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“Cat’s in the Cradle”

The Harry Chapin song “Cat’s in the Cradle” has been running through my head a lot. I’ve been taking my work to my father’s hospice room, which is a reversal of roles. It used to be that I hung out while my father worked.

Mood music:

My childhood doesn’t fit the song 100 percent. Truth is I was around my dad a lot. But we may as well been in separate places, because he was always on the phone with customers and employees. He loved us kids and did everything he could for us, but that meant the business was always with us–at the dinner table, on vacations, and so on.

My son turned ten just the other day
He said, “Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on let’s play
Can you teach me to throw?” I said, “Not today,
I got a lot to do.” He said, “That’s ok.”
And he walked away, but his smile never dimmed,
Said, “I’m gonna be like him, yeah.
You know I’m gonna be like him.”

There was a time when I resented it, but I don’t anymore. It was a different world when I was a boy. Many careers today can be carried out wherever there’s Internet access. I can work from home and get to my children’s school events. I can run them to their appointments. I can be home with them on snow days and still get all my work done.

It also means I can get work done from my father’s bedside, though there are a lot of interruptions.

For Dad, running a business meant he had to be there much of the time. If the building alarm went off in the middle of the night, he had to go check things out. If it was the weekend, he usually had to go work at shoe shows, much as I work security conferences today. As I entered my teens, he had to travel a lot more.

In recent years he’s been like the father in the song who, after retirement, wants to spend more time with his boy, who is by then an adult, busy with work and kids of his own.

I’ve long since retired, and my son’s moved away.
I called him up just the other day.
I said, “I’d like to see you if you don’t mind.”
He said, “I’d love to, Dad, if I can find the time.
You see, my new job’s a hassle, and the kid’s got the flu,
But it’s sure nice talking to you, Dad.
It’s been sure nice talking to you”

The difference is that Dad’s been sick for a while now, trapped in a failing body. I haven’t spent as much time with him as I would have liked because there are work hassles and kids to shuttle from one activity to the next.

I wonder if Dad’s ever had a moment like the dad in the song:

And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me,
He’d grown up just like me.
My boy was just like me.

Maybe I’ll ask him before his time is up.

The elder Bill Brenner, with Gerry and Michael
My father and older brother visiting my grandfather in rehab. In recent years, my father has been the one in rehab and, now, hospice care.

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Is the Point of Pines of My Generation Cursed?

A friend from my old neighborhood opined a couple years ago that our generation of Revere kids lived under a curse. “The more time moves on, I think we may be lucky for just getting out of the city,” he told me in an email. “Revere was just eating people up back then. It’s like we lost a generation.”

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/QPNqojbyIDk

The death tally boggles the mind:

  • Stefanie Santarpio died last week at age 36 from pneumonia complications. Her mom died a couple days later.
  • TJ Leduc died in early October in an apparent suicide. His father died a few hours later.
  • Jay Nickerson died from cancer in 2006.
  • Sean Marley ended his life in 1996.
  • Zane Mead was the first of the three people on this list to die of suicide, in 1988.
  • Michael Brenner, my brother, died in 1984 from a severe asthma attack.
  • Michael McDonald was a name I remember from the neighborhood, though I didn’t really know him. He died several years ago.
  • Kenny Page was also a name I remember but someone I didn’t know, who died several years ago.
  • Scott James also died several years ago. He’s the one I know the least about.

A sad legacy, for sure. A curse? You be the judge.

I keep all these people in my prayers, and I’m thankful for those I was blessed to know.

Point of Pines

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12 Years After 9/11: Six Grief Survival Suggestions

Like everyone else, 9/11 had a profound impact on me. I live in Massachusetts, the departure point for the two planes the terrorists hijacked and crashed into the WTC, and I work in the security community. Through those two worlds, I know many people who lost loved ones or were called into action that day.

Mood music: 

This isn’t about where I was and what I was doing that day. You can read that post here. This is about six lessons I’ve taken from my own experiences of losing loved ones. May it offer you some measure of peace, whether you’ve suffered from the impact of 9/11 or lost people under more natural circumstances.

  • Let it suck. Don’t be a hero. If you’re feeling the pain from losing your grandmother, let it out. You don’t have to do it in front of people. Go in a room by yourself and let the waterworks flow if you have to. Don’t worry about trying to keep a manly face around people. You don’t have to pretend you’re OK for the sake of others in the room.
  • Don’t forget the gratitude. When someone dies, it’s easy to get lost in your own grief. There’s even a self-pity reflex that kicks in. Try to take the time to remember how awesome your loved one was. Share the most amusing memories and have some laughs. You’ll feel more at peace when you remember a life that was lived well.
  • Take a moment to appreciate what’s still around you. Your girlfriend. Your friends. If death teaches you anything, it’s that you never know how long the other loves of your life will be around. Don’t waste the time you have with them.
  • Don’t worry yourself into an anxiety attack over possible loss. Yes, God could take your loved ones at any moment. He holds all the cards, so it’s pointless to even think about it. Just be there for people, and let them be there for you.
  • Take care of yourself. You can comfort yourself with all the drugs, alcohol, sex and food there is to have. But take it from me, giving in to addictions is nothing but slow suicide. You can’t move past grief and see the beauty of what’s left if you’re too busy trying to kill yourself. True, I learned a ton about the beauty of life from having been an addict, but that doesn’t mean I’d ever wish that experience on others. If there’s a better way to cope, do that instead.
  • Embrace things that are bigger than you. Nothing has helped me get past grief more than doing service to others. It sounds like so much bullshit, but it’s not. When I’m volunteering for my kids’ school and Scouting events or taking time to talk to people who have read this blog and have their own issues to sort through, I’m always reminded that my own life is so much better than I realize or deserve.

This isn’t a science. It’s just what I’ve picked up from my own walk through the valley of darkness. I’ve learned that Life is a gift to be cherished and used wisely. I’ve also learned that it hurts sometimes, but that’s OK.

9/11 Memorial