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A Tribute — and a Warning

Bob Scharn standing with statue of Captain Jack Sparrow

This is a tribute to a great man. It’s also about COVID-19 hitting close to home.

Bob Scharn was a giver.

He gave unlimited love to his wife and son and unlimited time as leader of my children’s Boy Scout troop.

He gave everything he had to everyone. The troop kids were his kids. Those kids have all grown into impressive young men. My older son is an Eagle Scout today thanks in no small part to Bob’s encouragement and guidance.

He was kind and patient to the core. I never once saw him raise his voice or lose his cool when the Scouts became a handful.

He also laughed at all my jokes, appreciating that obnoxiously bad ones were a right of passage for dads everywhere.

You could talk to him about anything. He could talk politics without letting his passions get the better of him. When he talked about Marvel movies and comics, his passions were clear from his endless supply of facts and figures. But whenever he shared anything, he was humble.

Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever known a more humble guy. That’s no overstatement.

Three weeks ago, Bob entered the hospital with COVID-19. His wife and son had come down with it as well but were able to recover at home. His was a more serious case. In the three weeks since, his wife and son have provided daily updates. Some days Bob held his own and it even looked like his lungs were clearing up.

Then things got worse. He needed a ventilator and dialysis.

Finally, last night, his son delivered the heartbreaking news that Bob’s body couldn’t take it any longer. He is now part of that bitter statistic — another American death in a pandemic that continues to spiral beyond control.

Bob has the eternal thanks of my family, and our hearts go out to his wife, Colleen, and son, Matthew.

Both are strong and will endure. Matthew will no doubt make his father proud many times over.

I know others who have fought COVID-19. Fortunately, they have recovered. Bob’s death is a punch to the gut.

A warning for all of you: Be careful. Limit your contact with people. Stay out of crowds. And for God’s sake, wear a mask.

If your family wants to have a gathering and someone is worried that doing so is too great a risk, don’t discount their concern.

By all accounts, the Scharns had been careful to avoid this.

To those tempted to use this post as license to spout conspiracy theories about how this isn’t really a pandemic but a government ploy to lord over the masses and change the outcome of an election, I have two words for you.

But I won’t say them here.

Bob wouldn’t have. He was better than that.

Bob Scharn standing with statue of Captain Jack Sparrow
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Thank You All

My family is overwhelmed and grateful for the massive outpouring of support and kind words in the wake of Dad’s death. I’ve heard from so many of you on my Facebook timeline, in private messages on Twitter and by phone.

Mood music:

I’ve written a lot about these final weeks with my father. I hope readers have taken it in the spirit I meant to get across — that while grief and loss is hard, there’s also a lot of beauty in the journey.

It’s been a hell of a week between Dad’s passing and that of my Aunt Marlene, but I’m overjoyed knowing that both are now free.

All the love and support comes on top of all the support I got last weekend when I did the Boston Walk All Night Against Suicide. Thanks to all your donations I raised $1,670 for suicide prevention programs. The walk lasted six hours and covered 17 miles in the driving rain. I met some great people along the way and we were cheered on all along the route by folks standing outside bars and hotels. My feet hurt at the end, but it didn’t last long.

Some of you continued donating to the cause while the walk was happening, which was awesome to see.

 

Now we’re preparing for Dad’s funeral. After that, we’ll take a few days to decompress. Then we go back to work.

I’ll be back to blogging soon. Meantime, I just wanted to say thanks.

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Thanks for Everything, Aunt Marlene

Marlene Brenner died yesterday at the age of 68. She was my aunt — my father’s younger sister — and I owe her a lot.

Mood music:

Aunt Marlene was a constant presence in my childhood. With my siblings and grandmother, we’d go on trips to the White Mountains and lakes of New Hampshire. Many a family meal was had at her house in the Point of Pines, Revere, which was a quick walk from my father’s house at the southern part of the neighborhood and my mother’s house from the northern section.

My parents divorced when I was 10 and I often hung out in that house to escape the difficulties. I loved that house. More often than not, it was a place for holiday celebrations.

At the family business in Saugus, my aunt had a needlepoint shop in the building for a time in the 1970s. I used to hide in her back room watching Saturday-morning cartoons on the little TV she kept in there. In later years my father put a shoe store in that space and my aunt managed it for many years.

I remember her checking the ingredients of every food package before letting me have it because I was often sick from Crohn’s Disease and wasn’t supposed to have milk.

Her family always came first. She focused on the family business at the expense of a social life.

She didn’t have it easy. She would often isolate herself from the rest of the world and skip family gatherings later in life. As a kid I didn’t quite understand that, but as an adult it was clear that like me and other family members, she suffered from depression.

She suffered a stroke in mid-March and never really recovered from it. Her decline coincided with that of my father, who is still hanging on in hospice as I write this.

It’s been a sad time for the family. But I’ve spent a lot of that time looking through old photo albums my aunt and grandmother kept, learning more about a rich family history I couldn’t grasp as a kid. That’s been a huge gift.

Mostly, my memories are full of family doing the best they could under often difficult circumstances. That includes memories are of my aunt taking me to the mountains and lakes, giving me crucial breaks from my own personal demons.

I’ll never forget that, and I’m forever grateful.

Rest in peace, Aunt Marlene.

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When Life and Death Dance on Eggshells

I mentioned yesterday that my father is bedridden and that things aren’t looking good. I’ve lost count of how many times in the last four years we’ve gathered as a family, thinking he was at the end.

Each time he’s bounced back, like some unseen force keeps pulling him back for a few more rounds.

Mood music:

When I visited him last Sunday, he was too tired to talk much. He just wanted to sleep. I’ve seen him that way many times, but this time I got the sense that it’s getting harder for him to perk up. He’s said many times that he doesn’t want to live like this and be a burden to others.

But he keeps hanging on.

He wants to make sure his affairs are in order and that he leaves his family with the tools to survive, specifically, financial tools. Part of me feels like he should be allowed to leave, to be free of his broken body once and for all. Part of me respects him for being such a survivor, even when life doesn’t seem worth surviving.

I know that how this ends will be up to God. We can hope for things all we like, but God makes the final call.

It’s hard as hell for us mortals to sit around and accept that. We want to do something, to make some kind of plan and see it through, whether it’s family wanting to know the full path ahead or my father wanting to maintain some control, to run the timetable and tie up loose ends.

Although we know how little control we have, we continue to cling to our hopes and impulses. It’s an uncomfortable place to be. It will sort itself out, because it always does. I’m just praying for the strength to do what God wants of me.

If I figure out how to do that, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, any prayers for my father are appreciated.

silhouette of a man kneeling in prayer

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When the Worry Machine Takes You to Dark Places

My father and aunt aren’t doing well. Dad is bedridden, a series of strokes and heart attacks having taken their toll. My aunt is in the hospital unable to do anything more than utter a stray word after having her own stroke.

And so continues a sick game, where we try guessing how much longer they’ll be with us, who will go first, etc. That’s the game I’m playing anyway. When you’re like me and you can’t help but worry about what’s out of your control, these mental exercises take over.

Mood music:

I’ve seen many relatives and friends deal with critical health issues, and I’m no stranger to death. Each time, I played the game of what-ifs, worries about my always busy schedule and what I might have to cancel.

This time, I’m a week out from traveling to San Francisco for RSA Conference — one of the biggest events of the year for my industry — and I’m worrying about whether or not I’ll get there.

It’s a hell of a thing, worrying about that when two lives hang in the balance. It’s a human thought process, but I feel selfish all the same.

I wouldn’t have the life I have today if not for my father. He made sure I learned the value of hard work, sent me to college, helped out when Erin and I bought our home and has helped out during more than a couple financial squeezes.

My aunt helped me deal with some of the more traumatic events of my early life. When my parents were divorcing, she and my grandmother took me on trips to the New Hampshire mountains. When my father worked late, I could usually go to the house down the street where she and my grandmother lived, where I could watch TV, do homework and have dinner. That house was an oasis when I needed it.

They gave and they gave. I’m trying to give back and want to do so freely and fearlessly. But I can’t stop worrying about how their condition might impact my carefully made plans.

I know I’m not the only one who does this. I’ve talked to others who have had to deal with situations like this, and they all experience such thoughts. It just doesn’t make me feel any better. Writing about it is my way of keeping myself honest so I can move on and make the right choices.

If it helps some of you see that you’re not alone in getting swallowed up by this monster, so much the better.

Road sign: Rough Road 20 Miles per Hour

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Is It Better That They Died?

A conversation with friends last night about Ray Manzarek’s death led to talk about Jim Morrison and other musicians who died young. The question we asked aloud was what would Morrison, Kurt Cobain and others have done with their music had they been afforded longer lives?

Mood music:

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Would John Bonham still be producing those menacing drum sounds? Would Randy Rhoads be blessing us with rock infused with classical as he had desired at the time of his death?

It’s possible. But it’s also possible they all would have gone on to write and record music their hardcore fans would consider lame.

I picture Morrison, old and balding, jumping up and down in an MTV video and singing “Su-Su-Sussudio!” Or Cobain singing country songs. Or Rhoads doing a bunch of watered-down, keyboard-infused music with horn sections and such.

Maybe that was God’s plan, to pluck these guys from Earth while they were still in their musical prime, before they could make music that would alienate their most dedicated fans.

It’s an interesting thing to ponder, though in all seriousness I wouldn’t have been upset had they all lived and made radical departures from the music that made them famous. Even if you don’t like someone’s newer art as much as their older art, it would still be comforting to see them alive and well, experimenting and trying to to expand their musical horizons.

Not that any of that matters. They died young, and that’s the way it is.

Thank God they got to leave behind some music before they were called home. That music has gotten me through a lot of adversity. It’s gotten a lot of people through the rough patches.

You could say that they didn’t have to stick around because they had already done what they came to do.

Dead rock stars

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A Bittersweet Birthday

I felt very loved yesterday as we celebrated my 42nd birthday. Erin and the kids got me a guitar and practice amp, and we had an afternoon of grilling and enjoying the sun with some of my closest friends. My father was there too, but he wasn’t looking well.

Mood music:

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Dad sat on the deck with his eyes mostly closed and kept dropping his water glass. When I was helping him out of his seat, he almost fell back. This morning my sister and stepmom called to tell me he’s now in the cardiac care unit of a hospital in Boston, with lungs filled with fluid and a heart with beat way out of tune from where it should be.

This is life in one’s 40s. You’re still young enough to lap up all the life around you, but you also have to watch your parents turn into the constantly sick people your grandparents were.

That’s not the universal way of things, obviously. But when I talk to other friends who are now in their 40s, you hear a lot of the same stories.

I don’t see it as something to be pitied for. It’s a part of life. My father hasn’t always taken taken care of himself, and he had a couple vicious strokes last year, which means life is spinning a little faster and more erratically these days.

I think Dad will come out of this all right, and frankly I think this is better than if he’d had a stroke. Dad has worked hard to regain his ability to walk, see and swallow, and he has made significant progress. Another stroke could have wiped out all that work.

I think he’s simply been pushing himself too hard. He doesn’t like sitting around at home all the time — a trait I inherited — so he’s been pushing himself into projects that require more energy than he has many days.

It sucked seeing him that way. But I’m glad he was here for my birthday. He got to see his grandkids and get a break from the monotony of therapy and limited movement. As shitty as he felt, I think that was good for his soul.

Thank you all for the birthday wishes yesterday. It was a real ego boost, which we all need from time to time.

As sad as it made me to see my father hurting, it was a very good day.

Please say a little prayer for the man.

Dad and Duncan