I'll Be Seeing You

Photo courtesy of Brian Bruner.


I'll admit it. I cry alot. But....

It's not what you think.

I cry at movies, at posts from bloggers, at silly TV shows. I cry at alot of things.

But I rarely cry about life.

Don't get me wrong, I am not unemotional or unattached, it's just that I find that most women use tears as a way to manipulate people, mostly men. And I don't understand men who can't see through the tears.

When I do cry about something in life, you know it's serious. And when I reach that level, it's not a pretty cry, it's a horrible gut wrenching kind.

Bob, although he's becoming a softy like alot of men do as they age, laughs at me when I'm watching a movie or something on TV that gets the tears flowing. Even after 20 years, you'd think he'd stop saying, "Here comes the rain." when we're watching some sad or very happy show. I honestly think he says it only to keep himself from crying.

I can probably narrow down the things in life that make me cry to three things. Death, Love and Family.

A few years ago, one of my last uncles passed away from pancreatic cancer. Having lost my father 19 years ago, death of anyone, much less someone I love, immediately brings all of that up to the top of my throat and it's very hard to control.

But for some reason when Uncle Bob (yes there are alot of Bob's around in my life) passed away I could not for the life of me figure out why I was not crying.

Yeah, obviously a pancreatic cancer death is not a surprise and although not old, he was in his 70's, but still..... I loved Uncle Bob and (at that time) I had only one uncle left in the entire world.

We spent lots of summer nights at his house growing up.  He was really a funny guy who we all loved.

At the funeral I was sitting directly behind his family, next to my mom. It was a nice funeral, if there is such a thing, but for some reason I kept thinking over and over, "why isn't this bothering me more?" It was the first funeral since my dad died that I didn't spend the entire time crying.  I cry at complete stranger's funerals and I cried all day last week when the IMPD officer was laid to rest as I was iced in and the local station aired the funeral.

As my uncle's funeral was ending, we were standing and about to leave.  But apparently my aunt had told them to play a certain song, one from the 30's/40's era. One of those great songs my mom made sure I heard growing up.

I'll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day through.

In that small cafe;
The park across the way;
The children's carousel;
The chestnut trees;
The wishin' well.

I'll be seeing you
In every lovely summer's day;
In every thing that's light and gay.
I'll always think of you that way.

I'll find you
In the morning sun
And when the night is new.
I'll be looking at the moon,
But I'll be seeing you.

As the very first notes played and I recognized the song, I swear that I physically felt like someone had just punched me in the gut. Since I didn't know what was coming, I could not stop the very audible sob(s) that came out of my mouth. It would have been embarrassing, except this was a funeral and it was my uncle and I loved him. And I missed my dad, and I felt horrible for my cousins and aunt and mom and my family and death and and and....apparently I have become very good at burying deep deep down inside the grief that can well up in me at a moment's notice since my dad's death.

And it was made even worse because I was about 20 minutes behind all of the rest of the family's sobbing. And I was LOUD. I really tried not to be, but I just lost it.

Honestly I think it shocked my mom, because I had been perfectly fine one minute and a complete utter pool of grief the next. And they are playing the song, the song my mom had taught me to love when I was so little, as we were supposed to be filing out of the church.

So my mom led me out of the church with her arm grabbing my shoulder as I shuddered my way down the long aisle.

They KNEW, Dammit They Knew.

Finally The Weather Channel rebroadcast the episode of It Could Happen Tomorrow, The Lost Episode.

The first episode was completed in April 2005.  It was scheduled to air later that fall.  Out of respect they did not air the episode until just a year or so ago, and in memory of the disaster that happened five years ago, they re-aired it again yesterday.  I missed the first airing, but DVR'd the late night episode.

Watching it again infuriates me. 

When it was apparent that Katrina was massive and heading for New Orleans, Mayor Nagin issued a "voluntary" evacuation.  The people in New Orleans had been warned so many times before, most ignored the voluntary evacuation.  The day before Katrina hit, the mayor finally issued a mandatory evacuation.  While there were still alot of people ignoring the warnings, those that did were now found themselves gridlocked on the highways exiting the city.

Idris Lewis lived in the ninth ward.  He waited for his son, who was to help him evacuate.  By then the authorities were not allowing anyone to enter the area.  Idris waited alone, recalling that waking the next morning, he found his bed floating in water.  Eventually he made his way to the rooftop where eventually a boat happened by that rescued him from being another statistic.Every aspect of the New Orleans' administration knew that Hurricane Katrina was inevitable.

The evacuation plan never seemed to consider the poor that lived in the ninth ward that could not possibly evacuate in such short notice. 


Fran Campbell, Executive Director of the East Jefferson Parish was one administration official that took pre-emptive action. She, along with all the others knew that the levees could not hold during a major hurricane. The difference was that she refused to gamble with her 250,000 people's lives.

"Due to lack of funding we were forced to come up with our own solutions to some of our problems. We had been asking for years for funding from the federal government."

In March 2005, Louis Armstrong Airport runway was being replaced. Ms. Campbell begged for the old runway and her staff worked overtime transporting the broken runway to the East Jefferson levee. "Her" levee held, while so many others did not. I've heard that the Army Corp of Engineers studied and copied some her ideas to re-enginneer the levees.

Watching the episode again, I am again struck by how many experts knew that it was only a matter of time.  They accurately predicted the "bowl" that New Orleans had become would eventually end up being a death sentence for those that could not escape. 

To blame one person, one mayor, one governor, one agency or one President is outrageous.  It was no one's fault and it was no one's failure.  It was everyone's fault and everyone's failure.  I am  reminded of the 15 year old that "stole" a school bus sitting among dozens of unused buses and collected a bus full of people and saved them from becoming another statistic. 

Hurricane Katrina was first a natural disaster that could never be stopped by any human and secondly a failure of humanity to stop gambling with human lives.  

But sadly, as we hear Hurricane Earl heading for the East Coast, I believe that New Orleans is no more prepared today than it was in 2005.  I wish that were not true, but I believe it is true.

God Bless New Orleans and it's people.  In this horrible anniversary, America still mourns for your unimaginable loss.

Placing Blame

I think we're all inclined to do it.  When we're hurting, we don't want to accept it's just a natural part of life or we direct our hurt to anger and that anger has to go somewhere so we want to blame someone because then at least we have an outlet.

One evening, around Thanksgiving in 1995, Bob talked with his dad.   Their discussion mainly concerned that the doctor had told him he could start driving again after a few months break due to his health.  He had lived a hard live and by the age of 71, he was not in the best of health.  Bob argued just a bit with him, concerned that he really wasn't quite up to par to be driving again.

The very next afternoon we got the call.  His father was being transported to a first rate trauma hospital downtown.  He had been in a traffic accident.  He was awake, alert and talking at the scene.

This was before the days of "everyone has a cell phone", so because I was on the way home, I didn't know until I got home around 6 or so and Bob had left a handwritten message on the counter.  I think I actually still have the piece of paper somewhere.

It read:  "Dad's been in an accident, I'm going to Wishard (hospital)."   I saw the note and was reading it when Bob's teenage daughter walked in, excited about her new job, which would help her with her college major.  I listened to her while trying not to be appear concerned.  When she was done, I called Bob on his new cell phone.

When Bob answered I was standing right in front of two teenage girls.  I heard Bob say, "he's not going to make it."  The combination of my ears not wanting to hear that and not wanting to repeat what he said in front of the girls left me speechless.  My non-response left Bob a little more than irritated.

He said, "Did you HEAR what I said?"  I said, "Well I think I did, but repeat it."

He did.  The words didn't change.

I told him I was on the way.  He told me I wouldn't make it in time.   I didn't care.  I had lost my own father just a few short years before that and I was not going to not be there.

Twenty-five minutes later I was running into Wishard's emergency room.  Wishard is known for first rate trauma care but mainly for providing care for the poor and uninsured.

I found Bob in a hallway, just a couple minutes after the family had been told he had passed away.

It took days before we could find anyone who knew the details of the accident and actually got a copy of the police report which we were certain would tell us how his dad caused the accident.

We were a little more than shocked to find out that his father had been travelling through a green light downtown when a woman ran a red light and t-boned him.  While he was alert at the scene, the accident ruptured his spleen and, although only 5 minutes away from the hospital, the docs were not able to save him.

The police report made it all very clear.  The lady lived in Ohio and had been at IU Med Center downtown, another excellent hospital, right off the interstate near Wishard.   She had missed the red light that was placed immediately before the ramps.

Driving the route she would have been travelling you can see that unless you are very familiar with the area, you would be concentrating on the interstate entrance signs and immediately before the signs is a traffic signal.  The placement of the two together is an accident waiting to happen.  I'm sure this wasn't the first deadly accident at that intersection and certainly not the last.

Undoubtedly, she was not only unfamiliar with the area, but trying to make sure she got on the correct ramp and completely missed the red light that resulted in my father-in-law's death.  She wasn't driving recklessly, she wasn't under the influence, she simply made a mistake that I'm sure haunts her today.

At the funeral home, we were surprised that we found an arrangement with her name on it.

Writing the "Thank You" notes afterward was split up among the "kids".  Since we had the police report, we also had her address.

Bob and I had a long discussion talking about the accident and what that woman must have been feeling.   She didn't go out that morning and decide she wanted to kill anyone.  She didn't go out that morning and drink all day and get behind a wheel and tempt fate.  She went to visit someone in a hospital and upon leaving made a horrible mistake that killed my father-in-law.

Fortunately, no one in the family wanted to play the Blame Game.  It was a mistake.  Nothing more, nothing less.  It was an accident, it wasn't an "on purpose".

I wrote the note to her as Bob and I talked.  Although I don't recall the exact wording it went something like this:

Dear ......

Thank you for the lovely arrangement.

Sometimes in life there are tragic events and we want you to know that we believe this is one of those times for our family and yours.

More than anything we wish you peace for this Christmas.

The son and daughters of.....

It would have been easy to be angry, it would have been easy to place the blame as clearly Bob's dad was legally crossing the intersection on a green light and this woman, in the wrong place at the wrong time just missed seeing a red light.   But, these many years later, I am more than certain that she relives that moment more often than we think about this accident.  I am sure it will haunt her all of her days and I wish that were not the case.  We think about his life, she thinks about his death.

Thought I'd see you one more time again

I must have been around 18, maybe 17.

I awoke up one Saturday morning to some disturbing news.

When I was growing up, our neighbor had a couple of grandsons that would visit every few weeks.  Raymond was a couple years older than I was.  I hadn't seen him for years and years.  At one point his brother was my sister's "boyfriend" kinda.  By the time I was 17, his grandmother was no longer living across the street and I cannot honestly tell you how long it had been since I had seen Raymond.

The same weekend, my father got a call from a good friend of his, I'll call him Bill.

Sometime during that weekend, Bill's son was in a Jeep with a good friend.  The friend ran off the road, striking a tree.  Bill received a call from a hospital doctor.  He was told his son was dead.  No "easing into it", no "I'm sorry", just "your son was in an accident and he's dead".  Bill and his wife had no other children.  The hospital doctor then put the friend on the phone.  It was apparently a heart-wrenching call where Bill was in shock and yet still managed to ask the friend if HE was okay.  Bill's son was 20-years-old.

That weekend we found out about Raymond.

While his parents were away, Raymond and a friend were alone in the house when they had "visitors".  Months later there was some story that perhaps (probably) Raymond and his friend had gotten themselves involved with some drug dealers and had not paid them.   Raymond had never seemed like that type of kid, but the "randomness" of what happened would indicate there was some underlying motive.

They believe a couple of men entered the residence.  Raymond and his friend were found tied and gagged.  Each had been shot once in the arm and then once in the head.  I remember hearing the phrase "gangland" style.  To this day, no one has ever been convicted of the murders.

My only thought was that I hoped Raymond had gone first. 

At the time of these deaths, I had not seen either of these two boys for at least 2 or 3 or 4 years.

But they affected me.

I remember feeling so vulnerable.  I remember crying for their families.   Raymond's death obviously brought out the news crews and it was awful to watch the family try to fend off the onslaught.

A couple of days later, I awoke to a James Taylor song.  Whenever I hear it, I am immediately transported to that time when two young men lost their lives and left me all alone. 

Maybe that was when the first time mortality had slapped me across the face.  Neither death actually affected any one thing in my life since they were no longer a part of it, but yet both of them did affect me. 

I was disoriented for many months.  You know.  During your teenage years you believe you will live forever and in one random weekend two deaths assured me that was not true.


Won't you look down on me Jesus
You gotta help me make a stand
Ya just gotta see me through another day
My body's aching and my time is at hand
I couldn't make it any other way.
I've seen fire and I've seen rain
I've seen sunny days I thought would never end
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought I'd see you
One more time again.

Sometimes "one more time again" never happens.

Go Rest High on That Mountain

This wonderful woman finally went Home on Thursday evening.

While I thought that last post months ago was written on her final days, she rallied back like she had so many times before.

Last weekend we got a call from my husband's ex who told us Great Grandma had said she missed us. I'm thankful for that call. We went to see her last Sunday. She was so much more alert than I had seen her in months and she was so excited to see us.

She laughed, she cried, we laughed, we cried. Her arms were covered in the bruises from the IVs and I told her she looked like she was in a fight. She told me she had and she always WINS. God, I loved her spirit. What an inspiration. She told me that she would be 99 in January and she was going to make it. I believed her, although you could hear that her lungs just sounded tired.

I reached down to touch her hand and she smiled and held on for the entire time we were there.

She told us she would see us again "if not here, then in heaven." At that time her voice broke. Although her vision was almost gone, she looked back at Bob and said, "This stinker is going to be around a long time." We all laughed.

She talked about our grandkids, her great great grandkids. She missed them. She saw them alot when her granddaughter (Bob's ex) watched them before they were in school. She left this world with 20 grandchildren, 29 great grandchildren and 9 great great grandchildren. And us, not now legally related, only by the heart. I loved her and I could see her eyes light up when we would walk in the room. Divorce doesn't always end in broken relationships, sometimes it just adds to the family. I'm fortunate they allowed me that relationship with this wonderful wonderful woman.

I will miss her so.

How Well Do You Know Your Neighbors?

How much would you pay for a mailbox?


I mean a NICE mailbox. 

Bob (not MY Bob, but the one who used to live in the house across the street) ended up spending close to $1k for their mailbox.

Oh no, he never intended on spending that, but Bob made the mistake of not calling what is referred to around here as "Holey Moley".  See, even though we live in a rural community,  you are supposed to call Holey Moley a couple days in advance before digging on your property.  They come out and mark your property where the underground wires are buried.

Some distracted and/or drunk driver took out both our mailbox and Bob's.  So Bob decided to "plant" a really nice mailbox.  He dug and dug and dug.  At one point his wife was there with him, so I decided to tease them both a bit and took a cold beer from our fridge and walked it out to him while he repaired their mailbox.

A couple hours later I see a telephone truck driving V E R Y  S L O W L Y down our road.  Obviously they stop when they see fresh dirt.  Evidence. I checked our phone line and yep, it's working.  Not so much for the people on down the road from us.  Bob, the Neighbor get's a nice large bill from the phone company later.

We liked to tease him about his expensive mailbox.  Bob was the type of guy that you just had to love.  We told ourselves I don't know how many times that we needed to go out to dinner with them.  But life gets in the way and time moves on.

Bob always had a certain charm about him.  He and his wife had been married for years and you could just tell that he had spent his younger years having a bit too much to drink and getting into several bar fights along the way.  Bob's wife had spent those years somehow managing to tolerate his wild days and they had learned how to mature into a wonderful couple.  From the few times I talked with them, it was evident that Bob had settled down somewhat and  his wife loved him throughout.

They built a big house across the street from us along with 10 acres, installing not only a swimming pool, but digging a big pond, nearly lake size in the very back.  Their boys blessed with them 6 grandkids, at times living with them when they were between houses.  Bob and Betty lived for those grandkids.

In the summer, we would wave across the street when Bob was cutting his grass with his zero-radius turn tractor and in a heavy snowstorm, we would find the two of them in a pickup with a snowblade in our driveway, scraping the snow for us.  More than once, I would slip on some shoes and run Bob out a cold beer for the favor.

Three winters ago, we had a tremendous snow storm.  My company was closing, so I was working from home upstairs.  I heard the noise and I see Bob and Betty in his truck in our drive.  The snow was too deep and I was too busy to take him a beer.  The snow was so bad that Wednesday, they plowed our drive twice, along with everyone else's in the neighborhood. 

They had decided to build an even bigger home a few miles away.  We didn't want to see them go and they had trouble selling the house across from us.  It was right before the real estate downfall, but Bob wanted alot of money for the 10 acres and the house.  ALOT of money.  In the meantime, the new house was being built and Bob had his own plumbing business, specializing in new construction.  New construction was plummeting, houses (especially in the 3/4 million price range) weren't selling.  All in all, it was just plain bad timing. 

March 2007, I was fighting my own demons.  I had just spent 4 days in critical care with septic shock and was shocked at how quickly you can seem healthy and then be fighting for your life and not even realize it.

I was weak but recovering.  Bob and Betty moved to their new home and they got a last minute offer on their house across from us.  A few weeks later, the deal fell through.

At 9:30 p.m. while out celebrating my birthday in early April, I see my doc's name pop up on my cell phone.  An unexpected call from your doc at 9:30 on a Friday night can not be a good sign.

He's reading the reports from my hospital stay in March. The report has nothing to do with the septic shock, but a CAT scan they did while I was there.

"solid mass off the left ovary"

I know what that means.  I had listened to one of my closest friends for five years as her sister fought stage IV ovarian cancer.   I know "solid mass" is rarely good.

Short story.....I see my family doc, we schedule an appointment with my ob/gyn.  I wait to tell the rest of the family.

They had been shaken enough over my little "spell" of the septic shock, bacteremia, pyelonephritis episode just four weeks before.  There is no need to worry them over something (even if it's a solid mass) until I know what we're dealing with.

At the same time we were closing on some additional vacation property in Florida.  My company had shut down and I was talking with another company about a contract position.

But always in the back of my mind is the scary thought that I might have to tell my mother I have ovarian cancer.  I was still incredibly weak from the sepsis.  I would spend a day helping to get our new place put together, then I would be down for a couple days recovering from the energy it took out of me.

And when I would lay down, those dark thoughts would enter my mind.  How in the name of God would I tell my family, my MOTHER that I might have ovarian cancer.  I did not yet even have a diagnosis, but I still felt the guilt. 

So one bright sunny day while we were returning from the beach, Bob's phone rings from one of our neighbors.  Everytime we go through that intersection, I remember that phone call.  Bob, the Neighbor was dead.  It didn't make sense.  He was only 52, how can that be?

At first it seemed like a tragedy, but then more information came through. 

It seemed as though Bob may have gotten themselves into just a bit of financial trouble and with the retraction of the contract, he was even under greater stress.

He had spent the evening at their new home, gone outside to play with the dog, talked with a good friend, then drove to his office.

He wrote a note to both of his boys and one to his wife.  He called her and said he was not coming home.  Then he called 911 and said they would find someone dead at the office, hung up the phone and shot himself in the heart.

I had probably only talked with Bob the Neighbor a half dozen times in the dozen years he lived in the neighborhood.  He was so delightful, helpful and as I said, charming.  But you could also sense that there had always been a selfishness there too.   But no one, no one in the neighborhood would have ever guessed he would have done such a horrible thing to his wife, his sons, his grandkids who adored him and to US. 

Suicide is the ultimate selfish act. 

Tonight Bob and I drove home and looked over at their old house and cried and cursed Bob the Neighbor again.  And we barely knew him.

I was angry when we found out three years ago.  I had been spending days feeling guilty that I might have to tell my family I could have some deadly disease and here was some wonderfully, funny, selfish man who inflicted that horrible pain on his famly that will be etched into their very souls forever. 

I'm still angry.    How could you hurt your grandkids, how could you do that to your sons, how could you leave that pain and guilt on your wife and how is it that you never had a clue of the sadness your suicide would inflict on your friends and neighbors?    And Bob?  I'm sorry I didn't just run through the last of the 3 feet of snow and hand you a beer when you plowed our drive for the last time ever.   There will never be another snowfall that I don't regret not getting you that beer and I won't cuss you out anyway for doing something so selfish, painful and permanent.