A Run With My Father

This morning I do what I do every June 16th...I went for a run around the track at Bernards High. This reference will mean nothing to most people, but to a select few, just the mention of this place triggers some of the most influential memories of thier lifetime. If I were to mention "The Wall" there would be even fewer who understood and quietly smile, but if you are smiling at these references, then you also knew my father.The first words I spoke this morning were in prayer to him as I started around the first turn 6 years after the day he died. I do this because of what I did and wrote 24 hours after he died in 2005.  He would have wanted me to find a new ritual, other than waking up on this day each year, crying, eating crap and drinking too much wine. He would want me to to what I do now, which is have a great day with my family, starting where some of the best days of his life were spent...on the track, down from The Wall, at Bernards High School.

Written June 17, 2005.

          As the 24 hr mark of my father’s death appeared on my alarm clock early this morning, the panic that I had been fighting all night became unbearable. I had not been able to sleep- I could not get the images of yesterday morning out of my mind- The 4:30 am phone call from my Mom, the empty streets, my sister’s car speeding past me at the intersection, the gut wrenching screams that came out of my mouth calling in the angels, the spirits of John, Nana, daddy’s parents- to all get to him now, immediately, please. As I opened the front door of 37 Old Army Road a lifetime of memories rushed through me as I noticed the empty stretched in the foyer....Mark Wetmore and my Mother sitting perfectly still on either side of the fireplace.. the EMT descending the stairs... the words he used…”nothing more we could do”… the intense feeling of suffocation. My body not being able to climb up the stairs… the ones I have been climbing to their room since I was 7…the EMTs now having to help me... and then the shell of my father waiting for me in his room with nothing familiar about it.

         So at 4:15 this morning I got out of bed in search of him, his absence was too much to bear, and I knew exactly where to find him.  Not being a fraction of the runner he was, I had to dig deep in the closet for my sneakers before heading to the track.  When I arrived, I spoke out loud to my father and told him I needed new images in my head,  a new “crossing over “ for him, one that I was a part of and one that we did consciously together. 

And so I began to run.

        

         As I listened to the scratching sound of the rain jacket under my arms, I immediately began to feel his presence that I feared the morning before had taken away.

Physically without him for the first time in my life, I did what he always taught me to do in times of despair- Take things one step… and then another…run the race one section at a time- First the turn… just the turn….that’s it Meg, he would say, stay loose, Now the straight away, relax your body, breath evenly, do not look too far ahead…Now the turn again…move your arms, drop your shoulders, loosen your wrists…Widen your stride for the straight away again, you’ve trained for this, we’ve trained for this together…you can do this Meg, keep going.

         Every step banished more and more of the scene at my childhood home the previous morning.  The pounding of the track under my feet brought back memories of a lifetime, and I began to see more clearly the images of a tent set up on the infield for the Bernards Invitational. In my mind’s eye I saw him standing there in his seersucker suit, with Mr. Grant, Mr. Pyrah  and Ed Mather, among others, all holding clipboards and stop watches.  I began to hear the announcements and smell the hotdogs and root beer. I could see the smile on my Dad’s face, the one I loved, because it meant he was in his element, at a track meet.

         As the sickening images that had been haunting me all night dissipated, I replaced them with the best moments of our life together.  And as I did this, lap after lap, the sun rose on a day without him in this world. 

 A day I thought would never come during my sleepless, agonizing night of grief. But the sun did rise, and I ran into a new part of my journey with him. And in my heart he became alive again…lecturing about the great story of he and Ed Mather crossing over into the afterlife within 5 days of each other,-how it couldn’t have been scripted any better…and how now, the end of an era is certainly upon us, but never gone, and that he is as close to me as the next stride I take. I just need to stretch… relax…breath and let it be.

         I pray now for strength and endurance.  I am grateful for the new images to fill my mind as I hopefully fall asleep tonight with the memory of my father and I together, running his final lap, and closing the book on a story to be told by track enthusiasts for years to come.  I have found him again, I feel him as I write this, as I am wishing he was here to edit our story. If I close my eyes and silence my thoughts, I can feel him stroking my hair, saying “That’s right My Meggie Moo, That’s right.”

        

My Last night with My Dad

Tonight, 6 years ago was the last night I spent with my father. The following is an account of this night, also a Wednesday. I wrote it in the summer of 2005 so that I would remember details I knew I would forget or accidently change over the years. I miss him. I can feel the familiar sadness come over me tonight and I will allow it to wash over me like it does each year as I allow myself to remember our night together in the house I moved into with my family in 2006.

           

June 15, 2005 was Ed Mather’s wake and memorial service.  He has been a really good friend of my dad’s for over 30 years. He was one of the greatest. most original  high school running coaches to ever be. He was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease about 14 years ago and has been in tough shape for the past few years. It was a Wednesday.  I spoke with my several times during the day, but hadn't seen him since he was helping the Mather's plan the services for the past two days. Mark Wetmore, another close running friend, was in town from Colorado staying at the house with my parents and I knew he was surrounded by people who loved him and who loved the sport of Track and Field.

            I had sessions with two clients and then left the office around 7:45 to go to the service which was being held at the high school auditorium. I had missed the wake. I had barely seen my dad in the past few days but would see him at the high school.  Sitting with my sister Jennifer, and childhood friends Kelly Smith and Billy Nann, I listened to the priest talk about life and death. He recited a reading that had to do with God carving us out of the palm of his hand.  This is a concept I have heard for years, but that night it struck me as so beautiful and important. The concept that each person’s life was created purposefully by God, every single one of us, struck me in a new way. People got up and said nice things about Coach Mather.  I looked around the room and thought to myself that it was a bit eerie because the same people would be sharing the same stories if it were at a funneral service for my dad. He was sitting a few rows in front of me and across the aisle to the right, in the 4^th or 5th row, next to Meg Dolan, in front of Meg Waldron, and in back of my Mom. Meg told me later my Dad fell asleep during the service. I don’t know what this means, if anything. I wonder too if he was just sitting with his eyes closed for a long time, which he often did when he was trying to absorb something that was just  to big to do with his eyes open.

            My dad stood up and went to the microphone.  Choking back tears he said that meeting Ed Mather had changed the course of his life and that of his entire family.  The direction of John’s life was altered because of running for Bernards High under the influence of Coach Mather.  He said that his friend Ed had his faults, that all of us have our faults, but that someone once told him that every man deserves to be remembered for his best moment. That was it. Short, poignant- classic Larry Sullivan style. He walked to the back of the auditorium after that, I squeezed his hand as he passed me, and thought about going to stand in the back with him. But I didn’t.

            A few minutes later we were all in the hallway talking. I was seeing people I hadn’t seen in years. My Dad was still inside, he had asked me where Mr. Lampa was, and went to speak to him. I talked to Chris Wilde and then saw Peter Carroll. He said my Dad had told him I was moving. I didn’t understand what he was talking about until my Dad came up and we laughed because he was talking about Eddie and I maybe moving to 37 Old Army Road when my Mom and Dad moved out. I joked that Daddy wanted this so that he would not have to clear all of his crap out.  He was hoping to be able to leave his bookshelf "as is" and come visit regularly. My Dad was not a big fan of change…and by me moving into the house on Old Army Road he would not have to say goodbye. He was not big on goodbyes.

            My Dad walked off and I got into my car with an acute sense of nostalgia. Seeing all of us sitting there, many of us who had been in those seats so many times before in much earlier years when Mather was a teacher and would be up on stage, wearing a cowboy hat and holding a live chicken, recruiting for the cross country team. He was quite the character. As I started my car, the Mathers were talking about going out for something to eat and I contemplated going with them. Then I thought maybe I would just go home because I was tired and it was around 10:00.  I hadn’t really seen much of my Dad so I went to their house to talk about all that had happened that day.  I sat at the kitchen table talking to my Mom and Daddy, Dave Sully and Mark joined us. Daddy seemed to feel good about the memorial; he said he was sorry he couldn’t find the light sticks he wanted to walk around the track with after the service. He was smiling. I think I had a diet coke in my hand. He was standing to the left of the kitchen sink, I think he took off his tie.

            After a while we moved into the living room, near the green chair where we had stood together a million times in the 29 years we had lived together in that house. We had stood there on random school nights and insignificant weekend afternoons. The first Christmas we lived in the house, our tree stood in the corner. We had fought in that room, laughed in that room, he had sat in that green chair next to the kitchen door and spoke on the phone about track meets, world issues and the failings of human civilization for hours on end. My siblings and I had each walked down the nearby staircase for prom pictures in front of the fire place.  My father and I stood there together on my wedding day as he put on his tuxedo jacket as we left for the church.  And it is here, on this night, that he smiled and hugged me for the very last time in front of the same green chair near the kitchen door. He was talking as we hugged, but I don’t remember what he was saying. At the time it was just an ordinary Wednesday night, I would see him in the morning. I think it was a little bit after 11:00 when I left. I did not know that in 5 hours I would be called back…and he would be gone… and I would be left sitting in a thick, sorrowful silence in the green chair near the kitchen door, at the bottom of the staircase.

The Weekend

So on Friday I got in the car and Eddie is already blasting the Grateful Dead before we pull out of the driveway and guess what song is playing and guess what verse comes on??...Yes, "Truckin", so weird since I ended my last blog with this line!! It came on again as we drove onto campus a few hours later. Really weird and great. We stopped and saw Charlie on the way up to Massachussetts. He has a big scar on the side of his head. It was hard to look at and breath at the same time. He was smiling and talking and laughing. While I was there, 2 packages arrived for him and 2 people dropped by the house with flowers and gifts. I can't tell you what it feels like to know my friend is so well taken care of up there in Rhode Island. Amy seemed a little bit back to herself. Her "normal" voice is returning and we talked about some other things we haven't spoken about in a while. I mean, when your son has a brain tumor, that really stays the focus of most or all the conversations...but on Friday it seemed OK to branch out a little bit onto other subjects. I don't know if this necessarily means anything, but we did.
What I mostly thought about while I was there was the grip that this little 9 year old boy has had on all of us. The outcome of his surgery affected everything for the people who love him. Here he was shooting marshmellows out of the marshmellow gun we brought him, having absolutely no idea that all of our lives, to different degrees, were hanging on the tread of this surgery and his recovery. I found myself talking to him in a calm and sensible voice about the Red Sox but the voice in my heart was silently screaming "Charlie!! Thank God you are OK!! Thank God you are here walking around shooting marshmellows! You scared the crap out of us and brought us to the brink of fear, a place so dark that your mom was crippled even by the thought of such darkness. Oh, Charlie you have no idea the prayers and tears and fear and gratidtude you have provoked in all of us...you will never know until you have your own babies and they walk around with your heart in thier hand wearing a blue Red Socks hat and khaki shorts!!"  But I kept my voice steady and tried to appear relaxed as he showed me the hundreds of cards he has recieved in the past few weeks. When my Madison was born in 1999, Amy sent me a card that said "Motherhood is living the rest of your life having your heart walk around outside your body." That's what I witnessed on Friday seeing Charlie. It was like Amy and Garrett were back from the brink, a brink they only had to visit and got to come away from. So many other parents don't get to come back from the brink and I am so grateful my friends got to come back.
We left Rhode Island and got to campus in time for cocktail hour. We stayed in the dorm rooms with one my good friend Doug and his wife Beth. The weekend was awesome, even though it rained. It was just so strange to see people 20 years later! Everyone changed but hadn't changed and it was soo good to see everyone again. I was not haunted at all by things of the past...it was impactful having Eddie there with me, meeting people from the only phase of my life he was not familiar with. This in and of itself helped me to feel more and more comfortable being back there. I loved having him be a part of it all.  The whole weekend was so much easier and better than I anticipated. Late night on Saturday some alumni from the class of 2006 (yes, only 5 years out of college) came to hang out in our room (only because they ran out of beer), I had another conversation with a 20-something with their whole life ahead of them. He has been dating his girlfriend for 3 years and is thinking about proposing to her. He was also talking about what career path to take and where to live...much like my conversation a few nights before with Meredith, I was reminded of those 2 phases of life, knowing the outcome of your adult life  vs. just starting to create it. I loved that I got to get up off the disgusting couch I was sitting on in the common room and walk down the disgusting hallway to my disgusting dorm room and get into a single bed next to my husband with a voicemail on my phone from my 3 girls. Many people want to go back to those days when there was more freedom and less responsibility. Not me. I like the freedom that the responsibility of a family has given me. I like that although I know many of my "unknowns" of my 20's, the story of my life is still unfolding. I got to spend a weekend with people I have loved in the past. I am grateful to reconnect with so many of them who I knew when my now "knowns" where then my "unknowns." I was also grateful to come home to a house that doesn't smell like stale beer and actually be able to sit down on the toilet seat to pee. These things go down, thank God, as two of the "knowns" of my life.

The Not Knowing and Knowing

Katie Meyler, who Founded a foundation "More Than Me" that sends kids to school in Liberia has become a close friend of mine. She is 27 and has a zest for life like no other. I know alot of people use this term "zest for life" but I mean it. Katie has it. She has the zest. I will save the story of how I met Katie 3 years ago  in an Indian Restaraunt in New Jersey and then again a few days later standing in front of the eggs in Shop-Rite and how she came to a Heartworks meeting that very same week, for another day. For now, let's talk about Meredith. Meredith is 23, from Indiana, and sight unseen asked Katie a few months ago if she could come and intern for her over the summer. Meredith had seen one of Katie's friends speak at her school and he mentioned Katie and More Than Me. Meredith was interested in working with a non-profit that is in the "start up" phase and had seen Katie's YouTube videos (if I knew how to put videos in a blog I would put it here so you could watch it). This past Saturday our friend (also named Katie) had a fundraiser for Katie M at her house- it was an awesome outdoor family day with a band and it raised $20,000 for More Than Me! While we were there, I was introduced to Meredith, her sight unseen intern and all the rest of the 20-something year old volunteers running around in More Than Me T-shirts. You knew each time you met one of them that they were good people. If they were helping Katie, you knew they were a good soul and that they are on the journey of self growth and discovery. YOu have to be on the journey if you are 23 and volunteering for a non-profit. Katie brought Meredith to our Heartworks meeting on Tuesday and now she is sleeping at my house tonight while Katie goes to Florida for a speaking engagement and she is babysitting my girls tomorrow night! I love that when I am telling Eddie who is watching the girls, he doesn't blink because of the whole  "if she is helping Katie she is a good soul" thing. Some of my most trusted Heartworkers spent last week with her setting up for the fundraiser and when I was like "Maybe Meredith could watch the girls Friday night and then stay at house all weekend, they were like "Fur Sure" (the Katie that had the fundraiser  uses this phrase alot, one of my favorite things about her because "Fur sure" is simply not used enough anymore)

I am leaving tomorrow to go to my 20 year college reunion (hence my need for a sitter) and it is so strange to have her here the night before I leave for this trip. I look at her and it was yesterday that I was where she is...my whole life ahead of me. She asked me tonight if I back packed around Europe..."Yup, when I was 22". We talked about what she wants to do...Back pack? Peace Corp?  I asked myself the same questions at her age. She is in the place of not knowing what her future holds. "What will she do?" "Where will she go?" "Who she will marry?" And here I am sitting in my kitchen (the same kitchen I was sitting in when I was 22) and I have my answers. I told her that it seems like yesterday I was her age and at the same exact time it feels like 100 years ago. And this really is exactly how it feels.

It is strange to think about being back on campus tomorrow night. It was another lifetime ago. There are some ghosts there for me, but I also know that many people under the reunion tent will be eating dinner with ghosts as well. Every campus, at one point or another is filled with the questions of "What will I do?" "Where will I go" and if you are a girl, "Who will I marry?" (very sexist, I know). I can't believe that I am old enough to have my answers... that I have 3 girls, I am Social Worker (this part I can believe) and run a Non- Profit. I went to Colorado and then came back home and I married Eddie McDowell who I past 1,000 in the hallway during my childhood without ever knowing he would one day be my husband. Very very strange because I remember the "not knowing how my life would turn out" phase literally like it was yesterday. And now I know. Back then I knew nothing about the word  terrorism other than maybe what I heard in a history class on a Friday morning before I dozed off in the back row. Now I know more than I ever wanted to know about this subject. If you had told me back then that John would be killed on a Tuesday afternoon at work when he was 42 and then 4 years later my Dad would die and that I would eventually find my balance again, I wouldn't have believed you....not one bit. But now I know this too. And I never would have thought that on my way to Massachussetts for my 20th college reunion I would be stopping off in Rhode Island because my BFF has 3 boys and her middle son Charlie had brain surgery last week. Its just too strange to even think about. I love that the night before I leave for my 20th reunion I have a circle of friends who are making a difference in the world and that I have a 23 year old girl, sleeping in my house who has an unknown adventure ahead of her. And maybe when she is leaving for her 20th college reunion she will remember being here, and how young she was and how old she thought I was and maybe she will think about how fast its all gone. I hope she will be content in the choices she has made and if she isn't, I hope she believes in herself enough to makes changes in her life.
Tomorrow I will get in the car with Eddie and we will listen to The Grateful Dead and drive to New England. And I will revisit a place of the past while knowing my answers..very very strange in deed. Is ending this blog with a reference to  "what a long strange trip it's been" just too cheesy?? I think it is, so I won't. But I do wonder if Meredith has ever listened to this song.

We only had 50 name tags

We ran out of name tags...we ran out of wine glasses and wine. The spinach dip was gone and so was the shrimp cocktail. If you were driving around Bernardsville and Basking Ridge, NJ this week you would say to yourself "Where the hell is everyone going?" Well I will tell you- we are going to end of the year soccer games, lacrosse games, dance recitals, piano, chorus and orchestra concerts, class parties, Girl Scout ceremonies, Cub Scout meetings and Indian Princess celebrations. And a few other things I am forgetting. But tonight at 8:00 there were 73 women sitting on a lawn in New Jersey signing cards for:
John- a soldier who had his legs blown off in Afganistan within the first three weeks of being there (we are sending him and his mom money from our garage sale)
Carly- a 20 something year old who works at an exercise studio in town and her apartment burned down a few months ago (we are giving her a gift card to buy things for her new apartment)
Helen- a mother of 4 kids in Sloan Kettering for 6 weeks receiving treatments (we are sending her a necklace that says "just breathe" and a book to read in the hospital)
Kelly- Who's husband died unexpectedly last month at the Kentucky Derby and has 3 children (we are sending them a box filled with 100 dollar bills to use for lunch money and errands)
and 8 other families that are struggling with an unexpected situation.

I am overwhelmed (or whelmed if you have read my past blog on this subject) with my life. That Eddie is sleeping upstairs and when I left the house, tonight at 6:00, a total disaster with mac and cheese on the stove he said what he always says " Have a great meeting, you're awesome and I love you" I am "whelmed" with the fact that 73 women left there houses tonight to come and do what started out as a thought in my head, at one of the lowest points in my life... a group for women to come together and get real and give to others...(crazy, I told myself at the time...nothing but crazy) But I did it and tonight, 7 years later, we were at my little sister's house and her kids sat through the meeting. When we finished they asked if they too, could light prayer candles...one for Uncle John who was killed on 9/11 and one for Grampy who died 4 short years later, and we looked down and there where 2 unlit candles.

That Maggie Doyne was there, home from running her orphange in Nepal and Katie Meyeler was there, taking a break from running her More Than Me Foundation in Liberia, and a newcomer...Shannon, who is still in high school but has started her own group to support kids in Tanzania- where the hell is Tanzania???

This is how AWESOME Heartworks is- these young women are doing all the things I didnt do because I found my Eddie and always wanted to get married and have kids. It is not that I am envious of them...but more that I am profoundly grateful for the work they are doing in the world while I am living in New Jersey driving to soccer practice. And I am also grateful for my friend Ann Stone's son Ben who left last week for the Peace Corp. I am grateful because I have "the calling" and I get to do my calling with AWESOME women and be married to my Eddie and sleep in a comfortable bed every night and wake up to my girls every morning. I get to make their lunches and hear their babble in the back seat of my mini van (yes, my cool days are way over) and I get to drink wine the first Tuesday of every month with women dedicated to a picture bigger than driving around our little town with Diet Coke in hand and Ray Bands blocking the sun. I will see my little Charlie this Friday on my way up to my 20th college reunion and I will give him the card that the Heartworks women signed tonight. I realize that I am someone whose life dreams have come true and I pray to God that I remember this feeling when I am driving around tomorrow like a mad woman,  late for soocer, spilling my Diet Coke all over my yoga pants (even though I'm not going to yoga) and realizing that I forgot to send in the juice boxes for the class party.

Last Heartworks Meeting Before Summer

We have our last Heartworks meeting until September tonight and I can't wait for the work we will be doing tonight. We have at least 10 families who are struggling with medical issues that we are reaching out to and today I am going to practice staying focused on balance. Balance of knowing how good my life is and also reaching out to people who are in crisis. My prayers are about staying calm and not get too overwhelmed by the meeting, but to focus on my family and take the day as it comes.

18 months ago little Campbell who is 5 and lives on my street was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Last week her mom and dad took her to a check up appointment in Boston. They were going to the same hospital as Charlie, on the same day, so she brought a gift bag from me to Amy and hand delivered it. While Charlie is home recovering, Campbell is unexpectedly having another surgery, back in Boston, next week to remove a new tumor at the base of her spine. We will make prayer ribbons for her tonight at the meeting for everyone to take home with them. One of the core understandings of Heartworks is that any of us, on any given day can be coasting along and without any warning life as we know it can be over. I encourage the people in my life to really understand how quickly things can change and to participate, the best we can in whatever phase we find oursleves in.

There is a temptation this morning for me to get overwhelmed with the amount of families, just within my small circle, that are facing serious, serious issues in their lives. Friends who's parents have died this month, two friends with children with tumors, too many friends to count who love someone living with cancer. There are women that say to me "I can't come to another Heartworks meeting, the stories are just too sad." My response is something to the effect that these life stories are happening everyday around the world, on our own street, whether we pay attention to them or not. I want to pay attention. People payed attention to my family in September 2001 even though they themselves were afraid, unsure and paralyzed. Paying attention to illness and death is exactly what gives me the gift of understanding an "ordinary day." I pray every single day to be able to see and live in the gifts I have like health, more time with my family, a roof over my head and food for my kids. All the rest is gravy. It really is. And I know this and so I teach it to others in hope that they can be transformed by the idea of paying attention and taking action rather than just saying "its just to sad."

We are expecting 40-50 women to come to the meeting tonight. That is an opportunity for a lot of transformation. I am humbled. I am grateful. I am blessed. I hope that every womam who needs to to be there finds a way to get there, even with all the end of the year parties, soccer games and dance recitals...balance, balance, balance.

If I focus to much on the devestation in the world it will paralyze me and I am no good to anyone. So I have to balance...wake each of my girls up slowly and intentionally...being ever so grateful for another day with them. Take the planning for the meeting tonight one step at a time and trust that God is awake and aware and taking care of things, I just need to do my part. I know that Heartworks changes the  lives of those recieving from us as well as the women coming to the meetings. Sometimes this responsibility seems too big for me. To be the mom, wife, daughter and friend I want to be and then also do what needs to be done for Heartworks. But there are other women who have been transformed by the Heartworks concepts and so I am not alone in organizing the meetings or following through on the opportunities we have. The Advisory Board is my saving grace. The women who call and say "I can help with this" after reading an email about a family who needs air conditioners so their daughter can breath easier this summer, more saving grace. My husband Eddie, who tells me everyday how important the work is that we are doing, when a huge part of me feels like I should be folding laundry and cleaning the family room ...more and more saving grace.

Life is fleeting and Charlie's brain tumor is out

I just got off the phone with Amy, and Charlie's surgery went GREAT. So now I am e-mailing, returning phone calls and announcing to everyone that the surgery was a success. I want to throw up, drink a glass of wine and go up into the mountains to a cave and pray -- all at the same time. The relief I feel for them is beyond words.

My day was spent in constant prayer with other people (at the church Amy and I grew up going to) and by myself. It was interesting to me that I was not able to hold the intensity of prayers all day. At one point I was watching Regis and Kelly and eating Cheese Its. It is a funny balance this God vs, human vices thing...I know the peace is with God, and yet the temptation of mindless TV and sugar pulled me away at points.

To sit in the church were Amy and I both received our First Holy Communion, attended mass (regularly OF COURSE) :) both got married at and attend my Dad's funeral mass in was just about as "whelming" as it gets. Old family friends Mr. and Mrs. Dolan and their son Cholly were the first to arrive for Charlie's prayer vigil, along with my Mom. To sit there with them, all in their late 70's/early 80's and pray for Amy's son is a vision I will never forget. Mr.Dolan is not his old self, but an Irish spirit in an worn out body that came along too soon for all of us. It seems it's all happened to fast, life, I mean...my mom and Mrs. Dolan's grey hair, Mr.Dolan's shaky body, my father gone 6 years ago this month...when did all this happen? How is it we are not here in white dresses going home for our communion parties? The phrase "life is fleeting" was like a physical presence sitting next to me in the pew.

To hear Amy's voice a few minutes ago telling me the tumor was removed successfully, is the first time I have had my BFF back in two weeks. It is the first time I have recognized her voice since the morning of May 18 when she called me screaming into the phone that Charlie had fallen down the stairs while having a seizure. I have a newfound love and appreciation for her voice, her laughter ... and  her. And I didn't even know I was lacking this.

A good glass of wine is more fun than puking or praying in the mountains (don't tell the Pope) ... so I think I will sit with Eddie and have a drink -- for Charlie, the sound of my BFFs voice and my favorite memory of Mr. Dolan when I was 11 years old and he was only a few years old than I am now. We were at his house on Boulderwood Drive, surrounded by his friends, watching the 1980 USA Olympic team beat the Russians in hockey. At the time I knew I was lucky, not because I was an American and we had won the game, but because I was a part of a great party at a house full of love. Thirty-one years later as I sat with his daughters today at church it was a similar feeling, just with less beer and no celebration ... but the feeling of love was unchanged ... grey hair, shaky body, brain tumor and all.