A Most Selfish Act

 Kitty called me at work yesterday. "Hi Mom! The traffic is really slow today." She was on her way to Build-A-Bear. "Well traffic is always backed up heading to Albany in the morning. Should be clear soon." "No mom, there was an accident." "Oh goodness, I hope everyone is okay."

It wasn't until several hours later that I found out everyone was not okay. For reasons unknown, a woman parked her car, got out, and then ran into traffic on the highway being hit by several cars. It was a horrific suicide; and unfortunately the driver of the first car that hit her died too.

I know that life gets really tough sometimes. However, I can't wrap my head around what was going on with this woman to make her choose that way to end her life. What if by some chance she had lived? What kind of life would that have been?

Let's think about the poor driver who hit her first. Probably didn't even see her coming until he hit her; and then he lost his life as well. And how about the other cars that also hit her? They were just minding their own business when wham!! A body bounces off their cars or they ran over that body. How many nightmares are they going to have?

Suicide is a most selfish act. You aren't thinking about anyone else: just getting rid of your own pain. You don't think about the pain it will cause those you leave behind. Those you leave behind won't even get your life insurance because it doesn't cover suicide. What if she had children? How will they go about their lives knowing that their mother thought so little of them, if she thought of them at all?

We often think that if someone is depressed they need to talk to someone: a trusted friend, therapist or clergyman. They could even be put on medication. But sometimes the medication that is meant to help you, gives you suicidal thoughts. Ironic, isn't it? How does that help? And when you talk to someone, you can fake getting better and cheering up. Yet research shows that once a person settles their mind on suicide: that's what cheers them up and helps them go through with it.

I'm just so incredibly sad for everyone involved with this situation. I'm not going to say now she's at peace because I don't know if she is. That was in God's hands, especially if she happened to be mentally ill.

I don't know if the authorities will ever release her name, or any other facts about this woman. I don't know if we'll know who else was also a part of this tragedy on the Northway. I just hope that this doesn't start a trend, because you know how susceptible young people are (thanks TikTok). I hope that there will be prayers for the survivors of this tragedy. They are going to need them.  

Prologue

 

I THOUGHT SHE WAS MY MOTHER

(But She Wasn't)

I was helping to clean out Lily’s house (which I shouldn’t have had to do). I was talking and reminiscing with my youngest brother Ceddy while we were in our sister's room. Suddenly, I remembered something from decades ago. “When I was around four years old, I was playing in the front yard. A car pulled up in front of the house. There were two black women in the car. The one on the passenger side rolled down her window. “Hello little girl! You are so pretty! I have something for you,” she called. Being a child, I naturally went over to the car to see what it was. She opened her car door, and she was holding a life-sized black doll almost as big as I was. “Would you like to have this?” she asked. “Yes!” I replied. She handed it to me. It was a pretty doll with pigtails and wearing a lacy white dress. I had never seen a black doll before. “Do you like it?” “Yes, I do,” I said as I cuddled the doll. “Good." She paused, and then said, "I am so glad I got to meet you; and maybe I will see you again. Bye now.” “Bye bye!”

"That's a weird memory to have," Ceddy replied as he put some books in a box. "Where did that come from?"

I looked around the room, which was filled with my sister's and Lily's belongings. My sister had died and Lily was being cared for in a lovely nursing home. Yet I could still feel their 'essence' all around me; and it was unnerving. "From being in this room. After today I'm not coming back in here."

He gave me a strange look. "Okay, I can understand that. But hey: whatever happened to that nice lady?"

"I never saw her again."

"That's too bad. It would have been nice to know who she was."

"Well Ceddy, all these years later, after all I had to see going through Lily's and our father's records for insurance and hospitalization and stuff, I have come to realize that she, not Lily, was my birth mother."

COMING FALL 2024

Is It Really Love?

 This thought has been in my head for almost 20 years.

I believe that people think love will always feel like the "first time". Maybe for some people it is like that. The butterflies in the stomach, the heart eyes, the high-pro glow, the tingles and shivers and all that jazz. The breathless anticipation, the long conversations and fun getting-to-know-you phase. Then comes the wedding and purported "happily ever after". However, it's hard to imagine that feeling lasting for 30 or 40 years. 

Maybe it's because of this, people enter into their relationships or marriages without actually thinking of the future spread out before them. The hardships that may come. The ennui that can settle in over time. The frustrations that can occur from money problems, child problems, or differing viewpoints on life. OR the fact that one of you wants to leave because your partner no longer looks like they did when you met in your 20's; although that shouldn't matter because you are both in your 50's or 60's now. And doesn't marriage seem like it's disposable? Unhappy: just get a divorce and try again! Where's the love then?

Marie and my father were married for about 46 years before he died in 2004. I had a ringside seat for most of their marriage, except for my "lost" years in Long Island. Like any married couple though, they still had ups and downs, but I never doubted that they loved each other. He had a heart attack when he was in his 50's, and after he came home from the hospital she took excellent care of him. Love!

But one evening he got into a huge argument with one of my siblings, and I saw Marie come between them. That night I had some doubts, but they stayed together. Sometimes they would argue after that, and sometimes it was bitter. I asked her once, "Why don't you and dad get divorced if things are so bad between you?" She gave me a look like I'd grown another head. "I love your father. I would never divorce him." Okay then... 

My father eventually started having more health problems, and Marie was right there by his side. If he was in the hospital, I took her there every day to see him. When he was in the VA hospital 45 miles away, I drove her there to see him every day: except one when there was a snow storm. When he was in a rehab facility 100 miles round trip: I took her to see him every day. Doctor's appointments, eye appointments, whatever: she was always there.

His condition worsened in February 2004. My mother finally decided that he had had enough: and brought him home for the final time. He had wanted to be home and she honored that wish. He was pretty much bedridden by this time. Although home care nurses would come to help: Marie did the lion's share of the work when it came to taking care of him. She fed him, cut his nails, bathed him, changed him, cleaned him up and never uttered a complaint. And when she wasn't in his room with him, she would be in the living room in the chair closest to the room, listening to him breathe. When he died in October 2004 that man knew he had been loved.

So what is love, really? I learned from that example Marie set. And it's how I judge men today. If something were to happen to you, and you became incapacitated, would I clean your butt for you? And if you puked: would I clean that up for you, and cut your toenails, and do all that you couldn't do for yourself anymore? No joke. If I don't love you enough to do that, then it isn't really love. To me: that's the true test of real love. It isn't pretty, but it certainly puts your feelings into perspective and gives you some food for thought.

I know this isn't the most graceful of blog posts, but to me the message is clear. As always: thanks for reading.

My Odd Thought For Today

 As I was brushing my teeth this morning, the most random question popped into my head: does God have teeth? Where in the world had that come from? My initial thought was no He doesn't. After all: what would He need them for? And isn't He mostly Spirit? 

Then I thought about Jesus. He had teeth, but that's while He was on earth in his human form. So when He ascended into Heaven, I presume He returned to his spiritual form which meant He probably didn't have teeth. I don't think the Trinity is eating anything right now. I know in descriptions of Heaven from the Bible, there will be huge grapes and such; and we will be eating from the Tree of Life so we will have teeth as you need them to eat fruit.

I decided to run this question by Brie. "So...do you think God has teeth?" She blinked blankly at me. "What? I think so because He must have had a real face when He showed himself to Moses at the burning bush." "No, the bush didn't have a human appearance. "And when Moses asked God to show himself, God said he would perish if he saw His full glory. "Then Moses said, 'Now, please show me your glory'." Exodus 33:18 But "The Lord answered, “I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will announce my name, the Lord, so you can hear it. I will show kindness to anyone to whom I want to show kindness, and I will show mercy to anyone to whom I want to show mercy. But you cannot see my face, because no one can see me and live. “There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock. When my glory passes that place, I will put you in a large crack in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I will take away my hand, and you will see my back. But my face must not be seen.” Exodus 33:19-23

Then I mentioned this: "Jesus saith unto him, Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip? he that hath seen me hath seen the Father; and how sayest thou then, Show us the Father?" John 14:9

However, have you noticed how when we depict God, He is always an old man with wild white hair and flaming eyes? Those pictures don't look like pictures of Jesus. So maybe it was metaphorical, based on His spirituality and indwelling of the Holy Spirit. Who knows? But it's interesting to think about!

Speaking of interesting, I have to share this photo with you. Brie said not to because it's kind of scary, but this has me fascinated. You know how cherubim are always depicted as little adorable chubby angel babies? Well I'm not sure where that description comes from, but if you go to the book of Ezekiel, Chapter 10, you will find the actual description of the cherubim. The description is too long for me to post here, but I will show the picture I found:

As you can see, there is a lot happening in this picture (I wish it was bigger so you could see all of it). Quick description: the angel has four faces, one of a man, one of a cherub, one of a lion and one of an eagle. Under the wings are the hands of a man. There are actually four wheels like chrysolite and each wheel intersects another wheel. The wheels are covered in eyes, as are the entire bodies of cherubim (including their backs, hands and wings). When they move, the wheels move with them. When they are still, so are the wheels. Whatever direction the cherubim would go, they wouldn't have to turn because there is a face on each side.

Whew, that's a lot to take in! But I find this kind of stuff fascinating!

So from my odd question, I got a little Bible study in here for you too. Just goes to show: you never know what you're going to get when you read one of my posts. And I really do appreciate all of you for reading 💟 

Midnight In The Switchgrass

 Yesterday was Juneteenth so I had the day off. "Juneteenth marks our country’s second independence day. Although it has long been celebrated in the African American community, this monumental event remains largely unknown to most Americans. The historical legacy of Juneteenth shows the value of never giving up hope in uncertain times." Please feel free to google Juneteenth to get a proper description of this new federal holiday.

Anyway, since I was home, Brie was sleeping and Kitty was at water aerobics at the Y, I had the morning to myself! When this rare event occurs, I look for a good movie to watch. Going to the Guide, I hunted through channels until I saw something entitled "Midnight in the Switchgrass" from 2021. What the heck was this?

It turned out to be probably one of the last movies Bruce Willis made before his diagnosis, although he did show signs of aphasia while filming. I love Bruce Willis, but a couple of the other actors gave me pause. Megan Fox? Machine Gun Kelly? Did I really want to see them? I didn't recognize anyone else's name. The info said "Two FBI agents cross paths with Crawford, a Florida cop who's investigating a string of murders that appear to be related. When an undercover sting goes horribly wrong, Crawford soon finds himself in a twisted game of cat and mouse with the killer." Megan Fox was the FBI agent, Bruce Willis her FBI higher-up, Emile Hirsch was the Florida state officer and Lukas Haas was the serial killer. I thought he looked familiar but couldn't place him. He used to be a creepy child actor, so he fit this role as an adult. Machine Gun Kelly was the loser (think silver mouth grille and tattoos) who ran the seedy motel where the hookups / abductions took place. And of course he had a couple of gratuitous scenes with Megan Fox since he only took the role to meet her. The rest is history, as they say. 

The suspense was really good. It was one of those movies where they let you know early who the bad guy is, but then you have to go along with the cops to figure out how they will discover his identity and hopefully catch him. There are parts where  you wonder who might still be alive at the end. Will any of the girls be found alive? The law enforcement officers? Family members? You have to stick around to find out! And surprisingly: it's based on a true story of Texas' most dangerous serial killer, but moved the location to Florida.

Don't get me wrong: it isn't a perfect movie, but it did keep me on the edge of my seat and had me looking away a couple of times. It made absolutely no money at the box office (think less than $1 million). But for a rating, I give it more than Rotten Tomatoes did. I give it 3.5 out of 5 stars. It's a solid crime thriller, and I would watch it again. I hope you get a chance to check it out. I don't think you'll regret it!

By the way, Sylvester Stallone's daughter Sistine Stallone has a small part. As for the movie title: it refers to a switchgrass field in Florida where the killer keeps some of his victims captive. Truth is stranger than fiction.

Cherish Your Fathers

 

Father’s Day is Sunday. I wrote this blog post 9 years ago. Unfortunately, I never finished the book I had planned to write. I doubt I ever will. But thank you for reading what would have been the preface.

 

THE YEAR WITHOUT A FATHER

 

My mother had left me a voicemail at work.  Even before I retrieved it, I

had a feeling that I knew what it was. “Hello?”

“Ms. Marie, you rang?”

“Yes.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I think we have a problem.”

“Which is?”

“It’s your father.  I think he stopped breathing.”

I could feel my mind shutting down and automatic pilot kick in.  “Are you sure he’s not breathing?”

She hesitated.  “Yes.”

“Did you call 9-1-1?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to call 9-1-1?”

“Yes.”

“Is anyone else home?”

“Yes.  Keith and Robin are here.”

“Have one of them call 9-1-1.  You need me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m on my way.”

As I hung up the telephone, it felt like someone was sticking thousands of needles into my face and chest.  I remember thinking God, I hope I’m not having a heart attack. I guess I was in shock.

I walked to my supervisor’s cubicle.  She took one look at my face and stood up.  “Rita, what is it?”

“My father just died,” I replied faintly, and felt tears run down my face.

She immediately put her arms around me.  “I’m so sorry, sit down.”   She took my hands.

“I have to leave.”

“I know.  Who can I get to drive you home?”

I wiped my face.  “I can drive.”

But she wouldn’t hear of it.  “You may think you’re okay but I’ll feel better if someone else drives you.”

I thought for a second and regained my composure.  “Leena in HR.  I’m sure she’d be able to.”

“You stay right here and I’ll get her.”

I stayed seated in Terry’s cube as I tried to fathom the fact that my father was dead and no one had called the ambulance.  Then I saw Leena race by on her way to my cube.  I stood up as she came back and saw me; then she ran over and enveloped me in a hug, murmuring words of comfort.  Sure enough, that started me crying again but only for few seconds.

“Where’s your stuff?  Are you ready to go?”

“I have to turn off my computer and get my purse.”

“I can take care of that,” Terry said.

“I have to fill out a form for leaving early.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Terry said as the three of us made it over to my cube.  “Leena, can you pull your car up?  Rita and I will meet you there so we can avoid any questions.”

“Sure thing.”  She gave me another squeeze.  “I’ll meet you in a couple of minutes.”

At my cube I quickly put an ‘out of office’ message on my email, told Terry that I’d do the phone voicemail later and collected my purse and little work bag.  She thought we should go out the back way to avoid any questions, and I agreed.  However, when we got to the back entrance, there was no Leena.  After a couple of minutes, we realized that she probably went to the front lobby entrance, so we went there and luckily didn’t encounter anyone on the way. 

Sure enough, after a minute Leena drove up and I got into her car.  “Don’t worry, I’ll get you home real quick,” she said in her Louisiana drawl.

That proved to be prophetic.  I had no idea her little Honda could go that fast; but thankfully there were no state troopers on the highway that afternoon.  Even though I know we talked, it’s difficult to remember much of what was said.  I told her about what my mother had said, and she asked, “Do you think anyone did call 9-1-1?”

“I’m sure someone did.” I had my hands tightly clasped together.  I was subconsciously willing the car to go faster because I knew I needed to get to my parents’ house.

When we finally hit that block I could see there was already an ambulance in attendance, and a police car was there as well.  “This doesn’t look good,” I said.

Leena pulled up at the service station right next door and I jumped out of the car after quickly grabbing my things.  She followed me into the house…

 Clarence Debnam, 1918 - 2004

 

Tomorrow marks 10 years since I lost my father.   This is an excerpt from a book I wanted to write about his last year with us. But as you can see: I wasn’t able to do it.

I loved my father and I still miss him. That year was one that had a major impact on my life, and changed me in ways I didn’t anticipate.

Hmm, maybe this will be the year I finish the book. Within the next 12 months, conceivably. With that being said: I’ll keep you posted.

Miss you Daddy Clank.

 

I'm Not That Scary!

 As I've admitted before, I am not petite. Brie has always called me a giant, even though it technically isn't true and she's just a hater. But since she's only 5'5.5", I must seem like Yeti beside her. So it's just a matter of perspective. Marie now is about 4'11", so I don't even want to know how she considers me!

I never thought of myself as scary big. Sure, sometimes children run and hide and villagers light torches, but other than that I usually laugh it if off when someone mentions my height. I get it from my father, who was over six feet tall.

With this in mind, one autumn evening many years ago, I was at home with nothing to do. Kitty was in her room watching a video and I wanted some company. I decided to go visit Marie, who I was sure would be happy to see me.

It was a little brisk out that night, so I pulled on my long black wool coat and headed out. I noticed as I got in my car that the clouds had rolled in, obscuring the moon, but that was okay: at least while in my driveway.

My parents lived in a house that is not only set back from the street, but is surrounded by large trees and shrubbery. It's very picturesque, but the downside is they never bothered to install an outside light and the streetlight only shone so far towards the house. But as I turned into their driveway my headlights didn't show any wildlife lurking about (hi Mr. Skunk!) so I figured a quick walk up to and onto the porch would be non-eventful.

I reached the front screen door and was putting my car keys in my pocket. I reached up to knock on the door, but before I could actually knock the front door opened and there stood Marie. Oh good, she must have seen the headlights when I turned in and had opened the door for me. However, she didn't say anything or move, so neither did I.

Suddenly, she let out a bloodcurdling scream! It scared me so much, I screamed too! Then I said, "What's the matter?" Was someone holding a gun to her back??

"Oh good Lord, it's just you," she said breathlessly, placing a hand over her heart.

"Who in the world did you think it was? You opened the door for me!"

"No, I was getting ready to place the newspaper recycling on the porch. I just opened the door and I saw this great big dark thing looming on the porch. I didn't know what it was!"

Big dark looming thing? I realize I was wearing black and I'm tall, but hellooo! "Who did you think it was: the grim reaper?" By now we were both giggling at how ridiculous we must have looked: standing there screaming in each other's faces! And I did tell her that now might be a good time to finally install a porch light!