There is something to be said about knowing that yours is the last voice to be heard before someone goes to sleep. It's one thing when it's because the person is lying there right next to you. And, while it's quite comforting to know that your children hearing "I love you" whispered in their ears as their sleep heads hit the pillow, it's somewhat obligatory.
But it's something altogether when another adult, who could, theoretically, choose darn near anyone else's words to be the last before another day choose to hear what you have to say before going to bed.
I used to think that being awoken to, "you look like an angel when you sleep" was an amazing thing to hear in bed, but I think I'm changing my mind about that. See, you almost have to say something to the person lying next to you in the morning that is complimentary, especially if you ever want them to wake up in your bed again.
But to know, that, regardless of distance, circumstances, etc, that another person is making the effort to make sure to speak to you, as if the day isn't over without one last "good night", even though the conversation can be simple and mundane, but it isn't enough to just recap the day silently to yourself, means something.
When you get to end the day with a warm feeling and a smile knowing someone else cares, and when the simple salutation you hear from his voice makes a horrible day seem not so bad, well, that's special.
Buona notte, il mio principe delle biciclette e del mare. Sognerò di voi una volta di più.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
A Tale of Two Aarons
Today marks the 17th year since my dear friend, Aaron Cass, took his last breath and graced the earth. It was a day that changed my life forever - I've never been the same since. From major life events, to how I approach the loved ones in my life to even my "life's mission", 17 years ago, his death shook me to the core.
Yet, strangely, it feels like just moments ago that I heard the news from Chris Weatherup that Aaron was dead, standing there in the Commons at Fox Lane High School, dropping my backpack. It seems like only the other day that I spoke with Aaron on the phone, letting him know that I got into Oberlin thanks to "early decision," and that I was furious that he wasn't going to Madrigal Dinner because he was working at Lechter's instead. Wasn't it just a couple of months ago that we were at Eric Zipkin's party when Mike Columbo took that fateful fall, and you had just arrived? After all, just this April you and I danced your first real dance to "In Your Eyes" at my Junior Prom. Oh, and Aaron, by the way, that was the night that I realized my crush on Josh was long gone, and it was you that I really had developed feelings for. I remember the moment - the exact moment - when that realization dawned on me. We had just dropped Josh off, and we were sitting in your car on Upper Shad Road trying to figure out what to do next. You were trying to think of things to say to Josh to get him to "notice" me, and I just kept thinking to myself, "Why bother?" But I didn't dare tell you why.
How life has changed, Aaron! It's remarkable. Now, I'll never get to tell you to your face. Which is why my life was never the same. You see, that fear that I had that night in April 1991, and all those nights subsequent to December 15, (ironically, though, save the day that you died, and had you lived only hours later, you would have seen I'd finally built the courage to tell you how I really felt), had subsided. I have a daughter, who knows very well who she is named after - half Ari, half you - and knows what an amazing person you were. She knows that she, her brother and I have a guardian "paladin" watching over us, illuminating our way.
As I write this, though, I cannot help but smile, in that snarky way that I have, though, at the irony.
On the one hand, I reflect upon your passing, and your absence in my life.
Yet, on the other hand, I see another Aaron in my life, to whom I remarked this weekend, that, really, outside of camp and specific instances, when mentioning the name "Aaron," it was only you to whom I referred. I never really had to use your last name. I just had to say, "Aaron," and people knew about whom I was speaking.
I've had to reprogram myself, however, not attach your face, exclusively, to the letters A-a-r-o-n. Isn't that strange? 17 years of programming to undo. You would think it would have been difficult to do - confusing, somewhat painful - but it's not. In a strange, cosmic way, it even makes sense. And I have to think that, perhaps, part of you is proud of me. I'm never going to be able to "move on" from you, Aaron. You've had too great an impact in my life. I've never really had to let go of you, either, because I've always felt your presence with me. From the weeks and months after your death, when you'd appear to me in dreams that were more real than the day-to-day - when I could practically feel you next to me, and waking felt like the dream itself, to coming to in the ambulance after what should have been my fatal car accident to see you holding my hand to the day that Ariella was born and Orion guided the way to the hospital and remained hovering overhead, even when, based on the movements of the constellation, Orion shouldn't have been there anymore.
I'm finding, however, that your name is no longer just your name. That it's not just you that brings a smile to my face when I hear that letter combination. That I want to talk to another that has your name. And that I will never make the mistake of being too shy to express how I really feel with Aaron because of how I masked myself with you, Aaron.
I guess it kind of makes you "Classic" Aaron, and the other "New" Aaron, or visa versa. Or "Regular Aaron" and the other "Cherry Aaron," or something like that.
But, lest you think as time passes, and the name "Aaron" no longer applies to you, do not be fooled. When my lips form the name, "Aaron", and my eyes well up in sorrow, my voice cracks, and I'm overwhelmed with the feeling that there will always be something missing deep in my heart and my life, it's you. Whenever the song "In Your Eyes" is played, or I hear anything about "The Terminator" or a paladin, I sip on a chocolate shake with jimmies, see cheese balls, whenever I drive through Mt Kisco, route 22 in Pawling, whenever I try my best to make it through hearing "Silent Night" or try to sing "Amazing Grace" and not give into the overwhelming need to whelp and keen instead of perform, and the name, "Aaron" enters my thoughts, it's you. And you are missed. And you are there. And you are remembered so fondly.
Yet, strangely, it feels like just moments ago that I heard the news from Chris Weatherup that Aaron was dead, standing there in the Commons at Fox Lane High School, dropping my backpack. It seems like only the other day that I spoke with Aaron on the phone, letting him know that I got into Oberlin thanks to "early decision," and that I was furious that he wasn't going to Madrigal Dinner because he was working at Lechter's instead. Wasn't it just a couple of months ago that we were at Eric Zipkin's party when Mike Columbo took that fateful fall, and you had just arrived? After all, just this April you and I danced your first real dance to "In Your Eyes" at my Junior Prom. Oh, and Aaron, by the way, that was the night that I realized my crush on Josh was long gone, and it was you that I really had developed feelings for. I remember the moment - the exact moment - when that realization dawned on me. We had just dropped Josh off, and we were sitting in your car on Upper Shad Road trying to figure out what to do next. You were trying to think of things to say to Josh to get him to "notice" me, and I just kept thinking to myself, "Why bother?" But I didn't dare tell you why.
How life has changed, Aaron! It's remarkable. Now, I'll never get to tell you to your face. Which is why my life was never the same. You see, that fear that I had that night in April 1991, and all those nights subsequent to December 15, (ironically, though, save the day that you died, and had you lived only hours later, you would have seen I'd finally built the courage to tell you how I really felt), had subsided. I have a daughter, who knows very well who she is named after - half Ari, half you - and knows what an amazing person you were. She knows that she, her brother and I have a guardian "paladin" watching over us, illuminating our way.
As I write this, though, I cannot help but smile, in that snarky way that I have, though, at the irony.
On the one hand, I reflect upon your passing, and your absence in my life.
Yet, on the other hand, I see another Aaron in my life, to whom I remarked this weekend, that, really, outside of camp and specific instances, when mentioning the name "Aaron," it was only you to whom I referred. I never really had to use your last name. I just had to say, "Aaron," and people knew about whom I was speaking.
I've had to reprogram myself, however, not attach your face, exclusively, to the letters A-a-r-o-n. Isn't that strange? 17 years of programming to undo. You would think it would have been difficult to do - confusing, somewhat painful - but it's not. In a strange, cosmic way, it even makes sense. And I have to think that, perhaps, part of you is proud of me. I'm never going to be able to "move on" from you, Aaron. You've had too great an impact in my life. I've never really had to let go of you, either, because I've always felt your presence with me. From the weeks and months after your death, when you'd appear to me in dreams that were more real than the day-to-day - when I could practically feel you next to me, and waking felt like the dream itself, to coming to in the ambulance after what should have been my fatal car accident to see you holding my hand to the day that Ariella was born and Orion guided the way to the hospital and remained hovering overhead, even when, based on the movements of the constellation, Orion shouldn't have been there anymore.
I'm finding, however, that your name is no longer just your name. That it's not just you that brings a smile to my face when I hear that letter combination. That I want to talk to another that has your name. And that I will never make the mistake of being too shy to express how I really feel with Aaron because of how I masked myself with you, Aaron.
I guess it kind of makes you "Classic" Aaron, and the other "New" Aaron, or visa versa. Or "Regular Aaron" and the other "Cherry Aaron," or something like that.
But, lest you think as time passes, and the name "Aaron" no longer applies to you, do not be fooled. When my lips form the name, "Aaron", and my eyes well up in sorrow, my voice cracks, and I'm overwhelmed with the feeling that there will always be something missing deep in my heart and my life, it's you. Whenever the song "In Your Eyes" is played, or I hear anything about "The Terminator" or a paladin, I sip on a chocolate shake with jimmies, see cheese balls, whenever I drive through Mt Kisco, route 22 in Pawling, whenever I try my best to make it through hearing "Silent Night" or try to sing "Amazing Grace" and not give into the overwhelming need to whelp and keen instead of perform, and the name, "Aaron" enters my thoughts, it's you. And you are missed. And you are there. And you are remembered so fondly.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Now is the time for giving... and FORgiving...
This week has been a strange week. Within a 48-hour period, I had to have 2 incredibly awkward conversations, one with someone I love very much and never wanted to hurt, but because of lack of disclosure on their part, it turns out I really dealt a deep blow to unintentionally, I (well, my children) had a confrontation with the neighbor from hell who attacked my children for playing in the back and mistakenly stepping foot on his newly purchased parking area (no one told us, and the former owner never had issue with it... ), a blackout that caused us to huddle up with our other neighbors, who welcomed us with open arms, and the opportunity to renew a couple of friendships and relationships that had begun to fade into the distance otherwise known as time.
Perhaps it's the weather, though I'm THRILLED it's not snowing (for a number of reasons, one of which is childish and petty, but it makes me giggle, so there,
), but I'm feeling sluggish, physically, and therefore, rather contemplative. Yes, it's Rica's pontification hour. But I know y'all love it because I tend to say the same things you think out loud, unashamed.
As "Jeans" told me, one of the things that makes me so darned lovable is that I'm "crazy". Mind you, at first, I was appalled and shocked. I expected that of a lesser man, and someone who certainly would know the definition of "crazy", but from "Jeans"? NEVER! I thought he was being defensive and "poopy" because of some transitions that he has to make with regards to our friendship. But he explained further - it's because I'm "crazy" enough to blurt out what's really on my mind. That I don't really have a "censor" button when it comes to being open and honest. And that I will ask questions that no one would ever dare ask another person. So I'm "crazy" in the sense that you never know what to expect, and that I always keep you on your toes. That is what's so appealing - everyday is an adventure with me.
Enough about what makes me so darned irresistable, though, that's "a subject upon which I could discourse for hours... "
I do find this time of year especially brings it out in me. Last year, in one instance, there was a very pressing reason why I kind of had to force that, and, perhaps because it was possibly one of the ONLY times that there were some things that I couldn't blurt out, it was forced, and therefore doomed to fail. (Although, I think most people had their money against me on that one from the get-go many moons before the reconcilliation[s].) This instinct I have to sort these things out this time of year is due to one part end of the year/beginning of the next, one part sentimentality after giving "thanks" on Thanksgiving and approaching the holiday season, and a double dose of the pending anniversary of the death of Aaron Cass, (as well as the anniversary of a couple of other life-changing moments in my life, one of which will be new this year, but I have a few more weeks to dread that, so why start now?).
The point is, I think I've decided to go "all in" this year. Instead of letting these matters just trickle into my head randomly, I'm throwing my hat in the ring to finally address all those 800-pound gorillas in my life with the people who are feeding those primates bananas and keeping them around. I have too much to look forward to at the moment to let those nagging questions and regrets get in my way. For once, I'd like to only focus on 1-3 major life issues at a time, instead of 17+ at any given moment in a day.
In a sense, I'm "retiring". I should receive a financial pension for the hours of worry and self-punishment I've inflicted over the years.
But, no. So, consider yourself warned, or consider this your opportunity. You may not expect it, but like the Holy Inquisition, I may show up on your doorstep, so to speak, with a question or an awkward request for a conversation. If there are any open issues that we have, any feelings that weren't addressed, any words you've ever wanted to say, or share, experiences that you've wanted to discuss, my door is open. And, unlike Lucy, I won't charge you a nickel or pull the ball out from under you at the last minute to watch you fall on your butt. There will be no, "the words I believe you are looking for are, 'good grief'." If you really know me, you should know me well enough that, while I can be "spirited", I am not a grudge holder. While I may remember wrongs, I don't hold them against you. I just wait until it's the right time, for you or for me, to lay those cards on the table and talk about them.
I've surprised many people with that ability. And that's something I'm not going to stop.
So, there it is. When the holiday shopping is done, and you start doing that annual, "Top 10 of Things to Do before the year is over/Doozies of the past year", just add to the list, "resolve anything that I've got going on with Rica so we can all be in a better place next year."
It's out there, it's as personal an invitation as I could get out there without violating federal laws and postal regulations, so there it is.
I feel better already, don't you?
(And, "Jeans", this is like a band-aid - accept it fast, and it will hurt less. I'm sorry, but, yes, sometimes some hair and flesh get ripped off along with the band-aid, but I never knew they were so attached. I am so, so sorry to have hurt you.)
Perhaps it's the weather, though I'm THRILLED it's not snowing (for a number of reasons, one of which is childish and petty, but it makes me giggle, so there,
), but I'm feeling sluggish, physically, and therefore, rather contemplative. Yes, it's Rica's pontification hour. But I know y'all love it because I tend to say the same things you think out loud, unashamed.As "Jeans" told me, one of the things that makes me so darned lovable is that I'm "crazy". Mind you, at first, I was appalled and shocked. I expected that of a lesser man, and someone who certainly would know the definition of "crazy", but from "Jeans"? NEVER! I thought he was being defensive and "poopy" because of some transitions that he has to make with regards to our friendship. But he explained further - it's because I'm "crazy" enough to blurt out what's really on my mind. That I don't really have a "censor" button when it comes to being open and honest. And that I will ask questions that no one would ever dare ask another person. So I'm "crazy" in the sense that you never know what to expect, and that I always keep you on your toes. That is what's so appealing - everyday is an adventure with me.
Enough about what makes me so darned irresistable, though, that's "a subject upon which I could discourse for hours... "
I do find this time of year especially brings it out in me. Last year, in one instance, there was a very pressing reason why I kind of had to force that, and, perhaps because it was possibly one of the ONLY times that there were some things that I couldn't blurt out, it was forced, and therefore doomed to fail. (Although, I think most people had their money against me on that one from the get-go many moons before the reconcilliation[s].) This instinct I have to sort these things out this time of year is due to one part end of the year/beginning of the next, one part sentimentality after giving "thanks" on Thanksgiving and approaching the holiday season, and a double dose of the pending anniversary of the death of Aaron Cass, (as well as the anniversary of a couple of other life-changing moments in my life, one of which will be new this year, but I have a few more weeks to dread that, so why start now?).
The point is, I think I've decided to go "all in" this year. Instead of letting these matters just trickle into my head randomly, I'm throwing my hat in the ring to finally address all those 800-pound gorillas in my life with the people who are feeding those primates bananas and keeping them around. I have too much to look forward to at the moment to let those nagging questions and regrets get in my way. For once, I'd like to only focus on 1-3 major life issues at a time, instead of 17+ at any given moment in a day.
In a sense, I'm "retiring". I should receive a financial pension for the hours of worry and self-punishment I've inflicted over the years.
But, no. So, consider yourself warned, or consider this your opportunity. You may not expect it, but like the Holy Inquisition, I may show up on your doorstep, so to speak, with a question or an awkward request for a conversation. If there are any open issues that we have, any feelings that weren't addressed, any words you've ever wanted to say, or share, experiences that you've wanted to discuss, my door is open. And, unlike Lucy, I won't charge you a nickel or pull the ball out from under you at the last minute to watch you fall on your butt. There will be no, "the words I believe you are looking for are, 'good grief'." If you really know me, you should know me well enough that, while I can be "spirited", I am not a grudge holder. While I may remember wrongs, I don't hold them against you. I just wait until it's the right time, for you or for me, to lay those cards on the table and talk about them.
I've surprised many people with that ability. And that's something I'm not going to stop.
So, there it is. When the holiday shopping is done, and you start doing that annual, "Top 10 of Things to Do before the year is over/Doozies of the past year", just add to the list, "resolve anything that I've got going on with Rica so we can all be in a better place next year."
It's out there, it's as personal an invitation as I could get out there without violating federal laws and postal regulations, so there it is.
I feel better already, don't you?
(And, "Jeans", this is like a band-aid - accept it fast, and it will hurt less. I'm sorry, but, yes, sometimes some hair and flesh get ripped off along with the band-aid, but I never knew they were so attached. I am so, so sorry to have hurt you.)
Monday, December 8, 2008
Jack Frost can’t keep ME down! LOL!
It's funny when doors open and close. On days like the past couple of days, when the weather is biting cold, and just touching the doorknob hurts your fingertips, you dread opening doors. You'll get a blast of bitter wind in your face, freezing every ounce of you (despite layer upon layer), and all too often, in weather like this, you choose to retreat back into the house. Getting the mail, picking up milk, or getting that thing out of the car just isn't worth it. You're better off curled up on the sofa, wrapped up in a blanket, right?
But then, either because the demand is urgent, or the cold, winter winds blasts your door open, you're faced with the immediate need to get out there and, come hell or high water, "gitterdone". And then, you get to celebrate the warmth inside, not hide from the world in it.
Of course, once that door is open, you have to close it - either way - to keep yourself warm while you hide inside, or to keep the heat inside for when you return.
On several levels, I've done both in the past couple of months, nay, weeks - retreat from the cold, and face it. Open doors, and close them.
One front, particularly, has been rather trying, but I've learned a lot from doing it. They are open and closed doors that, for years, have needed to be sealed shut behind me as I open the next.
Closing doors, however, can be just as painful, especially when the winds are strong, and trying to force the door back open. And, when you know, that what's on the other side will, likely, no longer be there anymore. But you have to do it. Because, if it could blow away that easily, it wasn't there to stay.
Well, here's what I have to say on the matter. I'm sad, and relieved, that I'm closing one of these doors. And sealing it shut. And I'm even more relieved, and excited, about opening another - even in this bitter cold, and knowing there's quite some distance to cross in order to reach the final destination. (Of course, it's even better when I just have to open the door to welcome them inside).
That's about as close as I can get to being "specific" at the moment.
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