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Every Gift But Length of Years

An untimely death has the author rethinking the meaning of life.

Mood music for this post: “Alive” by P.O.D.:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFG820EwvUQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

After JFK Jr., his wife and sister-in-law were killed when the plane they were in hit the ocean in the summer of 1999, the late Sen. Edward “Uncle Teddy” Kennedy said at the memorial service that his nephew had “every gift but length of years.”

It reminds me of an interview done years ago with Rose Kennedy in which the matriarch was asked if she would have preferred more normal lives for her dead children had it meant a longer life. Here answer was no. The lives her children had were full and left a mark on history, even if they didn’t make it to old age. She also noted that there’s no messing with God’s plan.

I’ve been thinking about these things since having coffee with my dear friend Penny Richards this morning.

Her only child died in a motorcycle accident late last year, and it has made a lot of us think about the fragility of life and how every moment we’re here counts. As Henry Rollins sang, “There’s no such thing as downtime. All there is is lifetime.” [I’m not sure I got the lyric down perfectly, but that’s the essence of it.]

My friend’s daughter, 25-year-old P.J., had been working at Mass. General Hospital and was well on her way to a career in the medical field when the end came. She was there about four months, but made a huge impression on those she worked with. The proof is in the tree that’s been planted in her honor there.

I read Penny’s blog every day, and let me tell you: The stuff she’s writing is going to help a lot of grieving people get through their melancholy in years to come. I so wish she didn’t have to be the one to set the example because she has to carry around deep pain. But for those who suffer from depression or go through any brand of adversity, her experiences must be shared.

Do yourself a favor and read her blog.

Also, take some time to learn about her daughter. I never really knew P.J., though I remember her hanging around the Eagle-Tribune newsroom all the time when her mother was a lifestyles writer and I was night editor.

I’ve since been inspired by her life story, as told my many people. She died too soon, but when she lived, she really lived, and brightened the lives of everyone around her in the process.

It’s a story that really helps us understand how to spend the time God gives us, whether its 100 years or just 25.

Which brings me back to that Kennedy quote: “Every gift but length of years.”

This in turn makes me think of some words of wisdom often repeated by Father Michael Harvey at my parish, All Saints in Haverhill, Mass. [Funny I should mention Father Mike and Kennedy in the same entry. Father Mike is not a Kennedy fan.]

Father Mike often tells us that our job as parents is to get our children into Heaven, whether the child lives to old age or dies young.

By that measuring stick, Penny and Dave Richards did their job and then some.

And their “pretty girl,” as Penny calls her in her own blog, rubbed off on enough people in her short life that the world in general has been left a better place than what she was born into.

That’s how I feel, anyway.

Our instinct as parents is to shield our children from danger. But sometimes a long, safe life isn’t in God’s plan. Since that’s the case, we need to instill in them the goodness they need for whatever may come.

This might sound weird, even preachy, to some of you. But it’s what I believe and where my head and gut have taken me today.

Thanks for indulging me.

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Too Young for the Truth?

Sean learns more about the man he’s named for than the author intended at this young age. All things considered, he took it well.

Mood music for this post: “Leslie Anne Levine” from The Decemberists:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ml0VI8VZO2U&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Sean and Duncan were fighting in the bathtub. I can’t remember what started it, or what sparked this angry comment from Sean: “I’d rather commit suicide than apologize [for whatever he did].”  I punished him by making him go to bed a half hour early. Then I did something unexpected. I told him why that word makes my skin crawl.

I know Sean didn’t mean the statement literally. He was pissed off and wanted to land a verbal crusher, as kids do.

In that split-second where Sean was melting down over his punishment, I told him statements like the one he made will get him in trouble every time.

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal,” he said.

And then I told him that the man we named him for had taken his life. That’s a lot for a 9 year old to hear, and I wasn’t going to tell him until he was much older. It just sort of fell out of my mouth.

Sean gave me an intense stare, and his face went from red to white. His lower lip trembled. I felt 1,000 kinds of awful. I started thinking about how this might scar him for life, and how I always promised God that as a parent I would never do something to scar my kids.

I started to backtrack. I told Sean the man he was named for was a great man, and that he had a mental illness that unhinges the sufferer’s ability to make sane, rational decisions. I told him he should be proud of his name, and that I was proud of him.

He recovered pretty quickly, and seemed to understand. I often forget this boy is smart beyond his years, and I don’t always give him credit for being able to process weighty subjects.

Still, I always figured I’d wait until he was much older to tell him.

After Sean went to bed, I went upstairs to the loft where Erin and I have our desks. She was working late again on a freelance editing project. I told her what happened, thinking she wouldn’t be all that happy with me. But her reaction was pretty reasoned and calm. In all likelihood, she said, he wouldn’t be scarred from the knowledge. Besides, she added, young or not, he needed to feel awful about what he had said so he’ll think twice before saying it again.

Time will tell.

I’ve said before that Sean Brenner shares some of Sean Marley’s traits, particularly that deep intellect, and that I was going to be damn sure to watch for signs of the darker traits.

To that end, perhaps all this was necessary.

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How I Became the Easy Parent

Here’s a side of my recovery that the kids enjoy: I’m more of a push-over than I used to be.

Mood music for this post: “Mama Weer All Crazee Now” by The Runaways:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4RTipAZuMRI&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Back when my OCD was out of control, I craved order. When you have kids, order is impossible.

I was very big on sticking to routines. Brushing teeth and getting in pajamas by 6:30. Bed by 7:30. If it went later than that, I freaked out. That was my time to collapse on the couch in front of the TV.

I’m not sure when this stopped being important to me, but it did. Maybe it’s the Prozac. Maybe it’s the mental coping tools I use. Whatever the case, the chances of my kids running wild and burning the house down are greater than they were, say, six years ago.

I knew I had reached a turning point a couple years ago when one of the kids’ friends, Wolfgang, slept over. Right at the time they were supposed to be in bed, I dozed off on Sean’s bed while the three kids ran up and down the stairs chanting like Indians. I woke up an hour later to find them doing the same thing they were doing when I nodded off.

Then there was the time Sam and Grace White came over for a couple hours. I had to give Sam a time-out on the couch for reasons I can’t remember. I forgot about him and 20 minutes later he was staring at me with his lopsided grin.

“What?” I asked.

“Mr. Brenner (pronounced Bwenna),” Sam said. “Can I get up now?”

I used to panic when I had to get the kids ready for school and drive them there. It always came down to how I’d do my work and that, too.

Now it’s no big deal.

Go figure.

I think part of this is that my concept of rest and relaxation have changed. Having rigid control over what the kids do and when they do it is no longer as important as it used to be. I’m just happy to be spending time with them and just being together.

It’s one of the strange things that happened to me on the way to recovery: I started finding peace and relaxation in the very things that used to fill me with fear and spark anxiety attacks. [SeeFear Factor] Not the kid duties, but everything else in life that made me want to rush the kids to bed so I could enter my mental coma.

It used to be that relaxing meant holing myself up in the bedroom watching endless episodes of Star Trek. I watched a lot of the news, too, which instead of relaxing me would send my brain into an endless spin of worry about things happening at the far corners of the world.

Lying on the couch all weekend — sleeping for a lot of it — was relaxation.

Then Sunday night would arrive and I’d go into a deep depression about the tasks that awaited me the next day at work.

Before Sean and Duncan, the above was pretty much all I ever did.

Now the idea of doing nothing — even when I can — is repulsive to me.

I didn’t spend all that time on recovery so I could go lie on the couch. And besides, there’s never anything good on TV, anyway.

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The Brenners Invade The White House

The author on returning from a journey that would have been impossible a few years ago.

It’s 5:30 a.m. and I’m running on less than four hours of sleep, so excuse any typos that follow…

I’m back in my “sunrise chair” the morning after returning from one hell of a road trip that included a private tour of the White House West Wing, a stay at buddy Alex Howard’s place and a stay with our wonderful Maryland relatives, Charron, Steve, Stevie and Maggie.

There’s a lot about the trip I’m still stunned about. I’m still in awe of the fact that I got to poke my head in the Oval Office and Cabinet Room and that I got a quick peek inside the Situation Room when a staffer was leaving the main room (the Situation Room is actually made up of several rooms).

I’m very thankful for Howard Schmidt for giving us the tour and for Alex for letting the whole family stay in his cramped but very cool townhouse on Capitol Hill.

I’m also thankful for the level of recovery I’ve achieved, because without it I never could have done the trip, especially with the whole family on an 8-hour drive down and a longer, 12-hour drive home Sunday (lots of traffic).
I’ll be honest and tell you I wasn’t perfect this trip. Friday morning we got a late start to the day and I found myself in an OCD-enhanced mood dive. It was a classic control freak out: I wanted to show Erin and the boys EVERYTHING. But with two small kids with shorter legs than their Dad, you can’t do that. And for a few hours Friday afternoon, as we walked from the Lincoln monument to the Museum of Natural History, I was in that brain-clouding mood I used to live with 24 hours a day.
But it was still a good day, and an even better night. Being in the West Wing of The White House, where every president of the last century has toiled away (some for the good, others for the not-so-good), was just magical for a history nerd like me. And I’m grateful my wife and children got to see it all.
It was a joy the next day to spend time with our Corthell cousins on the Maryland coast: Charron, Maggie, Steve and Stevie. Such a wonderful family. Charron took us to a maritime habitat that included time out on the water and inside a really cool lighthouse.
I especially enjoyed watching Maggie and Duncan bond during the boat ride.
So why wouldn’t this trip have been possible a few years ago? For starters, driving ANYWHERE outside the comfortable confines of the north-of-Boston area used to send me into panic. My fear and anxiety extended to a terror over getting lost. Even getting lost in Boston was cause for fear.
This trip, I did the whole drive down and back with none of that. I even enjoyed the journey.
I also wouldn’t have had the guts a few years ago to inquire about a White House tour. Too much work and I’d have to actually talk to someone with a big title. That would have been too intimidating.
I also would have been afraid to take the time off from work, since being a people pleaser was more important than living back then.
My 12-Step recovery program helped a lot. It kept me from wasting time and energy on binge eating and so I got to experience more from the journey. My Faith also helped, because I know now that the key to everything is to Let Go and Let God. I worked my tools, and everything was fine.
Not perfect. I feel like an idiot for taking that mood swing Friday afternoon. I also realize now more than ever that I’m addicted to computer screens. Erin decreed that we leave the laptops behind and I’m glad we did. But man was it hard to not run to a computer and upload those White House pics right after taking them. That’s something I still have to work on.
But then I knew I was still a work in progress. I always will be.
But I’m a grateful, lucky work in progress.
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Road Kill (a Family Adventure)

The author on why he’s taking the family on a 10-hour car ride.

Mood music for this post: “Heading Out to the Highway” by Judas Priest:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MoDbAd4fYBA&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

A few years ago, this would have been impossible.

I never would have put the whole family in the car and driven 10 hours south to Washington D.C. Too scary. Too much planning. Someone might break into the house while we’re gone.

Well, the house part is a valid concern. So before anyone gets any bright ideas, I should note that I have someone staying here to look over the place while we’re gone. My neighbors are keeping an eye on things as well, and you don’t want to piss them off. Trust me. I write about security for a living, so I always plan these things out.

So we’re going to the nation’s capital because a friend works in the White House and we’re getting the tour. It’s also high time we took the kids to the Smithsonian museums. Meanwhile, Duncan thinks the Lincoln Monument is part of the White House and doesn’t believe me when I tell him that’s not the case. So I have to show him the evidence.

Living on a tight budget, we’re driving down and staying at a friend’s house and then a cousin’s house. We’re packing lunches to take along instead of buying restaurant food.

I’m grateful to the folks who are making this trip possible, because this will be something that the kids remember forever. Pictures will follow.

I should also point out that I won’t be posting anything new here until after the trip. My laptop is staying behind.

So here’s another reason this trip will be so special:

Back when I was tight in the grip of fear, anxiety and depression, the mere thought of embarking on something like this would have been too frightening. The work involved. The planning. Leaving the house. All notions that were too terrible to contemplate.

Now I realize how Blessed I am that I can do something like this for my family.

And I’m looking forward to the ride down almost as much as being at our destination. I used to hate long drives. Today I love a good road trip. The planning is a lot of work, but it doesn’t take the wind out of my sails like it used to.

I’ve done this run a couple times now on the RV to the ShmooCon security conference, though I wasn’t driving.

This is what you can do in Recovery.

Seize it.

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The Fear of Current Events

Digging through storage boxes the other day, I found old, 20-plus-year-old copies of Time Magazine, Newsweek, Mother Jones and a host of others. There had to be four years of them, well over 200 volumes.

And so I was reminded — again — of all the fear I used to carry around.

As I’ve written before, fear and anxiety were byproducts of my particular brand of OCD, just like my addictions were a byproduct.

The fear meant a lot of things. Working myself into a stupor over the safety of my wife and children. An obsession with cleanliness, which was interesting since depression always meant my personal hygiene took a dive.

It also meant a fear of world events. When that Nostradamus movie “The Man Who Saw Tomorrow” came out on HBO in the early 1980s, I was terrified by the “future” scenes, especially the one where New York and Paris are destroyed in nuclear attacks.

Later, when Iraq invaded Kuwait, I thought the scene from above was playing out and it left me in a huge depression, one where I stayed in my basement with the lights off.

Similar emotions took hold on Sept. 11, 2001. Of course, those emotions took hold on everyone that day.

Most recently, in 2005, I had a long panic streak over the bird flu in Asia, which was predicted to be the next great pandemic, as deadly as the one in 1918-19.

I would read every magazine and every website tracking all these world events as if my personal safety depended on it. If a hurricane was spinning in the Atlantic, I would watch with deepening worry as it edged closer to the U.S.

When did all this stop? It’s hard to pin an exact date or year on it.

I only know it stopped.

One day the anxiety attacks stopped. Then I started to crave all the experiences I once feared. Not the terror attacks, plane crashes and pandemics, mind you, but the traveling, the public speaking and more intensified writing. One day I started craving those things with the same vigor with which I craved all the junk I polluted myself with.

Therapy — years of it — and Prozac definitely played a role. So did my deepening Faith.

Whatever it was, I’m glad it happened.

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Parental Overload: No Big Deal

Nothing like a week of screaming kids to realize OCD aint what it used to be.

Mood music for this post: “Mama Weer all Crazee Now” by The Runaways:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0nKcHaQowY&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

A week like the one I’ve just had would have been impossible just a couple years ago.

The kids were on school vacation, the same week as Sean’s 9th birthday and some very big security events in Boston. I did a lot of speeding back and forth between the Seaport Hotel and home for a kids’ birthday party, daycare duty, an evening trip to the N.E. Aquarium, etc.

Funny thing is, everything was fine. It was a fantastic week, actually.

Not even the house full of third graders rampaging through every room was enough to take me down. I enjoyed it.

I managed to bust out 11 articles and podcasts during the week, despite all the mayhem. It was fun. Hopefully, some security folks get something out of them.

Yesterday I mixed work with parenting and took Sean and Duncan to the Security B-Sides event in Boston. The venue was perfect for them:

Security BSides Boston by jack_a_daniel.

The security crowd seemed to enjoy their company. No one seemed to mind as Sean shoved Lego toys in their faces and gave detailed descriptions of each one. Heck, a couple of people came with more Legos for Sean, knowing he’d be there.

Thanks to Twitter and Facebook, the kids are something close to famous among my business associates.

As for me: No anxiety attacks. No fear or panic about getting articles written. And no worries as to what other people think.

Nothing more to say about it, really.

Just a few words to drive home my surprise and gratitude for this turn of events.

Happy Sunday.

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MomDay Monday – School Daze

Every school has its issues.

Issues with teachers. Issues with other parents. Miscommunication. Problems with other students.

Every school.

There’s no getting around it. We’re all human. We all have failings. And a school is, after all, made up of us imperfect humans.

But at what point does a school have so many issues it becomes dysfunctional?

Is it when the faculty talks out of turn to your child about their parents’ divorce?

Or perhaps it’s when other parents refuse to accept that their child is the school bully & consistently puts the blame for their child’s behavior on the very kids he’s bullying.

Is it when there are arbitrary punishments meted out at whim? One day a behavior is punishable by making the child sit out of recess. The next day, the same behavior is overlooked. One day, uniform infractions are barely mentioned. The next day, a student loses privileges for wearing the wrong uniform piece.

Perhaps….

But I believe it’s when a school & its principal are so afraid of criticism that they close off lines of communication to keep others from hearing it.

I believe it’s when a principal is more concerned with who saw a comment on the school Facebook page than she is with addressing the issues brought to her attention.

I believe it is when a student receives retaliation for the actions of their parent.

And I believe it is when anti-bullying rallies are held for the students but parents & staff are seemingly the biggest offenders.

The Kids attend a private, Catholic school. They have been there since they were each 3 years old, starting in the youngest Pre-K group. They have known their classmates for most of their lives & we have made good friends with some of the families of these kids. When The Ex & I decided to divorce, we quietly told The Kids’ teachers so they were aware of the situation at home & on the lookout for any kind of behavioral issues that might occur because of it. This school had an opportunity to show The Kids an example of what it means to be a Christian & support my children during a particularly tough time.

They failed.

Within weeks, it seemed as if everyone knew what was happening in our family. The rumor mill was in full force until people I hardly knew & rarely spoke to had an opinion on my divorce & The Kids’ reaction to it. I had been blind to the dysfunction in the past, believing my kids were in the best possible place for the best possible education. There were two things I hoped to keep consistent throughout the divorce as the kids lives were being uprooted. Their school & their house. I was determined to keep them in that school & in the house they had been in for the past 4 years even if it meant having to ask my dad for money. But little by little, my eyes were opened & I saw that there were issues with this school far beyond anything I ever realized. There certainly have been people on the faculty as well as other parents who have been more than supportive & I can’t thank those people enough for the kindness & support they’ve shown, especially to The Kids. But they have unfortunately been too few & too far between. It is school dysfunction at its best. Or worst.

I’ve stopped my insistence that The Kids stay in that school. It’s part of my letting go. And it’s okay. I am aware that any school will have issues, dysfunction, intolerant people & parents who violate the school drop off & pick up rules. At this point, I’m willing to take my chances.

But I’m keeping the house.

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Happy Birthday, My Sweet Boy

Mood music for this post: “Beautiful Boy” by John Lennon:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uldu_1-JCJE&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

You entered the world on Earth Day, nine years ago. Nine years. Wow.

You were graced with a beautiful Mom and a Dad with just a few kinks in him. I would always try to hide my OCD, depression and addictive behavior from you, but I wasn’t always good at that. You didn’t seem to mind. In fact, you helped me get well.

We named you Sean Michael Brenner.

The first name is for Sean Marley and the middle name is for Michael Brenner, the uncle who left this world nearly 20 years before you were born. Sean Marley took his place as an older brother, but he died in 1996. You were destined to inherit both names.

You were a shock to my system at first. Your very presence messed with all my OCD triggers, particularly those involving neatness and controlling the clock, though I only had the illusion that I could do the latter.

But you grew on me quick.

We watched a lot of Sesame Street together. When I worked the night shift at The Eagle-Tribune, I put you in the stroller most mornings and took you on a 3-mile walk.

You gave me a fresh appreciation for all things Dr. Seuss. You introduced me to Thomas the Tank Engine, who would soon become an obsession for you. You still have most of the engines ever made, along with miles of wooden track. The living room used to be so covered with Thomas toys that one could hardly walk in there.

A couple years after you were born Duncan entered the world. You have been the perfect big brother for him since day one.

Sure, you guys fight. But all brothers do. It always passes after a few minutes, and sometimes the dialogue makes me laugh.

Like when Duncan exploded at you for calling him cupcake.

Or the many times you two fought over who would get to use the computer first.

It always passes, and then you do things like read him chapters from “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” every night.

That’s quite a big brother. Duncan’s lucky, and he knows it.

In the last couple years, you’ve shown a mind-blowing ability for reading, art and writing.

You also have an amazing talent for drawing sea creatures and cutting them out. The proof is all over my office.

You have your obsessions, just like me. Right now it’s Legos. I promise to keep an eye on you and teach you the things I’ve learned to keep the obsessions from getting the better of us.

Tonight, for your birthday, we’re going to the N.E. Aquarium, one of your favorite places on Earth. Tomorrow we’ll have the birthday party with your school chums, then the family party is Sunday.

A week of celebrations? You are worth it.

Happy Birthday, my sweet boy.

Your Dad loves you.

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Happy and Productive in the Debris Field

The author used to come unglued around chaos. Now it floats past him.

Mood music for this post: “Sons and Daughters” by The Decemberists:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5H8DwJI0uA&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Looking at the week ahead, it’s amazing I’m not hiding in a foxhole right now.

I’m working from home the first part of the week while the kids are on vacation. Call it half a vacation, though I’m tackling a full plate of work each day.

Sean’s birthday is this week, so the house needs a scrubbing before party guests arrive Thursday.

I have a conference in Boston to cover the latter half of the week into the weekend.

And oh yeah — with two vacationing kids comes a lot of clutter.

I’ve always hated clutter. It’s one of the biggest OCD triggers I have. And you can’t have kids around without accepting a certain degree of clutter. There’s no eating without dumping stuff on the floor. There’s no Lego activities without getting Legos everywhere.

But something strange has happened in more recent years. I’ve found that these things don’t rattle me the way they used to.

I chalk it up to all the progress I’ve made managing my OCD and putting down the worst of my addictions.

Now I can peacefully co-exist among the chaos and clutter. If I have work, I can do it  and do it well sitting among the debris, like I did yesterday when Duncan decided to make a blanket/pillow fort right where I was writing a couple CSO articles:

Hell, I even helped him build the thing.

Then I sat in my half-covered chair and got working. And guess what? I got plenty done.

I feel better about zigzagging from the conference to Haverhill for birthday activities because I’ve already written and posted four stories and two podcasts about things that will be going on at the event.

It’s all good.

One more thing about the clutter, though: If you know someone with OCD that’s not under control, keep them as far away from chaos as possible.

For the chaotic mind, clutter is the worst.

It amplifies the crazy in your head.

That I can now exist in the clutter is pretty wild when I stop to think about it.

Oddly enough, I’ve probably swung a bit too far to the other side of the spectrum.

My wife pointed out to be recently that I’m more of a slob since cleaning up my act.

Sounds weird, doesn’t it?