…I Am A Tree

Archive for the ‘Life’ Category

Yeah, it’s back!  Lots of good music in the past year or so, plus some old stuff, so let’s get it into gear.

This is a really nice little show by Todd from 2006 at Four Sisters Winery in Belvidere NJ. Give it a listen!

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Todd Sheaffer
19-AUG-2006 SAT
Four Sisters Winery
homegrownradionj.com Wine & Music Festival
Belvidere, New Jersey
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[tsheaffer2006-08-19.heikki.flac16]
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TOTAL:					   (62:24)
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01: Johnny Maj Intro			(00:31.57)
02: Long Way to Go			(05:49.07)
03: Homegrown				(01:45.48)
04: Raindance				(06:41.73)
05: Charlie Hogan			(05:31.50)
06: Chains				(04:46.11)
07: Homegrown				(01:10.70)
08: How Long				(04:49.17)
09: Ferris Wheel Waltz			(05:50.66)
10: Girl from the North Country		(06:24.40)
11: Cheatin' at the Club		(04:29.40)
12: Storms				(08:00.41)
13: What's Going On *			(06:32.48)
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Notes:
	* w/ John Ginty on Keys
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…and not the song by Railroad Earth. 

It’s now over two months since Mom passed away, and I won’t smile and make light and say everything has been fine. It hasn’t. I’ve had a rough go of it, coming to terms with her death and all the assorted memories drudged up in the interim. There are images carved so deeply into my soul from her final days that I honestly don’t know if they’ll ever go away.

And that doesn’t even begin to go into the crap my siblings are bringing up. That’s a separate post for the future.

But… things are finally on the upswing again. A few weeks ago, after returning from Mexico, I was walking home across Pelham Bay Park from the train one night when I said, “Self, I think you’re depressed.”  My moods were all over the place, and I wasn’t pleasant to be around except to Kim and my co-workers. Random people outside of my normal sphere of activity? That was another kettle of fish.  

I was, as Kim put it, “surly.”

I was being mean to people randomly and it was disturbing. When I walked into the house that night, we started talking and Kim suggested that maybe I was depressed. Having just had this exact conversation with myself not ten minutes prior, I was very aware of what she was saying. I resolved then to go see someone about it. I called our Employee Assistance Program the following morning and asked for help, which was exactly what I needed to do.

The week before Memorial Day, I went to a shrink after work one night.  We talked for fifty minutes and I laid out many of the issues I was dealing with in regards to Mom’s death, my family and my past, and I felt a bit better walking out the door, with an appointment in hand for the following Wednesday.

Memorial Day weekend came, and while sitting on the couch watching something or another on Sunday afternoon, I was staring outside, looking at what Kim calls “her tree” across the street. This is a big oak (I believe) that’s grown a bit in the twelve years we’ve lived in our house. 

I don’t remember what was actually running through my mind, but I turned to Kim and said, “Umm..I never cried for Mom, did I?”

“No, you didn’t,” she said, with a look of sympathy.

And at the moment, it all just welled up inside of me, worse than I’ve ever felt. I don’t know how long I cried, but it was a soul-cleansing event. At the end of it, I felt a bit of a lightening of this burden. Drained, too, as only a good cry can do to you. This relief carried through the weekend and into the week.

I went to the shrink again last week and he almost immediately noticed a change in my demeanor. We chatted about things again, and at the end, he said, “I think you’re doing better. Take a few weeks and see if you still want to come back.”

That’s where I stand at the moment. It’s been a little over a week since my last visit, and I do feel a bit better. Sure, there’s still a lot of sadness and shock, but it’s starting to diminish a little. If I begin to feel overwhelmed again, I’ll go back. But the letting go, letting my tears flow? That was immeasurably helpful.  Yes, I am fully aware that this is pretty much Psych 101 stuff, but when you’re in it, you don’t necessarily realize it.

For now, though, it’s okay, and as the Beatles sang, “It’s getting better all the time.”

Two days after the LOST finale, I’m still mulling over what happened in the two-and-a-half hour episode, and I’ve come to the determination that I liked it. A lot.

LOST was a flawed show as time went on – a flawed gem, but flawed nonetheless. Why? Because the creators of the show never had a road map by which to guide the story, at least not until the fifth season.  The continual addition of new faces and new plot threads led to people thinking it was far more complicated than it actually was.  Yes, there were the mysteries of the Island, and of the Dharma Initiative. The smoke monster and Jacob. The mystery of the numbers and what they meant.

This is why, I think, the show lost the momentum of the first season or two.  The pilot and the subsequent first season, were simply breathtaking. To this day, I recall the “holy shit!” feeling I had watching the first scenes of the show back in 2004.  We were cooking dinner in the kitchen and became glued to the television. The scene on the beach, when Jack comes out of the woods into the wreckage of Flight 815 is burned into my memory.  Rarely have I seen such powerful imagery in a television show.

Things began to drift, though, as time went on.  I’m not sure what did it to me, but somewhere around the third season, I began to care less about things.  Sure, I still watched, but it felt like too much was being layered onto things.  I felt the writers just didn’t know where they were going with the story, so they just kept adding layers of weirdness. Answers to questions simply begat more questions.  In the end, it probably proved extremely difficult to reconcile, so I think they decided to just ignore it.  More on that in a moment.

What kept drawing me back to the show during this time wasn’t the allure of mystery – it was the characters, many of whom I grew to love deeply.  Hugo. Sayid. Sun and Jin. Sawyer. Desmond and Penny. Bernard and Rose. Jack. Charlie and Claire. Juliet. Ben. And John Locke. (I lost interest in Kate as the series progressed.) And all the rest.  Most the characters were flawed (I don’t think Bernard and Rose were — they were at peace with the universe) and it was their interaction that made things so appealing.  Every character changed in profound ways and I found myself cheering them on. 

In the end, the finale was about just that: change. Over the six seasons, we saw Jack go from a troubled man to hitting bottom after he got back to the mainland. While he may have been an outstanding doctor, in all other aspects of his life he was a failure.  He certainly couldn’t live up to his father’s expectations. His realization that he needed to return to the Island was the beginning of his transformation. 

Jack became more than the man of reason he’d been: he became a man of faith as well. He reconciled the two with one another, and as a result, saved the people he’d grown to love more than anything prior in his life. And likely the world, as well — if Smokey had gotten free, there’s no telling what he might have done.

So sure, we didn’t get all the answers in the finale. The weird science faded into the background as the battle of good versus evil took center stage.  Throughout its six seasons, LOST was always about the people, first, and that’s how it ended — about the people.  I find nothing to complain about when it comes to the scenes in the church. The multi-denominational aspect was a wonderful touch and in keeping with the show’s nature.

We got to say goodbye to old friends, and saw happiness finally take root in all of them.  Is that a bad thing? No. I’m glad the show went out in a shower of love and joy. Very few shows get a chance to do a real series finale.  I’m glad LOST had its chance, and delivered an ending worthy of its characters.

The events of the past couple weeks have triggered a variety of responses from people over that time, illuminating the different ways we all approach the online world.

Kim and I have both been very open about many aspects of our lives, both in-person and online, so much so that Kim jokes at times that the whole world knows about the workings of her uterus. It’s probably because we’ve both been involved in online communities since the early Nineties that we frequently treat discussions online as though they’re in-person. I’ve probably written millions of words on BBSes, online services (GEnie, Compuserve and AOL), discussion boards, blogs (both my own and others) and now Twitter, and if you were to put all those words together, I think you’d have a pretty good picture of who I am. We both have made many friends online that we’ve never met offline, and possibly never will, yet that bothers me not the least.  It doesn’t diminish the friendship I feel with them.

Those who read this are likely people I consider to be at least strong acquaintances, if not good friends. Some just online, some mostly offline, but many of you are a blend of both.  If you’re one of those people, I see my online life as an extension of The Conversation, one that carries from meat space to the digital realm and back. 

I approach each online environment differently, too.  Facebook serves several purposes.  One, I keep in touch with people there I haven’t seen in decades (in some instances).  Many of the people I am friends with there come from many different aspects of my life — if my friend wheel worked, you’d see probably five or six distinct groupings of people (let’s see…hobos, tooboarders, pagan friends, high school friends, gaming friends, offline friends, online-only friends (bloggers, etc), and some work colleagues…that’s eight different major groupings, and often there’s no intermingling). People from a few of those groups knew my mom, for instance, so I posted info over there as I felt was warranted to keep them in the loop. 

Two, facebook is silly and I like some of the games a tad.  You may have noticed that.

Twitter is more for my daily rambling musings, coupled with back-and-forth slow chats with a lot of folks. In many ways, my twitter community mimics my old blogging community back about seven-eight years ago, in how we all talk to one another.  What’s different about that, though, is that I see many of the twitterfolk in person, which never happened in my early blog days. Twitterfolk are often those I would consider to be at least good friends.

And then there’s this place, which has seen much writing by me over the years, coupled with long droughts (now filled by twitter summaries to at least keep the blog alive with some new content).  I used to spend a lot more time both writing and reading blogs than I do now, but it’s still part of my process.  Lately I’ve discovered it again as I try and process things about mom.

What you all may not realize is that there are things left unsaid. There are some topics that simply won’t be talked about online, let alone in meat space.  Surprised? Some may be. For instance, you may have had a touch of understanding about the situation we faced with my mom in Pittsburgh, but what I tweeted, blogged, and posted on facebook did not, in any measure, convey the true situation.  Reading back over everything I posted recently, I’m not surprised by how much I left unsaid.

Something else that some people may not realize — I’m actually quite shy in person.  I’m frequently loud and boorish to make up for that, to which some of you can attest… It’s often very ironic to me that my job requires me to some times stand in front of very large groups of people and exude self-confidence.  It’s when you get to know me that I don’t shut up. Before then…wallflower.  Living an online life helps with that, too, after a fashion.  For me, it eases the awkwardness I may exhibit when I first meet someone offline, since we’ll already know one another a bit.

Not everyone is like me, though, when it comes to the digital world.  That’s okay, I can understand that.  But you should know that this is who I am. As I said earlier, if you put everything I post in various places together, you’ll get a good picture of me. While there are times I will edit things a smidge, mostly, you’re seeing me for who I am.  That won’t change.

My mom’s doctor told that to me and Kim on the last day we were in Pittsburgh, and there’s so much meaning in those eight simple words. Culturally, we’d rather see our loved ones linger on in a manner that’s often worse than anything for which I can find words. The horrors we visit upon our fellow human beings are simply boggling, all in the name of making ourselves feel better about ourselves.

Death sucks, plain and simple.  Seeing what we saw is something no one should have to go through.  If the patient has plainly stated in their living will that they do not wish to continue on, we need to be ready to show them mercy. I know that I, for one, don’t wish to linger on — give me medication to help put me out of my pain, and offer me the solace of a final rest. It’s time for us to grow some balls and pass legislation in every state to allow medical assistance in terminal cases. We need to put aside our own feelings and allow those people to pass with minimal pain, and to not have them linger on.  Denying such in the name of religion — especially the allegedly compassionate ones — is simply bullshit, but fodder for another post, perhaps, at some point. 

The hospital (St. Clair’s in Pittsburgh), and its ICU staff were caregivers of unparalleled grace. Dr. Bushman, the doctor whose quote is the title of this post, is a remarkable man who must face this sort of thing daily. His (and the hospital’s) progressive approach to end-care is refreshing and I remain in his debt for all that he did for mom.  In the end, though, they could still only do so much, by law.  I know they wished they could do more — it was evident, if left unspoken.

Maybe because I tend to live a semi-public online life, but I’ve been surprised by the fact that it’s been hard for some people to read what I’ve written over the past couple of weeks. I get that, and can appreciate that not everyone is like me, but this is part of my self-therapy.  Trust me when I say I’ve left the real terrible things unwritten.  I have a draft post about living an online life that needs a bit more thought and polish before I hit the publish button, but look for that, too.

A warning to folks — I’m likely to continue talking about all this for the forseeable future as I try to come to terms with all that’s happened. 

But….26 days to Mexico, and we had two stellar nights with Railroad Earth this weekend, which helped ease my own pain a little.  Thanks to everyone who offered me a hug or a handshake,  and their love and compassion at the shows — it meant a lot, more than words can say.

long overdue
got the sun in a shoe
out of breath
everything in the gutter

lost how it goes
pickin’ at the bones
shadowed moon
everything under the weather

oh that smile on his face (and sometimes smile on us Grace)
and it all falls into place
and with ease
light as a feather
oh smile on his face
and it all falls into place
ain’t it sweet
when everything comes together?

why is it dark
in my head, in my heart
have I lostÂ
everything that I’ve found?

we’ve been down here before
where it’s dark and it’s cold
and you’re lost
just bangin’ on through the weather

oh that smile on his face
and it all falls into place
and with ease
light as a feather
oh smile on his face
and it all falls into place
ain’t it sweet
when everything comes together?

oh that smile on his face
and it all falls into place
and with ease
light as a feather
oh smile on his face
and it all falls into place
ain’t it sweet
when everything comes together?

oh that smile on his face
and it all falls into place
and with ease
light as a feather
oh smile on his face
and it all falls into place
ain’t it sweet
when everything comes together?
——————–

One of my favorite Todd Sheaffer songs, this really speaks to me of facing adversity with a smile on your face, and that with perseverance, you’ll get past it. Things may be dark now, but that will pass.

Sort of been feeling this way all week, so hearing this live this weekend would be a Good Thing.

Here’s Railroad Earth performing it in 2004.

http://www.archive.org/download/rre2004-10-02.matrix.flac/rre2004-10-02d1t01_vbr.mp3

Where to start? There’s so much to say and my mind simply hasn’t been able to order things properly since we got home from Pittsburgh.  All things considered, I’m doing okay.

Mostly, I’m glad mom passed away rather than continue on machines, although the fact that she held on for thirty-six hours after she was removed from life support is both boggling and horrifying to me.  When the nurses began the process of removing her from life support, several things ran through my mind.

1. She would be able to speak with us.
2. She would go quickly.

Neither of these ended up being true.  She wanted to speak, but the need to breathe was overpowering and as time went on, it was obvious she wouldn’t be able to.  She fought — boy, did she fight — to continue breathing.  As time went on, I know my sister Diane was beginning to have second thoughts about it, but the living will stated she did not wish to continue on.

I am thankful that we went, and that we were able to talk to her.  She was lucid when we were there and recognized us, and was obviously very happy to see us. We all told stories and I brought her up to date on a number of old friends I’ve re-connected with over on facebook. 

I won’t go heavily into details, to honor my mom’s memory, but Kim put it best when she said that our cat Demon was treated more humanely. How is it that we, as a culture, have no problem easing our pets onward, but when it comes to people, we draw the line and have them suffer?  I’m telling myself that I won’t remember what it was like watching her try to breathe, but I’m only kidding myself. I do, though, see her more and more as she was about twenty years ago — an odd time to envision her from, but there you have it.

Mostly, at this point, I’m just glad that she’s now at peace.  My own feelings will resolve themselves over time. We had a complicated relationship, but at the end, she was my mom.  I felt less when dad died, but that was partly because he was in Florida and only twelve or so hours passed from his heart attack until he died.  Mom, we got to see and talk to before the end.

I want to thank everyone who may read this for the kind thoughts and prayers you’ve sent my family’s way over the past two or so weeks.  It’s meant a lot to me knowing that people took a moment out of their days for us.

I miss my mom, but I know she lived a long, full life, and in the last few years of her life, had found true happiness.

So it’s come down to this, it seems.  Tomorrow morning, we pick up a rental car in Newark and head out to Pittsburgh to say goodbye to mom. The stream of information is finally cleared of obstructions, and I more or less know the lay of the land there now.  Ray and his wife, Annmarie, flew in from Massachusetts yesterday, spent the day at the hospital, and will be there again today until they leave for their flight home at dinnertime.

Ray got to the bottom of things as much as was feasible.  Mom’s vital signs have gotten better, somewhat — various ratings of her heart went from 15% to 40%, which is good — it means she’s getting better there — but other bad things have reared their head.  She’s been diagnosed with COPD, which I believe is what she’s had for a few years and was mis-diagnosed as asthma. The damage to her lungs is severe, they say, and this is the root of her breathing problems. Looking up COPD just now, I’m left wondering if that is what caused her heart attack, since it’s a known cause.

The doctors are waiting for a confluence of signs to attempt to ween her off the ventilator.  Whenever this happens — and they’re moving forward with this no matter what the family thinks (and I approve) — they will slow the air down on the ventilator and see if she is able to breathe on her own.  If signs are good, only then will they remove the tube.

If signs are not good, that’s where mom’s living will comes into play.  Unfortunately, they can’t find the key to the safe deposit box in which it is kept, but Diane is going to be bank even without it today (if it isn’t found) to retrieve it.  We believe that it states she has no desire to be kept alive on machines. If so, then the hospital will ensure that once off the ventilator, and with her body shutting down, that she feels no pain. 

My thought is that this will be the reality, hence the trip to say goodbye.

It’s not easy waiting, especially when you’re not close by.  I’ve made no secret about my strained relationship with my mom — just look at previous posts under Family to see what I mean — and I’m not asking for a death-bed apology from her.  She’s tried over the past few years to make amends in her own way, not that I’ve been overly receptive to her rose-colored view of my childhood.  Ours is a complicated relationship, and I’ll leave it at that.

At least when my dad died of a massive heart attack eight years ago, only twelve hours passed from the moment we heard until his death.  I can’t imagine how this must be for people dealing with situations that can drag on for weeks, months, even years.

I appreciate the prayers, thoughts, vibes, well wishes, etc, from everyone over the past week. I’m especially blessed with a great wife and partner who supports me so wonderfully.

Hackensaw/Earth, Cocaine Blues, originally uploaded by Kyrion.

The Hackensaw Boys joined Railroad Earth onstage for a rollicking version of Cocaine Blues, which can be heard here.

12.31.06, The Trocadero, Philly. 

And yes, it’s an old photo. ;P

Railroad Earth, 2.01.08, originally uploaded by Kyrion.

Simply the coolest damned instrument in the world.