Mortality Smack in the Face. Again.

I used to have a friend named Mike. Mike towered over many of us with his giant bald head, brilliant smile and congenial manner. He was a real sweet potato.

We were the 90s; playing in bands, being in the scene, putting regretful tattoos on our bodies, blazing trails and taking numbers. Mike played in a band called Oxboard Drain with some of his closest friends. They were metally, hard core fun.

We were all young, we all needed the money, but none of us had started to care quite yet. We were tripping on youth, rebellion and freedom from responsibilities (other than the $350 in rent we scrounged up monthly from wait service jobs).

Time marched on and little by little, we all started to grow up and out of touch. Degrees, jobs, babies, marriages, mortgages, lawyers, guns and money. I would run into Mike from time to time, bask in his fantastic bear hugs, then saunter on back to my life in my world, on the other side of town. Taking life for granted, the ironic juxtaposition of existence, thinking I would see him again real soon.

Sunday morning, Mike finished up his bar-tending shift, went home, and went to bed.

He would never wake up again.

Iron Mike was a son, brother, husband, father and friend. He was a really special person and last night I had to say goodbye to him without his signature, affectionate embrace. I looked around and saw how his absence was affecting the people that had come out in droves to say goodbye. We were all waiting for a bear hug we would never get again. We all cried.

Goodbye Mike.

Making Sense of the Senseless

This weekend was beautiful.

I had been anticipating the arrival of Saturday since Wednesday when I saw the forecast for 70 degree weather on the evening news. It is that time of year when life and hope start to penetrate your consciousness with their little rays of sunshine that permeate the gray gloom of mood and climate. The early signs of the imminent arrival of spring. It is the time of year for revival.

Friday evening The Little Honey and I wiped the cob webs off of the patio furniture, broke out the charcoal, opened up some wine and started a bonfire, toasting the arrival of deck weather. We giddily chatted with our neighbors as we planned our next day full of activities to keep us occupied outdoors for the entire 24 hours, or so we hoped. In fact, we even considering turning off the cable during the spring and summer in order to keep us outside, appreciating the world, during the entire spring, summer and early fall.

Why watch television when you can be outside experiencing all of Earth's glory?

We began Saturday morning, sitting in the sun, eagerly eating omelets while chatting about our activities. First: Farmers Market. Second: Asian Market. Third: Planting seeds outdoors. Fourth: Sitting outside, eating, drinking and entertaining...... It was destined to be a banner day and we were ready to get it started.

We were not alone.

As we traveled down the main thoroughfare of our neighborhood to our destinations, the streets were bustling with all sorts of activity. Mainly people were out and about, donning pale limbs, while walking the kids and dogs. The neighborhood was awakened from its icy slumber and people were relishing the good fortune of an absolutely exquisite day. Instead of the muted vanilla of winter, the sky was a brilliant blue that hearkened the change of seasons. We were at the end of death, and there was no better evidence than that sky, or the green daffodil and crocus limbs protruding defiantly through the frozen ground. Spring had sprung.

Findlay Market was abuzz with vendors, but more importantly, customers. People basked in the sun, as they sat at the scattered tables and sampled some of their tasty purchases. My favorite find of the day was a cappuccino brownie that The Little Honey and I devoured within three seconds of purchase, which was disappointing... However, the richness of this treat should satiate my chocolate cravings for at least a few days!

We were able to procure all of our needed items at Findlay Market, without having to take a trip about 20 minutes north to the end all, be all of Asian Markets, CAM Asia Market. Normally, I would not hesitate to make the twenty minute trek, but today was too beautiful to spend any unneeded time indoors, so CAM would have to wait for a rainy day.

As we made our way home, I rolled my window down to dangle my arm and hand in the breeze. I felt like a child again as I raised my palm against the force of the wind and then proceed to make the motion of a wavy ocean with my arm... I even requested taking the long way home, through the more rural roads, just to dig the ride for a few minutes more..... Have I mentioned that it was a glorious day?

When we arrived home, we gathered all of our purchases and made our way up the driveway and into the house to put them away... After completing our duties, I grabbed the latest piece on my "To Read" list, The Shack. I have heard nothing but amazing reviews of this book, and though people were raving, I was a bit skeptical. It just sounded a little bit cheesy and goofy, plus describing my relationship with my creator as "tenuous", would be best.

I want to believe, and on many levels I do... But, I am also a product of my DNA, which forces my logic to cloud my faith. When I lost my stepfather five years ago, my faith in God was restored. I relied on God to get me through my grief and to help restore meaning to my life, despite the pain I was feeling. During that time I fell back in love with Mass and the comfort of the sacrament, the feeling of ultimate love that can only come from one person giving their life for the entire human race.

As time has gone on, I have started to question my own faith... A result of bad decisions and bad luck. The shorthand? Selfishness and self pity. I started to wonder if I was just hanging on to these beliefs in order to just get by... If it was all a result of my imagination to comfort myself and to give me meaning within the face of so much loss and tragedy.... I was back on my way to Agnosticism, something that I wrestle with deeply when it comes to faith, and to be honest, I still don't know. I am always curious about God, and though I have my doubts and crisis of faith from time to time, I always keep an open mind.

The Shack is essentially about finding faith and holding onto it in the wake of one's worst nightmare: Losing a child to abduction and murder.

The beauty and excitement of the day kind of turned me away from beginning such a heavy book. I was a bit apprehensive about affecting my mood with such heartbreaking subject matter. I decided that instead of viewing the story within the pages of this book as purely JUST a tragedy, that I would stay committed to the process of the message, and that I would keep an open mind; without letting the book affect my mood.

Though I am not a natural parent, the subject matter of this book still reaches in and grips my soul. As I read the story, I kept picturing little Olivia's (my step-daughter) face, the smell of her hair, and the sound of her laugh. What if this happened to my family? I cannot imagine that fear. That Anxiety. That feeling of so much hopelessness and frustration....The "could a, would a, should a" game that one plays with oneself....."If I had only done this, said this, or stopped this..." I can't imagine that anger, or that grief. It would break me.

As I sat and read this amazing book, on this amazing day, in this beautiful weather, as the sun adoringly shone upon me and the warm tickles of the wind embraced my body; I forgot about all of my problems and for just a few moments, I had not a care in the world. I am so lucky. I have a wonderful partner, wonderful step children, three wonderful nieces, one who was turning 13 the next day, and my life is truly blessed.

As I exalted my good fortune and blessings, four miles away from my home, on a wooded road, my friend's niece decided to go for a jog. She had just turned 13 in January and was excited and appreciative of newly earned freedoms age bestowed upon her, and looked forward to more of these privileges as she would grow up. As she embarked on this seemingly innocuous journey, an activity that everyone has an inherent right to partake in safely and without fear, could her parents have anticipated that she would ultimately be abducted and murdered on such an amazing day?

I have only met Esme Kenney two or three times when she was a preschooler. Her mother was my friend's sister, and quite the amazing artist, as well. I met Esme for the first time when I worked in a local Indian restaurant. I was immediately impressed that this child, who was so young, could have a palette sophisticated enough to enjoy even the most mildest Punjabi cuisine. Plus, what an amazing name.... Esme.... It's just a pleasure to say.

Though I was not close with Esme or her mother, my friend, Esme's uncle, would house-sit for his sister when she and her family would vacation. Their house is located in one the many neighborhoods that I refer to as "secret wilderness" in Cincinnati. There are many neighborhoods that are located smack in the city, yet their surrounding areas are totally rural and wooded. It is a rare treat to have such nature in what is essentially an "urban" neighborhood.

Esme's house is amazing. It is a classic, white-wooden house, tucked back in the woods with an amazing, hilly, ivied, patio and pool. We all loved to go there in the summer time to escape the beating sun and heat, and swim. Her mother's studio was in the back of the house, with many windows that gave the room the feel of a solarium. There was always half finished or almost completed canvases, sewing projects, or other items laying about. Their house was open and airy, with white walls that were adorned with brightly colored paintings along with richly colored furniture and carpets, that added beauty, color, and texture to the room. The motley mix gave the home a pleasant and comforting composition.... It is the only time I have ever seen a bear skin rug as decoration and I liked it!

My tie into this family may seem a little voyeuristic and strange, given I was in their home while they were not there! But, I remember thinking how beautiful this home was. It was not fancy at all, or grand... It was creative, thoughtful, and it seemed to breathe on its own.. It was evident that this was a home to some very amazing people and it pulsated with their energy.

I imagine that house is going through tremendous pain right now, and my heart is heavy and my stomach is knotted in fits of empathy and sorrow for them. I keep having to think positively about the life of this lovely little girl, who as I read more and more about from her friends, was even more beautiful and exquisite in this life, than the sweet, melodic sound of her name. I can't focus my energy elsewhere. I cannot focus on the monster that took her away, nor can I indulge instincts of anger and rage at this person who took her away... This person that maybe God forgot about?

Anger will not bring Esme back. Vengeance will not mend the many hearts that have broken in the wake of this abrupt and tragic absence. Nothing makes sense and only time will numb this pain. It's not fair. It's not fair that monsters walk among us without any tell tale signs. It's not fair that only so much can prevent a tragedy. It is not fair that there is only one very thin line and that safety is never guaranteed. What is most unfair is that we have been robbed of a beautiful soul.

I wish I had answers. I wish I knew. I wish that life would not have to be marred with such tragedy to appreciate the beauty. I wish that there did not have to be justice by way of crime. I wish that Esme would never had to have been scared, or hurt and that she would have grown to be an amazing old woman, surrounded by her children and grand children. I wish I could process this awful tragedy, but I just can't.

My heart is heavy for the Kenney family tonight.

This is Esme's blog: http://www.theesmeshow.blogspot.com/.

She was truly amazing.

Please make a donation in her name to the Center for Missing and Exploited Children. It is the only thing we can do at this point.

On Death and Dying (No, Elizabeth Kubler Ross is Not Here)

Recently on a forum I frequent, a young man brought up death and how it scares him. Many posters responded that the older you get, the less afraid you become of the unavoidable, and that it is totally natural to be afraid of something so unknown and permanent when you are young. There was also a consensus that you start to appreciate life more as you age; you value your days more the older you become.

This made me think.................

THEN WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH ME?

I am 32 years old.

Just typing that makes my skin crawl. I hate getting older, HATE IT.

I work for the University, so I am constantly surrounded by young, vibrant, energetic, hopeful, optimistic, 20 YEAR OLD, students. I watch them walk the halls, talking on their cell phones, laughing, smiling, planning........ I watch and my soul fills with envy and vileness... I feel like a Gollum.. Creeping in the dark corners of the college, observing, obsessing, coveting their youth and happiness..... I just want to jump on their childlike backs and suck out all of their joie de vivre, like some Dick Clark-esque, soul vampire.

I'm PATHETIC.

I lay in bed at night, surrounded by quiet and stillness, gazing out of the window, at the moon and stars and their peaceful light............and I fret. I worry about wrinkles, thinning hair, fat asses, DYING........ Where do we go? Will I see my old dog again? If you get to the edge of the Universe, is there a sign? An Over-look? A camp ground or picnic area? Will Jesus really be a black man? Will there be snacks? What is holding the universe up? Was Clouds in My Coffee really about Warren Beatty?

I lay there, quietly in my bed, the soft touch of the down comforter, the comforting snore of my beloved by my side, and I obsess myself to sleep. When I finally succumb to slumber, I am assaulted via REM with dreams of doom and gloom, and life without Botox.

I know I am ridiculous. I am only 32. I am a young woman, still. I have my entire life ahead of me and I am wasting precious moments and time by obsessing over my own mortality.

I do try to stop, I do! I become very mindful of what I am doing and the self talk begins. ("Self Talk" is the term your therapist gives you to make it okay when you talk to yourself. When you are "Self Talking" and people look at you strangely, every therapist in America agrees that it is okay to tell them to go fuck a rusty nozzle.) So, as I self talk, I start to realize that I am spending precious moments of my life, wasting these moments, on lecturing myself to appreciate these moments more. It's my very own never ending cycle of ridiculousness. Try not to be too jealous.

I feel like I am slipping down a shame spiral, that my quest to be more appreciative and present, is really just a guise to trick myself into feeding my OCD. I have not been taking any medications for over a year now, and slowly I see myself slipping into these bad habits. It's hard to explain and hard for many to understand. When I tell the man who loves me that there was a point in my life, when I could not leave the house until I cleaned the entire house, including, but not limited to, behind every large appliance, window sill, woodwork, and bathroom tile crevices, he looks at me like "Hey, if you were still cray cray, our house would be a lot CLEANER."

Though he understands that I walk a thin line of being somewhat normal and becoming a prisoner to my neurosis, I don't think anyone can really understand what I am going through, unless they are as unfortunate as I am to be afflicted with this disease.

I hope one day, I will be able to not fret and obsess over things I can't control without the aid of medication. Until then, the only answer I can come up with about death is this: "I don't have time to fear dying, right now I am too busy fearing living to even care."

Testing My Faith.

I am a person of faith. That is about as far as I will go with that piece of information about me. I think faith, spirituality, religion, what ever you ascribe to or call it, is private. To talk about it is in extremely bad taste.

Did I also mention that one of my multiple personalities is a 65 year old, southern woman who is head of her junior league, and never crosses her legs at knees, only at the ankles because she is not some cheap floozy? Did you know that?

My faith is being tested right now. In the midst of all of my financial, professional, (it has been a year, can things please look up for me? I can hardly afford to drive to work, sign the deal dammit!), and emotional drama, I received some really bad news from an old friend I had lost touch with, but found on MySpace. Her former boyfriend, with whom she moved out to the Bay Area with, whom I was good friends with, passed away last week.

It doesn't make any sense.

A young, healthy man, a father and a husband, just up and dying. No accident, no violence, no nothing. Just blown out like a match in a wind tunnel. To say this is not fair is like saying that Hitler was not very nice. It is times like these that anger me and question my faith. Why is it that a beautiful life, one with purpose and peroguative, can be snuffed out? How does this make sense?

How can I believe that everything is part of a plan when something as ludicrous and ridiculous as that, is part of another person's plan? How can I believe in kindness in creation only to have a friend taken so his wife and his children have to spend the rest of their lives without him?

I understand why I have lost so many people I love. It is cause and effect, whether it be drug related, disease related, or even suicide/mentally related..... There was always a sign, you always knew why.

I have not seen this friend of mine in at least 14 years, I can only base this off of what I understand from others, in that he was healthy and happy. Who knows, had this never happened, I may have never ever seen him again in my entire life. But knowing that people who love him are suffering and that, not only I, nor they will ever see him again, really makes me angry.

RIP, Chip... I hope whatever it is that makes this world tick had one hell of an explanation as to why they chose you... But I know you will always be looking and watching over the ones who miss you the most right now.

To his loved ones, please know you are in Cincy's hearts and prayers and our deepest sympathies go out to you.

Kate

Missing

Monday, April 24, 2006
Frank the Cat. Current mood: sad Category: Life
What a weekend, the weather was beautiful. I finished digging out, and edging my new flower beds, now I just have to lay the topsoil and do the rock walls.

It was a very sad weekend for us, at the Goldschmidt /Schadler Geln Parker compound.
A few months ago, our dear neighbors, the Goldschmidts, their cat, Frank was hit by a car. It was really bad and he had to have very extensive, life saving surgery. It was really touch and go for awhile and we were not sure if he was going to make it. He did make it through, though his right leg was messed up with torn ligaments and muscles, and, would most likely, never be the same again.

Here is the deal about Frank. Frank is the meanest cat I have ever met. When Buffy found him, he was three weeks old. She had to bottle feed him and wipe his butt, to get him to expel. I guess when you do this to kitties to get them to survive, they grow up to be Satan. Although he is so mean, we all love him so much! I box Frank ("box" meaning, I try to pet him and he slashes my hands with his claws) and we all sing to him. I love looking back into our woods, and seeing Frankles McAnkles, running around, terrorizing the fauna.

Franks is Josh's buddy. Josh is the only human being that Frank does not try to destroy. Every night, Josh screams out the back door, "C'MON FRANK!" Then you see Frankles, run up to him, to go in for cuddle time.

On Saturday night, we had our first official compound grill out, drinking fest. Good times were had, lots of beer was consumed. Around 11 pm, we noticed Frank was missing. He ended up not coming home that night.

Buffy found him Sunday morning, on top of the neighboring apartment buildings' parking deck. We don't know what happened to him, but he had passed away sometime during the night. He was only two, but we think with all of the trauma that he had endured from the accident, ( maybe he passed a clot or had an aneurism, there were no signs of struggle, or outside injuries) had taken him
.
It was one of the saddest days I have had in awhile. Frank was buried on the compound grounds, Goldschmidt side, in between the Hemlocks, where he loved to sunbathe. Though Frank was a spawn of Satan, we all love him very much, and we will miss him terribly.

Love,
Your neighbors