When A Loved Pet Passes On

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a post that I never published.  I'm not sure exactly why.  I wrote it about a year ago, and it was ready to go, but apparently, I never found the right art for it, or was afraid to publish it due to the Reptile Rights Bureau, or perhaps I just plumb forgot about it.  I was cleaning out my draft posts when I discovered it. Mischelle Eggbert the Turtle The turtle is recently on my mind, as my son was forced to clean the turtle aquarium yesterday (on threat of no internet), and that meant that my wife and I were pressed into service to "help", and after a lot of hesitation, he announced (with crying and reluctance) that he has come to the decision that he wants to give up the turtle. Which gave me a sadness, not because I have a great love for this turtle, but I was hoping that my son would choose occasional inconvenience and a little bit of work in exchange for the things that you want in your life over giving up when the road has a slight bump or contains something you don't love doing.  So now I'm in the curious position of not wanting the turtle, but wanting him to want the turtle, and by being right about the turtle in the first place, I now feel like a failure as a parent.  By winning the turtle argument, I feel I have lost a parenting argument, as  I have not led him to make the proper decision (ie, the one I wanted him to make.)  And who is to say this isn't truly the right decision?  It's expedient, it's logical, and it agrees with my point in the first place. Alas, I will not dance on the turtle's grave, even if it is not yet dead.  (And PS, one year later, the goldfish liveth!) So here's the post, originally written in mid-February 2019. And if you know anybody who wants a turtle for the next 20 years, we are looking for a good home (unless my son changes his mind!)

February 2019

The death of the turtle, it seems, was greatly exaggerated.

A NOT SO TYPICAL MORNING

Our turtle/aquarium setup.

A week or so ago my son woke up as he normally does.  He was sound asleep, and I slowly sat him up, hugged him and whispered it's time to wake up.  After him pretending to be asleep for a bit, I stand him up and point him in the direction of the bathroom. He grumbles out of bed, lurches to the toilet, does his thing, washes his hands, and then slowly walks back to pick out his clothes for the day.

I have to stand with him during this period to make sure he doesn't relapse onto the bed.  Once his clothes are picked out,  and I am reasonably assured he is awake, I go to the kitchen to start making breakfast and lunch for him.  He lolls about a bit, slowly getting dressed, and before he comes to eat breakfast, he turns on the lights (heat and light lamp) for his turtle, Mischelle Eggbert, and feeds the turtle her typical turtle grub.

I was in the kitchen when I heard the shriek.    This is not typical behavior.

a mosaic portrait of the turtle.  Thanks Mr. Mondrian.

There's a moment while I wait to see if this is a false alarm.  He starts crying.  My wife (still in bed) runs in "What's the matter?" she asks.  I am still in the kitchen, making breakfast.  She's got this, I think. I assume that he has dropped something slightly heavy on himself, or stubbed his toe, or perhaps he has seen a spider.  I hear him crying.  "The turtle is dead." "Oh no!" my wife says. I drop what I am doing and come to his room.

I am not surprised.  I have been dreading this moment for a while.

Let me start by saying I never wanted this turtle.  In August my wife texted me from a trip to Chinatown with his cousins.  "AA really wants a turtle for his birthday, they are $10."  I text back immediately, "No way.  If he gets a turtle our life and marriage will come to an end." 

At least that's what I thought I wrote.

Here's what I actually wrote.

Which seemed pretty anti-turtle and super clear cut to me, but has some kind of implied acceptance of the turtle from the get-go. At least that's what my therapist says.  And to make a long story short, we ended up with a turtle, which started out about the size of a silver dollar, and has since grown to be the size of a bowl of cereal.  Did I mention that this turtle has a longer life expectancy than I do?  If I haven't, don't worry, I will.

A FISHY ASIDE

As I mention in the text:  we have a fish that he is supposed to take care of, and you can guess who has been keeping this fish alive.  The fish was won by my evil in-laws at a carnival about three years ago, and they gave us one even though I said No.  AA swore he'd take care of it, and we were guilted into accepting it.  (I wanted to leave it at the carnival, but was voted down as being cruel).

 Every one of my wife's siblings got a goldfish.  Want to bet how many of those goldfish are still alive?   If you guessed just ours, you would be right.  All of their goldfish died within 2 weeks.  Meanwhile, I have singlehandedly kept this fish alive for 3+ years.  This goldfish is surviving to spite me.  AA and my wife don't even look at it.

BACK TO THE TURTLE: 

Portrait of the artist as a young turtle

I knew that its care would devolve to me, and I didn't want that responsibility.  Cleaning the tank, feeding it, etc.  Not my cup of tea. And as I say in the text, he hasn't shown himself capable of caring for a fish.

I had a turtle when I was a kid, and it died an ignoble death of neglect when my mom said that I had to take care of it or else.  Which I did not.  (Alas poor Frodo, we knew you.)

Anyway, the turtle is now a fact of life in our house, much to my regret and disappointment.  It's still a sore point with me 6 months later, and I have brought it up during at least two arguments with my wife. 

 I am trying my best not to acknowledge it's existence, but it's difficult.  I estimate we've spent 100+ dollars getting the automatic feeder and the tank bubbler and the special food, and we recently got some fish that are supposed to clean the algae that appear in the tank because my son doesn't clean the tank often enough. (EDITOR'S NOTE:  Those fish all have died.  And perhaps we have an explanation of how the turtle grew so much!)

a 1970's influenced artistic rendering of the Turtle.

And guess who is the only person strong enough in our household to pump the water out of the tank, and then dump the tank when it is low enough?  Yeah, you guessed right.

So my son isn't cleaning the tank enough, and the auto-feeder is overloading the tank with food, and the water level keeps getting mysteriously low, and the filter of the aerator is getting dirtier and dirtier, and nothing gets done.  So I am sad and not surprised when he wakes up and finds it dead.

My wife is consoling him, and I am feeling bad about the turtle, and thinking oh my god, we have to get another turtle.  My wife goes in the other room, and I am in the room, sitting on his bed, talking about whether we should have a funeral for the turtle, and maybe bury it in the backyard, when AA sits bolt upright and says, "It's alive!"

Mischelle Eggbert under the water.

The Apparently, it was sleeping underwater, or just not moving, and he assumed it was dead.  Which it was decidedly not.  The news of the turtle's death was greatly exaggerated.

We tried to make this a learning opportunity, a moment of reform, a chance to reflect on his responsibilities, and I have to say there were 2-3 days when he was really good at caring for the turtle.  But that interest has since waned, and  I am waiting for the turtle to die.  (By the way, this turtle has a natural life expectancy that is currently longer than mine)

Also, he has started agitating for a dog.  He promises that he will care for it.  

My wife seems to be wavering, but I am holding strong. 

My Mom would have been 80 today.*

*Had she lived.

Today is/was my mom's birthday.  She would have been 80 today. *

This asterisk is the sad reality that I am still facing. My mom died 10 1/2 years ago, but I'm still wondering what my life, what our life would be like now with that asterisk.

I have been thinking a lot about that asterisk.  Over the last few years, there's been a lot of death of friends, and acquaintances.  My wife's uncle very recently died suddenly.  We saw him on Friday and on Sunday he was in a coma, and on Thursday he passed away.  Three or four friends around my age- died suddenly.  It's starting to be an occupational hazard.

I think about this with my dad too (who died at age 49 in a car accident.)  What would my life be like if he was still alive?  There are endless what-ifs of course, and ultimately there are no answers.  Because the fact is, you move on.  Even when it seems impossible.  You move on because you have to.  Life doesn't stop when somebody close to you dies.  It might seem that way, or even that you want it to stop, but it just doesn't.  You shoulder your burden, you shift your load, you cry your tears, and you keep on walking.  The river doesn't stop, your bills don't stop needing to be paid, your library books don't get infinitely extended.  Life goes on, and it's just that much harder.  As the French might say "C'est la Guerre de vie."  (It's the war of life.)

There's part of me that still grieves, and still wonders these unknowable questions. Questions that have an asterisk at the end. Questions like these:

My mom at my brother's wedding.

Would I be happier?*  It's hard to know. Certainly, a lot of the blunt force trauma that life has dealt me so far is about the death of my parents.  But I also feel it's made me a better person.  I remember that after my father died (when I was in acting school) my acting teachers and friends said that my acting and my attitude changed dramatically.  I wasn't suddenly a know it all. I was vulnerable, and I was able to show it.  And I don't feel tremendously unhappy.  But I do bear the emotional scars of life, and for better or for worse, they've made me the person I am today.

Would we be living in Chicago?*  We moved here to be closer to my wife's family. Would I have agreed so readily if my mom were still around?  I am really happy with our move, but could I have taken that step if my mom were still on the east coast.  I think so, and hopefully, she would have traveled to see us (or us, her.)

Would she have gotten sicker, and lost her joie d'vivre?*  My mom was relatively lucky.  She'd been told multiple times she had 6 months to live, and she beat the odds again and again and again.  When she finally did get sick, it happened suddenly.  She was ill and woozy and unresponsive. I happened to be staying with her for the evening, I called the ambulance, and they brought her into the hospital.  An hour or so later she was in a coma, and about 7 days later she died in her sleep.  She was deathly afraid of being a burden to us kids, and to being forced to live out a miserable existence in a hospital, or kept alive by machines.  It's not what she wanted, and fortunately, she got mostly what she wanted.  She loved to travel and to enjoy life.

Would she have been proud of my work?*  Almost certainly, yes, as she was proud of just about everything I ever did.  She would also be nagging me to do more, to teach at a university, to do something else.  Because she was never quite satisfied with what I did either.  She always wanted a little more. I'm ok with that.  She's probably right.  I could probably be more productive.  (a whole 'nother set of asterisk questions)

The one I ask myself the most is

One of the last pictures I have of my mom and me together.

Would she love my son? *
And this is the one that I know the answer to.  She never got to meet him (we got pregnant about 10 days before she died, but we weren't telling anybody.  And I was (I think) an unlikely father before that.  I think had she found out I was having a baby, she may well have had a heart attack!)  But the answer plain and simple is she would have adored him.  She would have doted on him, and bought him ice cream, and teach him to do crazy arts and crafts, and revel in his exuberance, and constantly marvel at how similar (and how different) he is to me when I was at that age.  My mom loved creativity and thinking different, and I know she would have loved my boy, who is now age 9 going on 16.

Most importantly she'd be listening to him, and challenging him, and helping to mold him into a better human being. Because that's who my mom was.  That's what she did.

My mom would have been 80 today*.  But she's still alive in my memories, and probably the memories of all who knew her and loved her.

RIP: Uncle Ricky

Today is both a happy day and a sad day.  It's our 10 year anniversary (see previous post:  That's the happy part)  And the sad part is that I just got word that Stephanie's Uncle Rick passed away today.

The first time I met Ricky he challenged me to a game of Scrabble.

A lot was on the line.  I was dating his niece, and he'd heard I was good at Scrabble. and he wanted to see for himself.  He prided himself on being a good Scrabble player, and he needed to see if I cut the mustard.  I gamely agreed to play him, but I warned him in advance that I was going to bring the heat.  As an avid sports fan, (and a Cubs fanatic) I think he liked that metaphor and I scored some points with him.  That, and the fact that I liked TAB cola.

This is not our board, but it might have been.

As promised, I showed no quarter, and I scored more points with him when I won the game in a come from behind victory not unlike his beloved Cubs had a few years ago.  I don't remember the details, but I think I was down by 45 points, and I scored 53 to win on a bingo.  We played a few more times, and I think it was always pretty close, but I managed to win a few more times.   We talked about it almost everytime we saw each other, but somehow we stopped playing.

ABOVE:Uncle Ricky reading us his poem at our wedding
BELOW: Group hug with Uncle Ricky at our wedding.

We saw each other at lots of family events, including our wedding, where he gave us one of his patented poems (super corny, extra long, and filled with terrible rhymes and heartfelt sentiments.)  We also took in a couple of sports activities, including a soccer game and a couple of Saluki games.  He was a huge Saluki fan (he and his wife travelled all over the country watching the Salukis play)  

When he visited us in New York, I was at a loss of where to take him- he's not much of an art museum guy.  Fortunately, I discovered the NY Sports Museum of America (which closed 6 months later) where we had a fantastic time looking through the room of Heisman winners, seeing one of Shaq's shoes, while Ricky regaled me with tales of bowling leagues and trophies  (He was a bonafide sports nut!)

I thought of Ricky when I was recently at Northbrook for a speedskating match. They had a wall of fame to the lost art of ice barrel jumping. I wanted to find out if he knew about it (apparently it was a big sport once upon a time, especially big in Northbrook, and it has now since become a former sport.)  But it used to have its own television specials. It was just the kind of quirky sport that Ricky would have liked, and known all about. I'm sad I never asked him about it.

Here's some of the photos of barrel jumping from the Northbrook Speedskating Hall of Fame that made me think of Rick.

 

 

Ricky was a true mensch.  Soft-spoken, and humble,  he was a great listener, who always asked good questions, and wanted to know what other people thought.  He loved chatting, and Tab cola, and whenever we met up we'd always drink a Tab and talk.  He was also a big fan of the restaurant Fuddruckers, which he once treated us to a lunch when we happened to be not so far from him. He was a gentle guy, and always a gentleman.  He was a good soul.

Ricky always had a kind and encouraging word for nearly everybody, (except for maybe Donald Trump, who he detested.) The last time I saw Ricky was last Friday night at the Family Seder at his house.  There were 26 people there, and Ricky was in his element, greeting people, laughing, and telling a self-effacing joke.  He led the Seder off with a rather long but impassioned comparison of Trump's America to North Korea, and while it was a little weird to start off the Seder there, everyone at the table knew that it was all heartfelt.  The seder continued, and the food was great, the company was great, and everything was just hunkydory.

As we said goodbye, he clapped me on the shoulder and said maybe we'd play Scrabble again.  I agreed gamely.

Unfortunately, on Sunday, Ricky had a sudden and massive heart attack while napping, and he was not able to recover.  I will update this post with the funeral information.

Hopefully, there is a heaven, and Ricky is up there right now, getting  Ernie Banks's autograph and bemoaning the choices of the Saluki's coach, drinking TAB and playing Scrabble. And maybe even learning more about Barrel Jumping.

Godspeed, Uncle Ricky!

UPDATE:

The obituary from the Chicago Sun-Times:

Schwab, Richard D. Of St. John, IN, died on April 5. He was 71. Rick spent 49 years in the insurance industry, nearly 40 of them as an agent at Rick Schwab State Farm Insurance in Glenwood, IL, the town where he and treasured wife Diane raised their two sons, Danny and Jay. Rick was born in Chicago and spent most of his youth living on the south side of the city, unaware that the love of his life and wife of 41 years was growing up just a few blocks away. Many days of his childhood were spent playing neighborhood ballgames and skipping class in favor of rooting on his Cubbies at Wrigley Field. Rick was a sports fanatic with a penchant for backing the underdog. He was especially enraptured with the Cubs - even authoring a book, "Stuck on the Cubs," a humorous take on the life of a Cubs fan. His passion ran equally deep for his beloved Salukis, the sports teams of his alma mater, Southern Illinois University. He also was a horse racing enthusiast and lover of bowling. Rick was known for his extreme generosity, be it with loved ones or even strangers on the street. His perfect day would include a piping hot pizza, an ice cold can of Tab and reliving stories of beloved athletes such as Ernie Banks and Walt Frazier, surrounded by family and friends. What else made Rick beam? A hot blackjack streak in Las Vegas, a homecoming parade in Carbondale, a musical that kept him awake until at least intermission, and virtually anything uttered by his three grandchildren. He had little use for iPhones or social media, believing that preferable forms of communication included a well-crafted letter, a nightly newscast and a good, old-fashioned newspaper. Rick is survived by Diane; by his two sons, Danny (Emmy) and Jay (Alexa); siblings Steven (Nancy) and Melinda (the late Alan Goldberg); his grandchildren, Sarah, Gabriel and Audrey; his mother, Gertrude Metzger; a beloved circle of extended family and friends, and his "granddogs," Sadie and Walter. He was preceded in death by his father, Hank Schwab, and his in-laws, Harry and Magrit Sugar. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the Southern Illinois University Foundation or JDRF. Services will be held at 10:30 a.m. on Monday, April 9 at B'nai Yehuda Beth Shalom, 1424 W. 183rd St., in Homewood, Ill. Burial will follow at Jewish Oakridge Cemetery in Hillside, IL. For funeral information, 847-256-5700.

Published in Chicago Sun-Times on Apr. 6, 2018

IN MEMORIAM: Irma Slavit & Joyce Silverman

Jewish gravestone 

Two of my older relatives passed away recently within one day of each other, and it has me bummed out.

Listen, I know it's the way that all things must go, and not to get morose, everyone will one day die. It's just making me feel my mortality all over again.  I'm 52.  How many years do I have left?  (I don't really want to know, and I hope it's a lot!)

And my two relatives lived pretty long lives.  My great aunt Irma lived to be 97, and her niece Joyce lived to be 83.  It seems easy to say "Well, they had pretty long lives."

Both Irma and Joyce were smart funny women, very involved in politics and activism.  My Aunt Irma was the past president of the League of Women Voters and an officer of a chapter of the ACLU.  She went to Pembroke College (Brown's sister school)

Joyce was also a past president of the League of Women Voters and was active in local politics.

Both Irma and Joyce were in the class of relatives that for the longest time I did not know how I was related to them.  We didn't see them that often in our everyday life, but whenever there was a family function (Bar Mitzvah, funeral, wedding, etc) they were always there.  You know, I was 10 or 13-- I knew who they were, but didn't know how they were connected.

Part of that comes from the fact that they are from my dad's fathers side, and my dad did not have a relationship with his dad, so that piece was missing.

Irma was my Great Aunt.  She was the younger sister of my Grandfather. 

Joyce was my Dad's first cousin.  She was the daughter of my Dad's Aunt Bess.  I'm not sure if that makes us first cousins once removed, or second cousins.

I had been meaning to go down to Tucson to see Irma for a couple of days just to say Hello and ask her questions about family stuff (she was the family historian)  But I procrastinated, and now it's too late.

Rest In Peace Irma and Joyce.

SILVERMAN, Joyce Gorman Age 83, passed away peacefully on September 2, 2016, after a long struggle with Alzheimer's disease. She is survived by sons Mark Silverman (Sue Fields) of Conway, MA, and Peter Silverman (Suzanne Sullivan) of Barre, MA, and daughter Amy McFarland (Tom McFarland) of Stoughton, WI; by grandchildren Sarah Silverman, Jason Silverman, Eliza McFarland, Ricky Silverman, and Kyra McFarland; and great-granddaughter Kyla Benson. She was preceded in death by her parents; her sister Marilynn (Gorman) Siegel; and her dear companions Bill Dutzcak and Edmund Murphy. She was born in Providence, RI, the daughter of Bess (Gertsacov) and Adolph Gorman, on October 30, 1932. She attended Wellesley College, Class of 1954, and married the late Richard Silverman in 1952 (divorced 1980). She lived for over 40 years in Weston, MA, was president of the League of Women Voters and served on the Town Democratic Committee. She worked as legislative aide for ten years to State Senator Carol Amick, and in many other public service positions. She retired to a waterfront home in Wareham, MA in 1998, and was active in Democratic politics there. She was an avid gardener and music lover, was devoted to her family and to politics, and was a dedicated daily newspaper reader. 

SLAVIT, Irma Gertsacov, Age 97, passed away peacefully on September 1, 2016. She is survived by her son Dr. Michael Slavit and daughters Roberta Carichner (E. Norbert Carichner) and Betsy Slavit, grandchildren Michelle Slavit aka Jazmine Bridget Knight, Joanna Carichner (Ben Christensen) and David Carichner (Barbara Methot) and great grandchildren Logan Carichner and Sarah Carichner. She was preceded in death by her husband Leonard in 2007. Irma was born in Providence, RI, the daughter of Ethel (Reffkin) and Max Gertsacov on May 27, 1919. She attended Pembroke College and married the late Leonard Slavit in 1939. She lived for 87 years in Providence and Warwick, RI. , was president of the League of Women Voters and an officer of the R.I. chapter of the ACLU. She worked as Graduate Placement Director of Brown University, and as an employment counsellor and counsellor trainer for Blackstone Valley Community Action and Rhode Island Displaced Homemakers. She retired to her daughter Roberta's home in Tucson, AZ in 2006. She was an avid reader, was devoted to her family and to political action. She was celebrated by all who knew her as a positive presence in the world through her social, employment and volunteer activities.

Dealing with Death

I recently contributed to the Modern Dads Podcast in an episode about loss and death.

The episode, entitled On Loss, has 5 dads (myself included) talking about the loss of a parent and how they explained it to their children.

It's a very moving episode about a hard topic, so be prepared with a couple of tissues when you listen to it. (My part comes about 6 minutes in, but listen to the whole thing.  It's only 18 minutes long, and it's wonderful.)  Other contributors include Lance Somerfeld (founder of CityDads) Whit Honea, Jason Greene, and Josh Kross, who originated the idea.

I've included the text of what I contributed below the podcast embed if you are interested in reading it.

Would love to hear your thoughts in the comments!

Dealing with Death by Adam Gertsacov

Me and my dad

My parents never knew my son.  My dad died when I was 22 in a car accident, and my mom died  22 years later, about 10 days after we found out we were pregnant (But before we told anyone) 

My son does have both (or rather all three) of his grandparents on my wife’s side, and up until he was about 4, his great grandparents on my wife's side were also intact.  So he knows about grandparents,

My mom Karel Gertsacov

I wanted him to know about my parents, so from the time he was small, I’ve been telling him stories about my dad and about my mom.  When we’ve visited Rhode Island, we’ve gone to their gravesites and laid stones on their graves (as is the Jewish custom).

 When he was four and a half, his great grandfather (Great Hank) passed away at the age of 98.  My son knew him, in the way that you know all your elderly relatives when you are a kid.  You say hello, you were polite, you hoped for a dollar.  

 We traveled from NY to the funeral, and although we weren’t sure, we decided to bring him to the funeral (and to the interment) with us.

My wife and I talked about it, and we decided we wouldn’t sugar coat death or make up weird stories about how Great Hank was on an extended vacation. We decided to talk to him about it, maybe not with all the gory details, but to answer any questions that he had, to let him participate in the process. We felt that not talking about it, or talking down to him about it, would do everybody involved, including him and the deceased person, a dis-service.

At the cemetery my son was sad but very matter of fact about it, and it didn’t seem to phase him too much.  Great Hank was here, and now he’s not.  He’s in the box in the ground.  Dad, you are sad.  Mom is crying. Can I give you a hug? Can I go  play now?

Great Hank

I thought that maybe he didn’t understand the permanence of death, but about 6 months later, we were in the car driving home from kindergarten, and he started asking me questions about my mom’s funeral, and if she was in a box too, like Great Hank.  And if one day I would be in a box, if he would be in a box.

I answered him straightforwardly, forthrightly, yes, everybody dies, I’m going to die, you are going to die, mom is going to die,  but it’s a long way away, and you can’t worry about it now.

He thought about it for a minute and then said, “Dad, when you are in a box I will come and visit you.” 

I nearly swerved off the road.

Joey The Cat

About 6 months after that our cat Joey died.  He didn’t go into a box, but he got made into ashes that we spread across the farm he was born on in Indiana.

There were tears and there was sadness but my son, now age five and a half, knew the score.

And still now, two years later, we talk about my mom, and about Great Hank, and about Joey the cat with the fondest of memories.

Rest in Peace, Oren Miller

The Dadosphere was hit with kind of a body blow a couple of days ago when we heard that Oren Miller, founder of the Dad Bloggers Group on Facebook and author of the blog Blogger Father, lost his battle with cancer this past weekend.

It was expected-- his wife had announced a few days before that the medication was no longer working, and that they were just going to make Oren comfortable, but it's a body blow none the less.  It shakes you to the core.  At least it's shaken me.

People die everyday, and you expect that-- after all, it's part of the agreement with life, that it ends, but Oren was a father of two young kids, a great guy, and far too young.   I kept on expecting some kind of miracle, because if there are miracles where people overcome impossible odds, manage to beat Old Man Cancer, it happens to guys like Oren.  Guys who deserve them.

Not this time.

I met Oren a couple of times I think-- at a couple of Dad 2.0 Summits, and we corresponded a little bit when we were doing Digital Family Summit in Baltimore.  His kids were too young to attend, but he was supportive of the event, and gave me a few ideas of people to call in the area.  We had a great dinner in Houston together, talking about all kinds of cool stuff. And our kids.  And dick jokes.  You know, Dad stuff.

A friend just posted a question on line if I feel guilty about Oren passing-- why him, not me?

I feel bad that he went, but I don't think I feel guilt-- I feel fear. Fear that I am next.  Not to be depressing or anything, but we are all going to die someday- you, me, your beautiful children, that mean lady from the DMV.  On this train, everybody gets their ticket punched.  The question is, how are you going to handle it?

Oren handled it like a Zen master-- he took it in stride, he wrote about it, he made his peace.  I am afraid that when I go, I will be kicking and screaming and groveling in the corner.

I had a health issue a couple of weeks ago (Just before the Dad 2.0 summit)that required me to go to the emergency room, and I really had some thoughts about what would happen when I wasn't around, the "legacy" such as it that I would leave. It wasn't pretty.  I passed through that okay, but I've got a whiff of my mortality, and it scared the hell out of me.

I've been operating as if I had unlimited time.   And I don't.  No one does.  I'm 9 years older than Oren was.  I'm 3 years older than when my dad was killed in a car accident.  And I've had two or three friends in their 40's/50's just die in their sleep.  Nothing seemed wrong, they just didn't wake up.  Horrible.  And although my grandmother died at 104 and my grandfather died at 89 (a cigar salesman, he died of throat cancer), that's still not unlimited time.  30 years if I'm lucky.  Puts my new 30 year mortgage in perspective.

Oren Miller- 1974-2015.  Rest In Peace.

Oren: when my ticket gets punched, I only hope that I can handle it with the kind of grace and elegance that you handled it.  READ HIS WORDS.

I don't think I will.  You set a very high standard.

Rest in peace, my friend.


Baltimore Sun Obit

Article & Video about Oren- Baltimore Sun "Finding Heaven On Earth"

Pinterest Group-- Oren Miller RIP

Oren's Blog - Blogger Father.com