revjim.net

death

I survived the Texas State Fair

Sep 28th, 2009
by Jim Reverend.
8 comments

This weekend was packed with fun, the highlight of which was the Texas State Fair on Saturday evening.

waiting for the train

I’m not a big “Fair” person. It’s not that I don’t like it. I can just usually find just as much fun doing my own thing in a less crowded space for less money. And if I bring a few people along with me, it’s just as good if not better. I guess I’m simple that way. But I really thought that Celeste would enjoy the fair, so I wanted to bring her. And Bonnie and Justin wanted to go too, which made it that much more fun.

We stepped on the DART Red Line at Parker Station at about 3pm. And we didn’t step back off until 10pm. Celeste loved every second of it, from the petting zoo, to the Ferris Wheel, to the Corny Dogs.

I had a bout of dad-fail on the way there. I packed two diapers into our backpack knowing I’d grab 6 or 8 more out of the car and then promptly forgot to do so. It wasn’t until we were well on our way on the train that I remembered. We stopped off at Lovers station to buy diapers. Of course a 27 pack was the smallest I could find so I left most of them on top of the trashcan at the train station. Of course, the two diapers I had brought would have been just enough. Oh well. Even worse, the next day I was cleaning out my backpack and realized I’d bought size 5s instead of size 4s. It’s not that I don’t know what size she wears. I’ve been the only one buying her diapers for 8 months now. I have no idea why I bought 5s but I looked for them on purpose. I can remember telling Bonnie “size 5″.

Texas Star

Texas Star

I was a bit frightened in the Ferris Wheel. Heights are heights and I am afraid of them in general. But I know how to overcome that fear fairly well when required. But having Celeste there made it more difficult. I would have been okay if not for the space behind the seats large enough for her to fit through and plummet to her death and her constant desire to climb them. None the less, we all made it out without learning how to fly and I only had to get stern with Celeste once, which I hated doing. I felt like one of those mean parents that are always yelling at their kids for silly things. I wonder if this is how is starts.

She loved it though. She pointed out the hundreds of red and green lights she could see down the street and continued to mention that she went “up in the sky”.

As usual, there was lots of strange food at the fair. I’m not really that eager to try lots of odd foods just for the sake of it. But, for some reason, fried butter just HAD to be tried. So I did. I’m still not sure if I liked it or not. It tasted great. Very buttery, of course. And the batter was delicious. But, at the same time, it was just too much butter.

Celeste loved it when I walked around with her up on my shoulders so she could see everything. This isn’t a posture she usually likes so those muscles on me are pretty weak. Every time I’d take a break she’s grab my face and turn it toward her (something she does in crowded or loud places to make sure you are paying attention to her) and would say “more up on the shoulders!!”.

The Little Pigs

The Little Pigs

The petting zoo was fun for her too. The moment she remembers best was the baby pigs. If you ask her about it, even now, she’ll tell you how there were lots of baby pigs, and a momma pig, and how all the baby pigs were drinking milk. She stared in awe for a long time. She also fed an Emu, pet a Donkey, and mimicked the bleat of a goat. She tried to feed a goat, one grain of food at a time. But the goat decided she was just too slow, took the food from her hands and ate everything, paper cup and all. Celeste thought this was hilarious.

On top of all of that, we saw briefly saw the car show, Big Tex, and the water fountains. Of course, the DART ride itself was an adventure as well, which Celeste loved. It took her a bit to get used to being in the train. Since we got on at the first stop there was time to get her acquainted with how it worked, walking on it, getting on and off it, etc. Once I did that, she was fine with it and eventually took to staring out the window, pointing at everything, and jumping up and down in her seat.

sun set from 212 feet

sun set from 212 feet

The only disappointment was DART on our trip back. On the way there the trains were not crowded and there were people directing you to the right location everywhere you turned. I don’t require this but it was nice to have. On the way back there was no one around and the information we sought out was incorrect. Additionally, there were not enough trains running which meant that we all waited longer than we should have and ended up on a VERY full train. Celeste and I stood for all of the first 12 or 13 stops. It was at the 3rd to last stop that there was finally room for both of us to sit. I didn’t mind standing so much. And despite being exhausted, Celeste didn’t seem to mind too much either. Lots of people offered us their seat, but I knew Celeste wanted the window and would only be upset if we got a seat but she couldn’t stand in the window and look out, so I declined when the offered. Lots of people commented on how good Celeste was being and at how smart she is. I have an awesome kid.

All told, the Texas State Fair was an awesome experience and I’m glad I decided to take Celeste.

divorce, death, and the afterlife

Mar 25th, 2009
by Jim Reverend.
6 comments

(I thought for quite some time about whether I should keep this post under my usual lock and key, filtered to only the select few. In the end, I decided it was okay to be public. The only possibly negative thing it says about Jess is that she gave up and I was willing to keep on fighting. And I don’t think that’s a secret to anyone.)

I’ve never really been a follower of Astrology — Zodiac, Chinese or otherwise, but, I can’t help but recognize the similarities between its description of me and myself.

Emotional and loving. Intuitive and imaginative. Shrewd and cautious. Protective and sympathetic. Changeable and moody. Overemotional and touchy. Clinging and unable to let go.

Divorce is something I am very not okay with. Not in general. Not for my friends. Not for my family. And certainly not for myself. Marriage is a creature unto itself. It requires nurturing, space, love, freedom, dedication, tolerance and work. And in return it provides support, security, freedom, and relief. A very fair trade in my opinion.

Divorce is not something I would have ever chosen for Jess and I. The past 3 years — at least, maybe more — have been very difficult years. Yet, for me, giving up was simply not an option. I put so much time and effort in each and every day to support my family (both chosen and blood), my wife, and my marriage. I spent every day trying to fix what was broken and enjoy what was not. I worked on new methods of communication, new balances of power, and new ways or creating space and providing freedom. When I started seeing a counselor to help reduce my frustrations, we, instead, worked on my marriage because she understood how important it was to me and how those difficulties were the primary source of my frustration. I can’t say I did everything right. I can’t say I even got close. But I know that I sacrificed more of myself than I probably should have and tried as hard as I could.

I was shocked when I learned that Jess wanted to leave me. Not because I’m the kind of guy that women don’t leave. I’m not silly enough to believe that type of person even exists. I was shocked because I had always believed that Jess shared the same dedication to our marriage that I did — and giving up simply wasn’t an option. And that, if it was an option for her, at the very least, I would have got some warning that she was considering it before she actually made a decision.

I realize now that the fact that she didn’t share that dedication might have been the reason my efforts to fix us never proved to be fruitful. Not that the problems we had were her fault and her fault alone. I’m not saying that at all. It’s just that a marriage or partnership of any kind is very much about team-work.

While we’re not all the way through this yet, I think I can see the end. It’s like we’ve been swimming upstream in a raging river, climbing rocks, dodging obstacles, and fighting the current. And finally, up ahead I can see a soft, sunny pebble beach.

Giving up has never been an option for me. But if I didn’t admit that the idea of having this come to an end was a very peaceful, comforting thought for me I’d be lying. Even under severe torture, at least in theory, suicide isn’t an option for me. Even asking for death is asking for too much. My will to survive is too strong. But if I found myself suddenly wounded, bleeding, and knowing that death was rapidly approaching, the peace and quiet and calm that would soon follow would certainly not be unwelcome. I might even die with a smile on my face despite it all.

So, in my true style, I’ve written all of this to simply say: I’m looking forward to the rest of my life. For the first time in so many years I can see a path that doesn’t end in more pain and even greater difficulty. And that brings me more comfort and peace than I can express.

In the end, I have a beautiful daughter. I have amazing friends who love and support me fully and are not afraid to call me out when they see I’ve done wrong — not because of their agendas, but because of their concern for me and our mutual goals of happiness. And I have a family (both chosen and blood) that cares for me with all of their hearts.

a morning/mourning

Apr 9th, 2008
by Jim Reverend.
6 comments

I’ve been up for a little less than 2 hours now — somewhere between 4 and 5am is a typical wake up time for me. I have a 7am meeting that I’m taking from home. I have to leave no later than 9:30am to catch my flight to Hershey, PA. I get back around midnight on Friday night. I should be in the shower right about now so that, once my meeting ends, I can spend my remaining time packing my bags and visiting with Celeste and Jess before I go but my mind is racing. Maybe this will help.

The longest I’ve been away from Celeste has been about 2 1/2 days. This will be about the same with the exception that she is not likely to be awake when I get home Friday night. Some how, it feels longer though.

I found out yesterday that I’ve got to be back in Syracuse for the week of 4/21. I just now realized I forgot to even tell Jess that with everything going on yesterday so, if you’re up early this morning, you may even find out before her. It also looks like I might be in Hampton, VA for the week of 5/5. That’s not set in stone just yet, but it’ll happen soon. These will not be easy times.

I’m reminded that I need to find a rock to put on top of the small mound of clay and grass where I laid Samson. Perhaps this weekend Jess will help me pick out something worthwhile.

I understand death. It’s natural, and necessary, and normal. It’s part of the cycle. It isn’t easy, but I can accept it. But there are some aspects of this that I’m having a really hard time with.

First, the pain and torture that poor creature must have experienced in his final moments. I have a horrific, graphic, visual record of it imprinted on my brain. The details would only serve to horrify others as well. I’d like to get them off my chest. But not now. For now, they are mine. Throughout the day I somehow convinced myself that I had imagined it worse than it was. But burying him last night I realized that I did not. I’m sure time slowed for me in those moments, but it felt like it lasted so long, and I knew there was nothing I could do. Knowing this animal suffered hurts me. And it hurts me even more to know that he suffered at my hand, even if indirectly.

I’m also having a hard time knowing that there is some family — possibly some little Celeste or even adult Jessica — that misses him dearly and continues to wonder when he’ll come home. Maybe they call for him at night. Maybe they fill a bowl of food on the porch every morning, just in case. I wonder if, in a few weeks, I’ll see a sign in the community center. I wonder if I should go look or if it’s just better that I didn’t.

At least I know that I did right by Samson and his family. I know that if in a few weeks from now some little boy wants to know where his cat went I’ll have something to say to him. I can tell him that there was an accident, tell him that his dear friend is no longer here, and give him a visible place to mourn. This is much better than having to tell this little boy that his cat’s body was tossed aside with the rest of the trash and now sits rotting at the top of the Denton landfill.

I don’t feel guilty about his death. There was nothing I could have done to prevent it. Sure, I now have the habit of checking every single tire of my car before driving off anywhere and, in that light, there was something I could have done. But I accept what happened as an accident and not due to negligence, or hurriedness, tunnel vision. And I’m grateful that this burden fell on me instead of the family of this dear friend. But still, I hurt.