonathan, Christopher, Gus. She got to hold little baby Ike.

She went to the casino.

She ate pizza.

She even drank beer.

She let go so she could live.

With this decision, this gift, we were able to simply love her during her remaining time and reflect on what she meant to us.

In thinking about Mom’s life I realize that she was the master of knowing when to let go.

Mom entered nursing school in a class of 43 and only 18 graduated. It was a grueling program. Students needed to study, intern, many worked on the side to earn money. She was good at what she did and she enjoyed it. One of my favorite stories that Dad told me years ago was that Mom would get home from work and leave a note about where they were going out with friends. Dad would get home a time later, change, see the note, and drive separately. They’d have fun all night, race each other home, wake up and swear they’d never do it again until my dad saw Mom’s note that night after work. And they’d do it all over.

I tell you this story because Mom had an endearing line she used to like to tell Kelli and me. “My life was really over when I had you kids.” And then she’d grin and look at us with adoring eyes and say “but I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Mom never wanted to be a cook. She didn’t want to shop for groceries. She didn’t want to vacuum, clean the bathroom, do the laundry. She didn’t want to do back-to-school shopping. She didn’t want to discipline.

But she did it.

She let go of her career, she let go of her fun, and she became a Mother. Because she was selfless.
I recall being in first grade and my buddy Andy wore a key around his neck and I asked him,
“why do you wear that key around your neck?”.

“So I can get in my house,” he said rather incredulously

And I said, “You mean your mom won’t let you in the house?”

I never knew what it was like to not have Mom at home, there waiting for me, to take care of me, to ask me about my day. What I learned. What I liked. What I discovered.

Mom had a knack for knowing when things were beyond her control.

I remember being a young boy... and let’s just say my Mom and my sister were having trouble seeing eye to eye. Mom did the best she could but there wasn’t much she could say or do that would derail my sister’s determination to be her own person. I recall Mom telling me, “honey, I love your your sister but I just can’t fix her right now.” And she let her go. I believe it was this decision that allowed my sister to make her own choices, grow up, learn from mistakes, and mature. It’s why she became the empathetic, intelligent person she is today. Mom let her go to let her grow.

I also remember wondering why Mom cried so much when I was leaving for college. It wasn’t as if I was going to Central. I was only going 90 minutes north. I’d certainly be coming home for a good meal and to do my laundry on the weekends. It was much later that I realized that she cried because she had to let me go – she had to let me go and make my own mistakes, my own decisions, and learn from them on my own. When other Moms called night after night, mine let me call her – and I credit her for that.

Helen Hunt Jackson wrote:

Motherhood is priced of God, at price no man may dare to lessen or misunderstand.

When I first read that, the understanding part struck me – it reminded me of something I wrote for Mom that I never gave her.

Last year, I started to write her a letter for Mother’s Day because I was now a parent and I had a new respect for her with Gus in my life. Ironically, I never finished it largely because I have Gus in my life. In reading it over, so much of it seemed appropriate for today. I’d like to share some of it with you now.

Mom, I understand how you must have felt when I was born and they told you I wouldn’t survive.

I understand now why you always read me one more book before bedtime if I asked.

I understand why you didn't want me to play football.

I understand why going out for pizza on Saturday was so important to you. You didn’t have to cook for us – and prepare two different meals: one for Kelli, and one for the rest of us.

I understand why you spoiled me.

I understand why you couldn't stand my hair long in college.

I understand why you forced me to go to confirmation.

I understand why you asked me to clean up my room. I also understand why it upset you when I never did.

I understand why you always made me send thank you notes promptly.

I understand why you couldn’t come to my baseball games because you’d throw your back out.

Mom, I still don't understand gazpacho, but I understand why you made it. Because Dad liked it.

I understand what went through your mind when you heard the tires screech outside our house when I got hit by that car.

And Mom, I hope you understand why the first thing that I told the medics was that Mom was going to kill me.

I understand why every time I left the house, you told me to "be careful". And as if I couldn’t look at the gauge myself, you asked if there was any gas in the car.

Mom, I'll never understand why you packed two kids into a 1981 VW Rabbit and drove 800 miles to Reno Nevada, but I'm sure you had your reasons.

I understand why you didn't like some of my girlfriends.

I even understand why at Christmas time you always hung that picture of an ox that Kelli made in grade school even though it really had nothing to do with Christmas and it barely looked like an animal to begin with. I get it now.

I understand now why you always shopped on the sale rack.

I finally understand why you sobbed when I broke that ugly green vase that sat on top of our 1960's television in the basement. It was the last thing your mother had given you.

I understand why you had a well stocked bar.

I understand how much you cared for us.

I understand how much you loved us.

I finally understand all the sacrifice.

And Mom, I was going to say that I don’t know what I’ll do without you – but in fact, I do know what I’ll do without you. I’ll honor you by attempting to live up to your example, and you all can do the same.

To be selfless.

To sacrifice for those you love.

To be loyal to your friends.

To be loyal to your family.

To love your family almost to a fault.

To know when to stand and fight.

And to have the wisdom to know when to let the tide take you.

Glen Hansard Rules

I don't have much to say lately, so I figure I might as well throw some good music out there. If you haven't seen the movie "Once," you ought to... it's well done. Glen and Marketa Irglova won an Oscar for this song in the movie. I've heard a whole host of versions of the song, and I'll admit that the stripped-down acoustic versions are better - but I'm a big fan of The Frames, so I was pleased to see it played with some fiddle, drums, and bass. Enjoy.

Just Take Your Medicine

When I was about four years old, I had a fever.

"Mom, why does my head get so hot when I'm sick?"

"It's your body fighting the bug you've got."

"So it's good?"

"Yes, honey"

She then went to give me some kind of fever-reducing medicine.

"Mom, what are you giving me?"

"It's to help with the fever, honey"

Pause.

"But I thought my fever was a good thing?"

"Just take the medicine."

"But who is going to fight my bug if I get rid of the fever?"

"Just take the medicine."

"But mooooooooommmmmm!"

"Just take the medicine."

God love her. She is and was a tolerant woman. But I can't help but feel some kind of parallel between this and some of the ridiculousness with regard to infertility. I feel like we repeatedly try to treat the symptom and not the disease.

"Take the medicine" is something I think about every time I shoot my wife in the ass with some unpronounceable goop in a syringe. And I wonder - there's got to be a reason more and more people need fertility intervention. There's got to be some issue, some imbalance, some evil, if you will, that's causing this - and yet so little has been invested to try and determine what "it" is.

According to a Reproductive Genetics Center study, .05% of men were functionally sterile (sperm counts below 20 million) in 1938. Today that rate is 8-12%. Some studies argue the rate of male infertility is growing at a rate of 1 to 2 percent each year. Excuse my French, but that, ladies and germs, is seriously fucked up.

And yet, there is a dearth of research into causes of infertility while we pump each other full of hormones and masturbate in back rooms to try and create a family.

Now, I know there has been SOME research - we know that have a battery of chemical, pharmaceutical, and environmental possibilities for infertility. Heavy metals, hydrocarbons, varnishes, glues, solvents, pesticides, oxidants (free radicals), etc. – all exhibit effects on fertility but determining statistically significant causality is another matter. However, it’s probably safe to say that if you work in a rubber factory or if you finish floors for a living and you’re just getting to the family planning part of life, move to a state where IVF is covered by your HMO.

Type "in vitro" into a Yahoo news search though - you know what you get? Hundreds of articles about diagnostics markets, diagnostic partnerships, marketing agreements between businesses making in-vitro diagnostic machines, partnership agreements with foreign companies for in-vitro computer technology, in-vitro medical device permits, acquisitions, stock options, blah, blah, blah...

People are making a lot of money on us. I'm not sure they care about the cause.

"Just take the medicine."

Indeed.

I guess this is the end of my "good faith" sperm donating days...

You may have already seen this story, but I thought it was worth a post.

So if this guy is legally obligated to child support, then we should all be asking our respective embryologists for new skates or a baseball glove or something of similar ilk - I mean, they're just as much a responsible party in creating life as the parents were. Hell, the embryologist probably spent more time with the sperm than the biological father.

21 years old, going on... 1 month...

Since I seem to be a news hog lately, and full of only ugliness and evil, I thought I'd send along this link since it's fairly uplifting and interesting.

So I'm morbidly consumed

the hits just keep coming.. I'm not searching them out, I just see them in the paper. If I had a sense of humor today, I'd see the irony in all of this - but it just makes me ill. I don't get it. Insight, anyone? WTF?

Why them?

Every once in a while, I come across a news story that involves an infant or a child and some grotesque abomination that their only-considered-a-parent-due-to-matching-dna caretakers inflicted upon them. Sometimes I've actually read stories and just sat there and cried. But always - ALWAYS - when I read about abuse to children, as a person who has struggled to bring my own biological into the world, I wonder - "why them?".

It never gets me anywhere, and yeah - we all know that there are crack babies born by the bakers dozen on any given day, but I read the following story, and I just couldn't get away from it. Why them? Why her?