Since I've last posted...
Cinder's put on 30 pounds and has become a truly good dog. I know he's lucky to have left the pound, but we're just as luck to have him.
My wife became pregnant, and 3 months later no longer was. I've been boycotting this subject. I don't feel ready now either. I suppose the good news is that I'm not officially Cronus, as was looking like the case for a while there. So I got that going for me.
I have a Godson. He's a happy, healthy, huge baby. Just a blessing on us, and we're so lucky to get to share him. I'm chalking him and Cin up as the two good things from 09. There are others (other friends had kids as well), but those are the two I see a lot.
I now have a beard. Chinstrap and goatee. Surprisingly decent since it's my first foray into facial hair.
Life continues to treat me better than I have any right to expect or even hope for.
Showing posts with label wife. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wife. Show all posts
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
The easy job
My job is awesome. Sure the petroleum scene can be high-stress, the hours can be long, and working till seven every night can be limiting, but I’m grateful for it. It’s interesting, virtually never dull, and, most importantly, where I work, no babies die.
My wife’s job is not so wonderful. Rather it is quite dreadful. I can’t tell you how much I’d rather shovel human refuse or process Soylent Green than hang around in her nursing unit for a living. I’ve long said that I couldn’t handle her work for a half hour. Last Saturday I got first hand proof of just how true that is, when I joined her to attend the funeral of one of her patients, a little guy who fought like a tiger but didn’t make the 20 day mark.
Now I’m not stupid. I knew full well going into it that a funeral for a baby was going to be terrible in every way. I prepared myself for boundless depression. Unfortunately my focus was on the macro view of the situation, where, as in life, it was the little details that made all the difference. I was okay pulling up to a funeral home, seeing the dozens of friends and relatives of the unlucky couple, gathered under the cloudy gray sky, passing along sincere condolences. I could handle the Biblical readings and candle lightings, classic funeral hallmarks that were as surprising as passing on third and long. I was not ready, however, to hear the baby’s two year-old “big sister” calling his name during the slide show of him.
That’s the kind of thing that kills you. My wife, of course, was destroyed by it, as were most of the attendees. She had cared for this baby, she’d spent hours with him, trying to keep him alive. I didn’t know single person in the room other than my wife, but even my eyes brimmed. By the end of the PowerPoint, I had pulled off the one-teardrop-down-cheek movie cliché. Maybe 40 minutes in, and I had already technically cried for a complete stranger.
Unbelievably, that wasn’t the toughest part of the afternoon, as that bar was placed pretty darn high later. It wasn’t even set when the baby’s dad thanked people, including my wife, by name, for all they did for his forever resting son. Nor was it when he then thanked his baby son for what he had done to bring so many together, both that day and beyond. (Side note, go ahead and chalk up “burying my 17 day-old son” right above “beating up Fedor” and “outrunning Usain Bolt” on the list of things I know I could never be man enough to handle) No, the most devastating moment of the afternoon and of 09 thus far was watching the parents throw dirt on their baby’s briefcase-sized casket.
I know few people have seen less of the infinite skies of tragedy than I have, but I’m willing to bet a mother’s wails for her baby compete with any of the worst sounds ever heard. It was the song of abject despair, the soundtrack for rock bottom. As we released the baby blue balloons, several never made it past the tall evergreens around the cemetery. Not all hopes make it. Not all dreams come true.
But some do. Driven by the wind, blowing from the East for the maybe the second time in my recollection, the remaining multitude idled far less than balloons tend to. Soaring into the sky, they reached up into the first azure break in the clouds in two full days, inexplicably directly in front of the sun, blue towards blue, light towards light, and hope towards hope.
There was none of that “one teardrop” fortitude this time around.
My wife’s job is not so wonderful. Rather it is quite dreadful. I can’t tell you how much I’d rather shovel human refuse or process Soylent Green than hang around in her nursing unit for a living. I’ve long said that I couldn’t handle her work for a half hour. Last Saturday I got first hand proof of just how true that is, when I joined her to attend the funeral of one of her patients, a little guy who fought like a tiger but didn’t make the 20 day mark.
Now I’m not stupid. I knew full well going into it that a funeral for a baby was going to be terrible in every way. I prepared myself for boundless depression. Unfortunately my focus was on the macro view of the situation, where, as in life, it was the little details that made all the difference. I was okay pulling up to a funeral home, seeing the dozens of friends and relatives of the unlucky couple, gathered under the cloudy gray sky, passing along sincere condolences. I could handle the Biblical readings and candle lightings, classic funeral hallmarks that were as surprising as passing on third and long. I was not ready, however, to hear the baby’s two year-old “big sister” calling his name during the slide show of him.
That’s the kind of thing that kills you. My wife, of course, was destroyed by it, as were most of the attendees. She had cared for this baby, she’d spent hours with him, trying to keep him alive. I didn’t know single person in the room other than my wife, but even my eyes brimmed. By the end of the PowerPoint, I had pulled off the one-teardrop-down-cheek movie cliché. Maybe 40 minutes in, and I had already technically cried for a complete stranger.
Unbelievably, that wasn’t the toughest part of the afternoon, as that bar was placed pretty darn high later. It wasn’t even set when the baby’s dad thanked people, including my wife, by name, for all they did for his forever resting son. Nor was it when he then thanked his baby son for what he had done to bring so many together, both that day and beyond. (Side note, go ahead and chalk up “burying my 17 day-old son” right above “beating up Fedor” and “outrunning Usain Bolt” on the list of things I know I could never be man enough to handle) No, the most devastating moment of the afternoon and of 09 thus far was watching the parents throw dirt on their baby’s briefcase-sized casket.
I know few people have seen less of the infinite skies of tragedy than I have, but I’m willing to bet a mother’s wails for her baby compete with any of the worst sounds ever heard. It was the song of abject despair, the soundtrack for rock bottom. As we released the baby blue balloons, several never made it past the tall evergreens around the cemetery. Not all hopes make it. Not all dreams come true.
But some do. Driven by the wind, blowing from the East for the maybe the second time in my recollection, the remaining multitude idled far less than balloons tend to. Soaring into the sky, they reached up into the first azure break in the clouds in two full days, inexplicably directly in front of the sun, blue towards blue, light towards light, and hope towards hope.
There was none of that “one teardrop” fortitude this time around.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Anticipation
Manda and I are leaving for Europe in less than 21 hours. I am so excited I can’t stand it. Now that the moment is here, there is no focus.
At work, I was a waste. The internet offers far too many distractions for the traveler, from the Louvre and the Vatican to Disneyland Paris and European sports bars. Oh, yeah, I looked up their sports bars. It might be bad, but I still have to try a French beer; chalk another nation off the list of brews I’ve sampled. I’ve had enough Italian beer to be covered there, thank you very much, and I look forward to their wines and German imports. Ick.
As amazing as I’m sure Paris will be, I’m positive Rome will torch it. Rome was the most important city in the world for 1,000 years. I don’t know what else I need to say about it. It was New York combined with Washington, D.C., for four times as long as America has existed. The Coliseum, Vatican City, the Pantheon, the museums and churches and temples and statues…. My only regret is that I have only one week to spend there. I’m sure I could leave a month of my life behind there without regretting a second of it. The Italians have the love for life of the French without the quasi-fascist levels of nationalism. That’s a helluva one-two punch for enjoyablity.
I’ll be back in roughly 16 days. Make sure the country doesn’t fall apart without me here to hold it together.
Ciao and adieu.
At work, I was a waste. The internet offers far too many distractions for the traveler, from the Louvre and the Vatican to Disneyland Paris and European sports bars. Oh, yeah, I looked up their sports bars. It might be bad, but I still have to try a French beer; chalk another nation off the list of brews I’ve sampled. I’ve had enough Italian beer to be covered there, thank you very much, and I look forward to their wines and German imports. Ick.
As amazing as I’m sure Paris will be, I’m positive Rome will torch it. Rome was the most important city in the world for 1,000 years. I don’t know what else I need to say about it. It was New York combined with Washington, D.C., for four times as long as America has existed. The Coliseum, Vatican City, the Pantheon, the museums and churches and temples and statues…. My only regret is that I have only one week to spend there. I’m sure I could leave a month of my life behind there without regretting a second of it. The Italians have the love for life of the French without the quasi-fascist levels of nationalism. That’s a helluva one-two punch for enjoyablity.
I’ll be back in roughly 16 days. Make sure the country doesn’t fall apart without me here to hold it together.
Ciao and adieu.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Unconditional Love
It's quite a concept. To love with absolutely no reservations or limitations. I am not sure humans are capable of it. I don't have kids yet, so I know I am missing some key information, but I'm just not sure it is possible for our species. I love my wife, but there are things either of us can do that would more or less force the other to terminate the marriage. God willing neither of us ever will ever do any them, and I don't believe we will, but these actions are conceivable from a scientific what-is-possible perspective.
I don't think that qualifies as unconditional love. I truly love her, as she does me, but their are conditions to our relationship. Such is not the case with our dog.
My dog unconditionally loves my wife. He loves me, and I love him, but he will just gaze into my Beloved's eyes for literally hours. He falls asleep as near to her as he can possibly get. He loves to collapse with his head on her shredded, dancers feet at every opportunity. She adores him, and loves him as much as one can love a non-human, but even if she didn't, I think he would live for her. She could abuse him in the most horrible ways imaginable, but I think he would keep coming back to her. There is simply no end to his love for my wife.
Given my jaded perspective of human nature, it gives me hope to see that kind of love. Hope for us as a whole. As if the mere fact that love like that can exist means that maybe, just maybe, we can make it in this cutthroat world without literally cutting each others throats. I'm usually pretty realistic, but it nice to know there are some things that are absolutely perfect, literally without flaw. Such is that kind of love. I'm glad it is possible.
I don't think that qualifies as unconditional love. I truly love her, as she does me, but their are conditions to our relationship. Such is not the case with our dog.
My dog unconditionally loves my wife. He loves me, and I love him, but he will just gaze into my Beloved's eyes for literally hours. He falls asleep as near to her as he can possibly get. He loves to collapse with his head on her shredded, dancers feet at every opportunity. She adores him, and loves him as much as one can love a non-human, but even if she didn't, I think he would live for her. She could abuse him in the most horrible ways imaginable, but I think he would keep coming back to her. There is simply no end to his love for my wife.
Given my jaded perspective of human nature, it gives me hope to see that kind of love. Hope for us as a whole. As if the mere fact that love like that can exist means that maybe, just maybe, we can make it in this cutthroat world without literally cutting each others throats. I'm usually pretty realistic, but it nice to know there are some things that are absolutely perfect, literally without flaw. Such is that kind of love. I'm glad it is possible.
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