236/365

when they knew she had died
the daughter crumpled to the floor
like a wrinkled dress fallen from its hanger
shapeless and spreading like a shadow.

he had seen her at the hospital
before they left for oregon:
her eyes distant and fearful,
her skin bruised from the fall
her neck fragile like her voice,
whispering jokes to the end.

how often do they come to school
carrying the weight of an expansive grief-
a hole left untended waiting to swallow
everything on its edges.

this thief leaves no clues
toward his intentions.

from the abyss the survivors
live surrounded by flowers.
her roses ripe in the sunshine
leading up the driveway
and into the world.
her body floated away in
that icy river in a foreign land.

the storm is coming
the voices remind us from behind
as we race up the stairs to escape
the soft whispers that never go quiet.

the son and the daughter
have suffered since,
but pain is just one part
of this cavalcade.

Bob and Shelly

When I was a kid I had a turtle.

I had several cats. An iguana. And a cage full of finches. At various stages of my development I took care of these animals. Changed tanks, litter boxes and newspaper covered in poop from the bottom of cages. I watched the finches lay eggs and raise families in the nests that I bought for them. I hand fed strawberries to the turtle while it “exercised” on the bathroom floor. I designed an elaborate atrium for the Iguana in the bird cage, only to find him back-broken one day after school as he tried to fit through the bars.

Looking back on these experiences, I saw them as positive. I learned responsibility while also making close bonds with nature. They came and went, died and were given away, but overall I feel I was better for having had them.

This was the attitude I had when, after weeks of begging, I relented and told Kaia and Skye that they could have two turtles a little over a year ago. They were tiny and cute and fit inside a relevantly small tank.

I figured that Kaia would also learn the lessons I learned and perhaps make that connection to these tiny animals. I admit that I did not think that our commitment to these terrapin would be eternal. I figured, we’d have them for a while and then we wouldn’t. I know, I know that pets aren’t temporary and if I ever forgot, Mairin was there to remind me. She never thought our foray into the world of reptiles was a good idea.

Last March, we brought the little guys home, and from the start I realised that the tank, when full of water was, way too heavy for Kaia to lift on her own, so every Sunday I would have to help her empty the water. I also quickly realised that she might not be able to really clean the filter to the level that it needed to be cleaned. So I ended up doing that too.

Since it turned out that I would basically clean the tank, we agreed that each Sunday while I did the heavy lifting, the girls would at least take Bob and Shelly downstairs and run them around the grass. I figured if they weren't learning the responsibility aspect of this little experiment, they could at least do with some bonding. They never seemed super excited about this, however, and so the turtles became a bit of a burden and a chore for everyone.

Fast forward to now- we have three big problems.

1. They are too big for their tank and need a bigger tank or some kind of outdoor pond. I have neither the desire, skill or time to run this type of habitat.

2. The kids are not really as connected to this experience as I had hoped and as a 43 year old man I am not loving having a turtle as much as I did when I was ten.

3. We no longer have a live-in helper and we don’t know what we would do with them this summer while we are in the US for seven to eight weeks.

The turtles had to go.

A few weeks ago, I started to prime the girls on what this might look like and how and why they should prepare themselves. They were upset, but seemed to get it.

Today after I cleaned the tank, I put an ad on Carousel, a classified app, and offered the tank, all the accoutrement and the turtles to what I hoped would be a responsible pet owner. Within minutes, I had a few bites and the guy promised to be at our place tomorrow.

I prepped the girls. Revisited the very logical reasons for giving them away and after a few tears, they seemed fine. That is until the dude sent a message saying he was downstairs. He had thought our rendezvous was for tonight. The kids were already in bed.

We had to get up, empty the tank, get the turtles ready for their departure.

Skye did not handle this well. There was crying and anger. Kaia was fine during preparation, but then after they were gone, she was a mess.

I am currently sitting in her dark room, as they whimper themselves to sleep feeling like a pretty shitty dad.

“I never liked this turtles,” has been Mairin’s mantra from the start, but I honestly thought that they would serve a purpose for our kids. Be some kind of reptilian memory, but now I am not sure the fond memories will outweigh the dramatic scar that might remain after I gave away Shelly and Bob in the middle of the night to a stranger.

He promised that he has a bigger tank and he wants the smaller tank for some fish. I asked that he send a picture, so the girls can see that they are fine, and he promised he would.

I experienced so much loss as a kid that I became used to it. I guess that I saw dealing with loss as my ladder to adulthood.

But to hold Skye in my arms tonight and feel her shaking, made me realise that maybe my kids are still a bit too sheltered. And the ripping off this band aid may have been too much.

We will have to wait to see the repercussions of this experiment, but I can see all of us sitting around some table when they are adults, still cursing me for the night I packed up Shelly and Bob under the cover night.

I hope I will have done a few things to make up for this. Man parenting is hard work.

Losing

It was three O’Clock on a Friday afternoon and I was alone in my classroom. I just got the Raiders Chiefs game cued up on the big screen when Luke walked in. We sat in a state of languid excitement and watched the game, both of tired from a long day, week, semester. The Raiders were outplayed in every aspect of the game. They couldn’t get their offense going. Their defense game up a few big plays, so much so that the Chiefs scored 21 second quarter points and the Raiders, despite a few turn-overs were looking lack luster. Scott came and went and we were eventually joined briefly by Ian.


It wasn’t the celebratory win I was hoping for and now, just like that, we are in second place in the AFC West. There are still three games left and there is nothing certain in the incestuous AFC West, but this would’ve been a good win. It was disappointing for sure. Just goes to show that the happiness that sports giveth, can just as quickly be taken away.


Quiet Friday night. Dinner at Alt pizza and Mairin is off to a party and I have a date with my bed and Bojack Horseman. The foot felt pretty great all day, but now there are some weird aches and pains.


The Trump cabinet picks and magazine covers and victory tours and inability to get anyone but Kid Rock or Ted Nugget to play his inauguration make the United States feel more and more like some dystopian fantasy. It’s like opposite land, where every department is run by the person who hates the field the most and who has spent the longest time trying to destroy it. Labor, EPA, FDA, Treasury all run but people hell bent on dismantling the very departments they have been charged with running.


Maybe the GOP is finally going for broke and will dismantle the federal government once and for all. Reality TV will no longer be a haunted house mirror reflecting life, but the other way around- life will mimic the bizarre world of scripted reality TV. I am still holding out for which department Trump will let Gary Busey lead.


The weekend is here and after that four and half more days of school and the last few days of 2016. I am in a pretty good head-space at this point, the worst of my injury behind me I hope.


I am looking forward to some fresh thoughts coming my way.

The Day After

It’s Saturday morning. 7:46am and I woke up to a stunning view of Mt. Tampalpais from Jason’s childhood bedroom. The same room that as teenagers we would fill with laughter and farts. The same room we would fill with adolescence and misdirected testosterone, playing video games, “giving each other shit,” being boys pretending to be men.


I am alone in this room and fear that it might be too early to rouse Jason and his dad from their slumber. I slept soundly and completely last night. After the service Jason and I came home and watched some of the Raider preseason game. We chatted about this and that and then this again, never dwelling too much on the events of the day or the loss of his mother. We both needed some space to simply be for a few hours.


The service was beautiful and perfect and necessary. 300+ friends and family and ice and cream and memories. I am too cotton headed at the moment with fatigue to do it any justice with words. We laughed together and cried and shared memories about a women who people described as “a force of a nature, courageous, generous, funny, kind, and loving.”


The house is quiet and empty without her. This house that holds so many memories and fingerprints of her chaos and tenderness. I keep expecting her to yell out, you awake yet? Let me get you something to eat. But the sound of traffic beyond the hill is all I can hear.


We will find something to do with our day in her empty house. She is still here in every sense, but the one we cherish the most.


My daily posts are as discombobulated as I am, so I am going to crawl back under the warm covers and try to get a few more hours of sleep, or at least some quiet under the cover of darkness.

Toenails and the Honey Sky

I just clipped my toenails and noticed that my feet are scaly and dry. At this stage in my life, I don’t really care what my feet look like, but sometimes I am embarrassed when I’m sitting next to someone whilst wearing flip-flops, and I place my foot on my knee. I put my foot back down, under the table. What if they judge my gross, dry old man feet? Insecurities linger and pop-up at the least expected times. The toe that fell off a few months ago is tender again, but the bruising is gone.


I ran today after school. Eight kilometres that were hard earned. The air was thick with honey. A golden hue sticky with a thick blanket of humidity. My mind was like a spinning coin- full, empty, full, empty. It was not fun, but necessary.


Remember the summer? tans, beards, beers and trees. It all seems to far away now, but the clouds were thick and pink with the “cold comfort of the in between.”


Random thoughts:

Even the tiniest vessel filled with love and true passion will always be better than vats of your apathetic mediocrity. Really trying to do the small things well. Focusing in on the details and pouring my heart into them. At the moment, my life seems to only include loss and work, but this to shall pass; I am embracing these moments.


You hope that the memories you have of the people you love are enough to maintain you long after they're gone. It's too sad to think you could lose them twice. What if their memories fade paler and paler with the passing day? What if you want the memories at the forefront? What if you need the tears to remind you of the love?


There is little more to say tonight. The poetry is buried too deep. Perhaps beneath the toenail clippings and behind the honey sky. The wanting is so huge, but the target so ambiguous. Sitting in the emptiness, it’s impossible to know with what to fill the void. Songs? Wine? Silence?


Kaia has had trouble sleeping for a few nights and I have been a bit curt with her to deal with it and go to sleep. She seems to be scared of something she can’t name. Maybe we both need to be held to make it through. So no more words. No more work. I need to make sure that my baby feels safe.

Chapter One for Twinkle

I was never an orphan, but when I was fifteen year’s old I clearly needed to be adopted. I was a shy awkward kid who wanted to be accepted, loved and noticed. I had spent most of middle school on the periphery of a Marin world I didn’t really understand, and to tell the truth I didn’t really understand what it meant to be an American. I was an only child in an household filled with love, but also many silences and empty spaces. I needed more family than our three-member unit was providing.


It was summer before sophomore year and I had started hanging out with a little freckled kid named Anthony. Even now thirty years later, I can’t recall what brought us together, but we used to ride our bikes to Derek Thornhill's house to play football. This was a new world of mansions and country clubs for me. After several visits to the Thornhill place, we started going up to Margarita Drive to Jason’s house. We played hoops. Swam in the pool. Built friendships that would last for decades.


But this is not a post about friendship, it is a story about family. As soon as it became apparent that our visits were becoming more and more regular, often turning into weekend long sleep-overs, I was adopted by the Dohertys, and no one was more accepting, generous, hospitable and loving that Jason’s mom Karen “Twinkle” Doherty.


Twinkle passed away this weekend, and many of you have been so kind as to ask about the allusions I have been making to a special person in my life who has been suffering. Karen was like a mother to me. I often said that she was my second mom. From those early days of making us breakfast, making sure we were safe and making us laugh with her infectious and highly inappropriate sense of humour, to the last time I saw her looking weak and frail in the hospital, Karen has been a constant source of light in my life.


In life Karen was the most beautiful woman I have ever known. Her kindness and ability to transmit joy to everyone around her, were only surpassed by her unflagging strength and selflessness. She was a mother to all, not just me. She was a true matriarch. I have countless stories to share about her love of life and her ability to overcome obstacles, each one bringing me to tears at odd parts of my day, so I cannot write them all tonight.


I just needed this first post to announce her passing and make it real. To open the first chapter, so as to let the healing, grieving, honouring and celebrating to begin. At first I was nervous to write these words or even mentioned her name at all, because this is not my story alone to tell, but as I mentioned above, she adopted me and made me feel part of her beautiful and complex family. She gave me Christmas and Thanksgiving. Sunday night football. Nieces and Nephews. She gave me full access to her son and her family and their home and her heart. And for all of this I will be eternally grateful.


By being my mother and mentor and guide and role model, she has shaped who I am more than any other person in my life. I will miss her so much and it is simply too soon to understand what her loss will mean to my life, our family and the hundreds of lives she touched throughout her life. There is so much more to say, but tonight is not the time.


All I needed to say tonight was, "We miss you already Twink. I love you so much and thank you. I hope you are free of pain and resting. I will always carry you in my heart. I like you there to keep me balanced.

Piles of Ash

I don’t know how extroverts do it. I have been “on” since 7:30 am. Running meetings, teaching kids, socializing at various events and now I am depleted and spent. The house is dark expect for a few dim lights, and the red wine is perfectly tepid; Elliott Smith songs fit snug like a beloved blanket.

I cry for her at the weirdest parts of the day. In the staff bathroom. On the drive to work. Alone in my classroom. Some tears of joy, the others a bit more painful. I have so much to unload, but I will hold on while she is holding on. Waiting with baited breath for her to let go.

Every time I think of her my heart fills with more love and joy that I can handle. A small part of me hopes that I will cry every time I think of her. Like our own private cleansing. I see her smile and feel her humor, and the sobbing begins. Her leaving forcing me to unload. She empties me and fills me back up with whatever it is that I need to carry on.

It’s scary the masks we wear to pretend like we aren’t constantly falling apart. We are just piles of ash held together in the urns of our skin. Stardust waiting to be returned to forgotten infernos. “With hidden cracks that don’t show, but just constantly just grow.”

The are no words to name these things. There are songs that come close. The darkness. The night and a new tomorrow.