I’m really being bad here. I’m typing on my handheld while sitting in the back of a very big room at a meeting with about 500 other IBM folks. I need to write now because I may not have connectivity later. Sitting here really drives home what a big, big company IBM really is. It also reminds me how many smart (and nice) folks we have here. As I said last night this is the first really public thing I’ve tried to do on my own since Sam died. So far its goin ‘ok’. What rally strikes me is that everyone is shaking hands with each other… But everyone is hugging me. I am amazed at the number of folks who know about Sam and have made a point so far on this first morning to seek me out to tell me how sorry they are. This is corporate love.. I feel well cared for.
Last night was a little rough. It was the second time I’ve been alone in a hotel room since Sam’s death. The first time was when took max down to meet with his Profs at Pratt. I woke up every two hours with wild dreams. One of my dreams was about losing Sams data..like pictures and movies. I was frantic to get and back everything up while something was loosing the days. A predictable theme..but pretty upsetting. I talked with Diane this morning. She suggested I get a one of my IBM friends to camp out with me tonight. Any takers ? 🙂
Gotta run. Now. More later sam

This is pretty funny. I just started writing tonight’s posting on my Blackberry. Wouldn’t you know the server is down tonight due to a problem. I’m now at home retyping what I wrote verbatim by looking at the devices tiny screen,.. The irony is pretty good:

Written on my blackberry:

I’m at Gabe’s      
basketball practice,
so I’m going to try
to do this blog     
entry from the tiny
screen of my       
Blackberry.. or     
Crackberry as my 
friends sometimes
call it. This device 
is the symbol of   
the frenetic life I  
was living before  
Nov 21^st. When I 
think back I was  
such a slave to    
this tiny tyrant.  I
was reachable     
24/7 by phone,    
email or instant   
message. My      
calendar would    
beep me for       
meetings that     
could  start as    
early a 7AM or as
late as 10PM. I   
would even find   
myself on          
work calls on      
weekends.When I
wasn’t working, the
demon’s task list  
reminded me of all
the things hanging
over my head:”the
“should have’s”, the
“got to’s”and the “oh
s**t’s”.              
Staring at this      
thing now I can’t   
imagine how I let  
something this tiny
and fragile bully    
me into exhaustion
for so long. Even   
though I’m back at 
work full time, I’m 
finding that I can   
ignore the demon’s 
buzzes and beeps.  
My phone goes       
unanswered more   
often. My calendar  
isn’t overbooked.    
Most of the credit   
for that goes to      
my dear friend and  
protector Jleigh       
who is acting as     
gatekeeper and       
therapist … “         

At that point my battery failed

 I got to watch Gabe’s  basketball practice.. (He was pretty hot tonight.)  I then came home to find out that the server was down for the night, so the stuff I typed wouldn’t be getting to my computer..  In my past life, a Blackberry faiure like this would have me breaking out in  cold sweat of information withdrawal.. Tonight it was exactly what I needed… I think I’m getting the message from Sam to kick back and smell the roses.. or the gym socks as  was the case tonight.   Thanks Sam

-jc

ps. I just got pinged with a work question (from a good friend and blog reader J )  as I’m writing this at 10:30 and I asked if we could talk  about it tomorrow.. Aren’t I a slacker now ?  

 

 I realize now that I spent a good deal of today thinking about the afterlife…   It’s a strange thing to think about at work. But that’s where my head was. I find myself constantly talking to Sam… if I’m by myself, I’m usually doing it out loud .. if I’m with people I’m doing it in my head. I talk to him about food, about the weather.. about nature..  about the dirty dishes in the sink or mismatched socks.. or about problems with my JavaScript programming.  I feel like I’m on some strange ‘friends and family’ plan with the astral plane.. Am I just talking to myself..?  or is he out there in some form that can listen ?   I got home today to find two messages from the beyond. We received a really beautiful framed picture from my friend M at work.. On it was a quote that included the line: “Know that I am vibrating to a different measure, behind a thin veil that you cannot see through” We also heard for our good friend S, .that she’d been to see a spiritualist who’d told her that “Sam is everywhere and always around us in spirit. even though he didn’t have a chance to fulfill everything he was capable of, his spirit will create a legacy on its own.” I guess that’s some consolation but I want Sam with me here and now !  I just don’t know what to make of all this…   Before Sam died I don’t think I gave two minutes thought to eternity in any serious way. Now that he’s gone it seems to be all that I can think of. A few months ago I was a scientist who believed that everything we are… our consciousnesses .. our souls… were the ‘simple’ result  of chemistry  and physics..   That’s not a very satisfying answer to me now that I’m a grieving dad. Everything I’ve seen and felt since Sam died points to much more than that. It’s so tough to ponder this.       

    I’ve been reading a bunch to figure out what others think on the subject. I found that I can’t read fiction right now because my attention span is too short.. and all the non-fiction we have around the house now seems to be about grieving and loss… Reading about how to grieve  is a little like trying to learn how to ride a bike from reading a book….   sort of pointless.     With  all other options ruled out, I’ve found that I’ve been reading a lot of poetry..  I love poetry because the whole plot has to develop and resolve in a page or two.. I found the following by one of my favorite Poets, Billy Collins, the former poet laureate for the US. Here’s what Mr. Collins has to say about the afterlife:

 The Afterlife
 
They’re moving off in all imaginable directions,
each according to his own private belief,
and this is the secret that silent Lazarus would not reveal:
that everyone is right, as it turns out.
you go to the place you always thought you would go,
the place you kept lit in an alcove in your head.

 Some are being shot into a funnel of flashing colors
into a zone of light, white as a January sun.
Others are standing naked before a forbidding judge who sits
with a golden ladder on one side, a coal chute on the other.

 Some have already joined the celestial choir
and are singing as if they have been doing this forever,
while the less inventive find themselves stuck
in a big air conditioned room full of food and chorus girls.

 Some are approaching the apartment of the female God,
a woman in her forties with short wiry hair
and glasses hanging from her neck by a string.
With one eye she regards the dead through a hole in her door.

 There are those who are squeezing into the bodies
of animals–eagles and leopards–and one trying on
the skin of a monkey like a tight suit,
ready to begin another life in a more simple key,

 while others float off into some benign vagueness,
little units of energy heading for the ultimate elsewhere.

 There are even a few classicists being led to an underworld
by a mythological creature with a beard and hooves.
He will bring them to the mouth of the furious cave
guarded over by Edith Hamilton and her three-headed dog.

 The rest just lie on their backs in their coffins
wishing they could return so they could learn Italian
or see the pyramids, or play some golf in a light rain.
They wish they could wake in the morning like you
and stand at a window examining the winter trees,
every branch traced with the ghost writing of snow.

~ Billy Collins ~  

 Ack ! What do I believe ?! What can I really believe ??  Oh Sam.. help me out here… send me the user’s manual from wherever you are so I can figure this out.  

 -jc

 

 

It’s a peaceful Sunday afternoon. Today has somehow seemed more ‘normal’ to me  than any other in the two months since Sam died. I woke up late on this sparkling day with a feeling of peace. I think I’d had a dream of all three kids. I made my way out of bed and joined Diane in Sam’s room. We’d made a goal of opening the last of the many hundereds of condolence cards we’d received for Sam. As always, we took our time reading the letters that people sent. I try to imagine them sitting down to write.. Many times I can reach out across the distance and time and feel how sad they felt for us. . It may be hard to understand this.. but we really enjoy reading those letters..  Most of the cards began  with  some version of the phrase.. “words cannot express”… but somehow. the words people chose did manage to  express the writer’s  sadness  and caring for us. Some cards had just signatures.. others had long  letters,, some had nice memories of Sam., some had pictures  There was a both a satisfaction and a sadness with finally opening the last letter from that large box.. in one since it was a job that needed doing. On the other hand there was a finality to it that really hit me…  One of the other jobs was to collect the checks and cash that folks had generously donated to Sam’s fund. We had several boxes that we filled mostly with $1 bills collected at the schools, the battle of the bands and other places. I had the job of counting that money…At first it seemed like a chore.. then it dawned on me that each dollar had been pulled out of some kids lunch money and handed over to Sam as an act of love… we had about 400 $1 acts of love.. amazing !.

    About midday I was alone in the house. Gabe was up at the mountain. Max and Diane were off with Jessie. And Sam was…   ?.. Sam was everywhere.  Everything I touched in the empty house was full of Sam. I cleaned out the lab a little and came across the mess from one of our last projects. Sam had collected over 600 Red Bull cans and had planned to cut them apart to cover a whole wall with them. We’d sawed up about 100 of the cans. It was nasty, messy work and left shredded aluminum all over the lab. I had hated doing the cutting.. now I’m looking forward to doing it. Gabe and I are going to make that wall for Sam.

   Around 2, my friend Pete showed up and the two of us went snowshoeing up behind the house. We talked alot about Sam… I hadn’t seen Pete since the day of the memorial service. He made the same comment about me looking/seeming better than he would have expected.. It is hard for people to know what to expect. Pete did get to see me breakdown when I came across Sam’s Gibson Les Paul guitar. Our friend Kevin had it out and I hadn’t seen it since Sam died. It’s funny, but I find I’m sometimes surprised how hard something like that will hit me even on a day when I’m feeling solid. I’ve heard several of Sam’s friends tell me that they, too,  are surprised that they are still needing to cry about Sam sometimes. I think we’re all learning that it’s going to take a long, long  time to heal.. and that’s really OK. .. we have no other choice.

   One thing I have to do before I go to bed tonight is complete my performance self-assessment  for work. It’s strange thinking about what to say… I know many things happened at work last year.. but I can only  think of Sam. I’m not sure what to write.. and the thought of doing it is making me feel agitated like I often used to feel about work. I need to find a way to channel some of the peace and mindfulness that the last 2 months has given me into my thinking about work. Can you help me out with that , Sam ?

-jc