Easter Mourning

It's Easter, which for me consisted of a predawn awakening to hide Nastia's Easter basket, writing out all the clues, and placing them, carefully, in their appointed hiding places. Then the watching of her, gleefully hunting for it. Even though she's fourteen by this world's narrow standards, she is still so very much the little child.

She screeched with delight upon finding it, jumping up and down, and filling he face with an incomparable grin. She later snuggled up in her blankets and carefully categorized each item that Easter brought her ...candy, tiny gifts, a Russian egg. After eating a few of the eggs we had colored the previous day, I went back to bed for a nap. I'm not feeling so well lately. In the quiet of our room, with the sound of the tv blaring cartoons a few rooms away, I just lay there, thinking of my father. Easter sans family kinda sucks.

Childhood Easters always consisted of impressive family gatherings, with an endless parade of food and cousind. I'd sit with my grandmother, hunt for eggs in my uncle's giant backyard, watch my little cousin Boo count out all the pennies and quarters she collected from her plastic eggs (we always let her find the most). Some Easters were the scene of knock-down, drag-out fights between the same Irish-tempered relatives, including my Dad. They were scary, but somehow riveting to watch. We kids would freeze with fear and owe. Funny thing is, I miss those times, too.

I miss the smell of cigarettes and whiskey,being the errand girl and running drinks and plates piled high with ham and potatoes to my Nana, aunts and uncles. I felt safe amidst all the noise and chaos of those holidays. It was so much better than the silence up in my room.

I guess in some ways I feel like Nastia is missing out. Her life is a quieter life than mine was -- no siblings to battle, no all-night parties, no drop-by relatives and friends in and out of the house all day. She doesn't have brothers to harass or commiserate with. No rambling, creaky house filled with artifacts and heirlooms, squeaking doors, ghosts, and oh so many stories. She lives in a rented ranch. On a cookie-cutter street in suburbia. With her single mom. Most of her relatives live more than 1400 miles away. I wonder if she'll be different because of it.

I so mourn the loss of my father in her life. I can't get over it on some days. It feels so terribly unfair. Our family feels handicapped without him. It is like we are missing an arm or a leg, something necessary. The silence of his absence is not even bittersweet, it is simply bitter. I'm starting to realize that people who lose a loved one are handicapped for the rest of their lives. There is no going back to the whole person that you were - there is only coping, and on some days, if you're really lucky, living.

I felt understood and acknowledged by my Dad at such a deep level. I mattered, and I knew I mattered, in the deepest most fundamental corner of my soul. I don't matter anymore - that's how it feels, anyway. I matter to my daughter,yes, and that is wonderful and miraculous in its own way. But I miss mattering as a soul, and as my father's daughter.

Damn, I miss that.

I know my Dad is alive. Somewhere. I do. I can't say I know many details about his new life, but I know with great surety that he has one. But somehow, that is not enough. Sometimes it is - enough to know he is alive and happy, living out new adventures somewhere. But more often than not, his absence is too glaringly obvious. It's like a neon sign hanging in front of everything I do and see and feel. I hate it. I want him back. Now.

There is nothing good about death. I'd like to imagine there is, but today, on this grey and leaf-barren Easter Sunday, my heart knows that each death is simply having your heart ripped out over and over and over again, until you are numb from the pain of it.

Hope is Born!

Obama Announces Presidential Run

If you know me, you know I had written Senator Obama a letter over a year ago asking him to consider the run for presidency in '08. It was just the pipe dream of a hard-working, single mom who was tired of the status quo. Tired of dishonesty and fear-mongering and hate. So, even though it was something I prayed for and dreamed of, it was still a shock when it came to be:

Here is Obama's announcement speech, in full. It is worth the reading, even if you don't support him. I am so grateful he is running. I feel hope for our country for the first time in many years. Here are his words....

"Let me begin by saying thanks to all you who've traveled, from far and wide, to brave the cold today.

We all made this journey for a reason. It's humbling, but in my heart I know you didn't come here just for me, you came here because you believe in what this country can be. In the face of war, you believe there can be peace. In the face of despair, you believe there can be hope. In the face of a politics that's shut you out, that's told you to settle, that's divided us for too long, you believe we can be one people, reaching for what's possible, building that more perfect union. That's the journey we're on today. But let me tell you how I came to be here. As most of you know, I am not a native of this great state. I moved to Illinois over two decades ago. I was a young man then, just a year out of college; I knew no one in Chicago, was without money or family connections. But a group of churches had offered me a job as a community organizer for $13,000 a year. And I accepted the job, sight unseen, motivated then by a single, simple, powerful idea - that I might play a small part in building a better America.

My work took me to some of Chicago's poorest neighborhoods. I joined with pastors and lay-people to deal with communities that had been ravaged by plant closings. I saw that the problems people faced weren't simply local in nature - that the decision to close a steel mill was made by distant executives; that the lack of textbooks and computers in schools could be traced to the skewed priorities of politicians a thousand miles away; and that when a child turns to violence, there's a hole in his heart no government could ever fill. It was in these neighborhoods that I received the best education I ever had, and where I learned the true meaning of my Christian faith.

After three years of this work, I went to law school, because I wanted to understand how the law should work for those in need. I became a civil rights lawyer, and taught constitutional law, and after a time, I came to understand that our cherished rights of liberty and equality depend on the active participation of an awakened electorate. It was with these ideas in mind that I arrived in this capital city as a state Senator.

It was here, in Springfield, where I saw all that is America converge - farmers and teachers, businessmen and laborers, all of them with a story to tell, all of them seeking a seat at the table, all of them clamoring to be heard. I made lasting friendships here - friends that I see in the audience today.

It was here we learned to disagree without being disagreeable - that it's possible to compromise so long as you know those principles that can never be compromised; and that so long as we're willing to listen to each other, we can assume the best in people instead of the worst. That's why we were able to reform a death penalty system that was broken. That's why we were able to give health insurance to children in need. That's why we made the tax system more fair and just for working families, and that's why we passed ethics reforms that the cynics said could never, ever be passed.

It was here, in Springfield, where North, South, East and West come together that I was reminded of the essential decency of the American people - where I came to believe that through this decency, we can build a more hopeful America.

And that is why, in the shadow of the Old State Capitol, where Lincoln once called on a divided house to stand together, where common hopes and common dreams still, I stand before you today to announce my candidacy for President of the United States.

I recognize there is a certain presumptuousness - a certain audacity - to this announcement. I know I haven't spent a lot of time learning the ways of Washington. But I've been there long enough to know that the ways of Washington must change. The genius of our founders is that they designed a system of government that can be changed. And we should take heart, because we've changed this country before. In the face of tyranny, a band of patriots brought an Empire to its knees. In the face of secession, we unified a nation and set the captives free. In the face of Depression, we put people back to work and lifted millions out of poverty. We welcomed immigrants to our shores, we opened railroads to the west, we landed a man on the moon, and we heard a King's call to let justice roll down like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream. Each and every time, a new generation has risen up and done what's needed to be done. Today we are called once more - and it is time for our generation to answer that call. For that is our unyielding faith - that in the face of impossible odds, people who love their country can change it.

That's what Abraham Lincoln understood. He had his doubts. He had his defeats. He had his setbacks. But through his will and his words, he moved a nation and helped free a people. It is because of the millions who rallied to his cause that we are no longer divided, North and South, slave and free. It is because men and women of every race, from every walk of life, continued to march for freedom long after Lincoln was laid to rest, that today we have the chance to face the challenges of this millennium together, as one people - as Americans.

All of us know what those challenges are today - a war with no end, a dependence on oil that threatens our future, schools where too many children aren't learning, and families struggling paycheck to paycheck despite working as hard as they can. We know the challenges. We've heard them. We've talked about them for years. What's stopped us from meeting these challenges is not the absence of sound policies and sensible plans. What's stopped us is the failure of leadership, the smallness of our politics - the ease with which we're distracted by the petty and trivial, our chronic avoidance of tough decisions, our preference for scoring cheap political points instead of rolling up our sleeves and building a working consensus to tackle big problems. For the last six years we've been told that our mounting debts don't matter, we've been told that the anxiety Americans feel about rising health care costs and stagnant wages are an illusion, we've been told that climate change is a hoax, and that tough talk and an ill-conceived war can replace diplomacy, and strategy, and foresight. And when all else fails, when Katrina happens, or the death toll in Iraq mounts, we've been told that our crises are somebody else's fault. We're distracted from our real failures, and told to blame the other party, or gay people, or immigrants.

And as people have looked away in disillusionment and frustration, we know what's filled the void. The cynics, and the lobbyists, and the special interests who've turned our government into a game only they can afford to play. They write the checks and you get stuck with the bills, they get the access while you get to write a letter, they think they own this government, but we're here today to take it back. The time for that politics is over. It's time to turn the page. We've made some progress already. I was proud to help lead the fight in Congress that led to the most sweeping ethics reform since Watergate. But Washington has a long way to go. And it won't be easy. That's why we'll have to set priorities. We'll have to make hard choices. And although government will play a crucial role in bringing about the changes we need, more money and programs alone will not get us where we need to go. Each of us, in our own lives, will have to accept responsibility - for instilling an ethic of achievement in our children, for adapting to a more competitive economy, for strengthening our communities, and sharing some measure of sacrifice. So let us begin. Let us begin this hard work together. Let us transform this nation.
Let us be the generation that reshapes our economy to compete in the digital age. Let's set high standards for our schools and give them the resources they need to succeed. Let's recruit a new army of teachers, and give them better pay and more support in exchange for more accountability. Let's make college more affordable, and let's invest in scientific research, and let's lay down broadband lines through the heart of inner cities and rural towns all across America.
And as our economy changes, let's be the generation that ensures our nation's workers are sharing in our prosperity. Let's protect the hard-earned benefits their companies have promised. Let's make it possible for hardworking Americans to save for retirement. And let's allow our unions and their organizers to lift up this country's middle-class again.

Let's be the generation that ends poverty in America. Every single person willing to work should be able to get job training that leads to a job, and earn a living wage that can pay the bills, and afford child care so their kids have a safe place to go when they work. Let's do this.

Let's be the generation that finally tackles our health care crisis. We can control costs by focusing on prevention, by providing better treatment to the chronically ill, and using technology to cut the bureaucracy. Let's be the generation that says right here, right now, that we will have universal health care in America by the end of the next president's first term.

Let's be the generation that finally frees America from the tyranny of oil. We can harness homegrown, alternative fuels like ethanol and spur the production of more fuel-efficient cars. We can set up a system for capping greenhouse gases. We can turn this crisis of global warming into a moment of opportunity for innovation, and job creation, and an incentive for businesses that will serve as a model for the world. Let's be the generation that makes future generations proud of what we did here.

Most of all, let's be the generation that never forgets what happened on that September day and confront the terrorists with everything we've got. Politics doesn't have to divide us on this anymore - we can work together to keep our country safe. I've worked with Republican Senator Dick Lugar to pass a law that will secure and destroy some of the world's deadliest, unguarded weapons. We can work together to track terrorists down with a stronger military, we can tighten the net around their finances, and we can improve our intelligence capabilities. But let us also understand that ultimate victory against our enemies will come only by rebuilding our alliances and exporting those ideals that bring hope and opportunity to millions around the globe.
But all of this cannot come to pass until we bring an end to this war in Iraq. Most of you know I opposed this war from the start. I thought it was a tragic mistake. Today we grieve for the families who have lost loved ones, the hearts that have been broken, and the young lives that could have been. America, it's time to start bringing our troops home. It's time to admit that no amount of American lives can resolve the political disagreement that lies at the heart of someone else's civil war. That's why I have a plan that will bring our combat troops home by March of 2008. Letting the Iraqis know that we will not be there forever is our last, best hope to pressure the Sunni and Shia to come to the table and find peace.

Finally, there is one other thing that is not too late to get right about this war - and that is the homecoming of the men and women - our veterans - who have sacrificed the most. Let us honor their valor by providing the care they need and rebuilding the military they love. Let us be the generation that begins this work.

I know there are those who don't believe we can do all these things. I understand the skepticism. After all, every four years, candidates from both parties make similar promises, and I expect this year will be no different. All of us running for president will travel around the country offering ten-point plans and making grand speeches; all of us will trumpet those qualities we believe make us uniquely qualified to lead the country. But too many times, after the election is over, and the confetti is swept away, all those promises fade from memory, and the lobbyists and the special interests move in, and people turn away, disappointed as before, left to struggle on their own.

That is why this campaign can't only be about me. It must be about us - it must be about what we can do together. This campaign must be the occasion, the vehicle, of your hopes, and your dreams. It will take your time, your energy, and your advice - to push us forward when we're doing right, and to let us know when we're not. This campaign has to be about reclaiming the meaning of citizenship, restoring our sense of common purpose, and realizing that few obstacles can withstand the power of millions of voices calling for change.

By ourselves, this change will not happen. Divided, we are bound to fail. But the life of a tall, gangly, self-made Springfield lawyer tells us that a different future is possible. He tells us that there is power in words. He tells us that there is power in conviction. That beneath all the differences of race and region, faith and station, we are one people. He tells us that there is power in hope.

As Lincoln organized the forces arrayed against slavery, he was heard to say: "Of strange, discordant, and even hostile elements, we gathered from the four winds, and formed and fought to battle through." That is our purpose here today. That's why I'm in this race. Not just to hold an office, but to gather with you to transform a nation. I want to win that next battle - for justice and opportunity. I want to win that next battle - for better schools, and better jobs, and health care for all. I want us to take up the unfinished business of perfecting our union, and building a better America.

And if you will join me in this improbable quest, if you feel destiny calling, and see as I see, a future of endless possibility stretching before us; if you sense, as I sense, that the time is now to shake off our slumber, and slough off our fear, and make good on the debt we owe past and future generations, then I'm ready to take up the cause, and march with you, and work with you. Together, starting today, let us finish the work that needs to be done, and usher in a new birth of freedom on this Earth."

Amen, brother Barack, amen.

Underwood Memory, Circa 1975

If we leave the path we started on, can we find our way back -- even after thirty years?

My most sacred childhood memories are of writing-- sitting in the backyard under the trees with my dad's old underwood typewriter, from his childhood. I can't remember any more blissful moments than those. Hours spent spinning stories in my mind and then tapping them out, letter by letter, with the summer wind blowing loose strands of my hair across my face. I was usually,no, I was always in my pajamas, and I did not want to be disturbed. I had no need of adventure or friendsip on these days, no need for sustenance of any kind. The ink and words fed me, and I felt alive, awake every second my fingers were touching those keys.

what happened? where am I? When did I diverge?

[Word: Diverge
Function: verb
Inflected Form(s): di·verged; di·verg·ing
Etymology: Medieval Latin divergere, from Latin dis- + vergere to incline -- 1 a : to move or extend in different directions from a common point : draw apart b : to become or be different in character or form : differ in opinion 2 : to turn aside from a path or course ]

But I digress.

I want that again. I want that living in the 'pitch that is near madness'. I want the knowing I had back then. I want the deep peace of knowing who I am. How did I have it at nine, ten and not now? I feel words stirring somewhere very deep, almost imperceptibly, like they are cells dividing. I'm waiting for them. I don't know when they will come or what they will say. But I feel expectant. And ready.

I scroll the paper into place and wait.

So...Why Are We Here Again?

I recently sent out an email message to friends asking what they thought about the whole 'why are we here'question. I got a great quote back from my friend Jason. It's by Kurt Vonnegut:

'To help each other through this thing, whatever it is.'

Boy that says it, doesnt it? That's all I'm actually certain of myself...the helping each other and the 'whatever it is.' I mean, who really knows? There are those of us who feel a certainty about what this is all about but, come on, how can we have any certainty? We can't. We can have faith or hope in something we really want to be true, but there is no way to prove our individual beliefs. So why do so many try to? Why are there wars being fought right now based on differences in belief? I'll never get that. You can try to explain it to me -- many have. But I will never ever comprehend it. Not in this life.

I wish the rest of humanity were content with all the big question marks. Why do there have to be answers? Can't kindness be our religion? Can't gratitude be our hymn? Is there room for self-sacrifice in our dogma? Penance, if you really need that kind of thing, could be a smile: a genuine one. What about a temple of trees and sky....big enough to hold ALL our gods? A shrine of living people, doing good deeds, a sacred text of silence, unwritten, holding only promise and expectation as its commandments. A jihad of blissful, indiscriminate giving. ....

Don't get me wrong, I am a believer: a 'Believer' with a capital 'B' - a believer in a Greater Being who is LOVE, who once walked this earth in human form, a believer in goodness and kindness and souls that live forever and are part of a Oneness we can't always see here. But this is just my point of view, and I certainly can't prove it. I can offer evidence from my own life, but that's it. And I have room for others' points of view. That's what makes this whole experience so fascinating......all of us seeing a different side to the Elephant, no one seeing the whole. I like that.

I wish there were more room for differences. I wish we all reveled in unanswerable questions.

Guten Morgen Deutschland!

So, Anastasia and I are on our first big trip (aside from Russia, that is.) We left home on the afternoon of August 31st, My friend Carley drove us, and Anastasia was surprisingly talkative with her, asking questions about her daughters Kate & Jayne. At Logan, we boarded out flight to Philly, after having to ditch our water bottles and hand cream ( stupid terrorists!). Anastasia threw a little fit for the security people, but I managed to distract her before they booted us from security!

Philly airport is surprisingly large. It took us about forty minutes to walk to terminal A for our flight to Germany. Anastasia does not like walking, so you can imagine the whining. Then, as if the gods were in a mischievous mood, our flight was delayed. And delayed. And, again, delayed.
We ended up in the air at about 8:45pm and had a fitful, uncomfortable ride the whole way. Anastasia was not happy - she hated the food, the people seated behind us, the constant interruptions for food and drinks. She finally nodded off fifteen minutes before we landed.

We landed in Frankfurt at 8am on the 1st (yesterday) and my brother Jim met us in baggage claim. Our plan was to drive straight to the Czech Republic, where my sister-in-law was waiting with Tommy ( my nephew). Jim would stop at a few places along the way for Anastasia to see. First stop was Wurzburg to visit a castle that sits high above the city. At the outdoor cafe there, Anastasia ate her weight is sausages..lol. My brother was great with her and they had alot of fun teasing each other. We then left and drove another four hours, and finally hit the Czech border. Anastasia was excited to get her passport stamped. Finally we arrived in Pilsen where we headed to Jana's dad's house. Tommy was so excited to see us! Soon we'll head to the campground where we'll be staying, in a little log cabin!

Black Cloud

It's been awhile....sorry. But as no one but I really reads this blog, it doesn't really matter.

I'm struggling with depression again. It sucks. I hate it.

I thought I would outgrow it by 40, but no luck. It is like this black mass that comes out of nowhere and disrupts my life. Life is even quite good right now. I have nothing to complain about. Raising a child with RAD takes its toll, yes, but this is not about that. It's deeper. This sadness comes and sits on my heart and I can't breathe. All day I tried to battle it. When I woke feeling lost, I went back to sleep. I slept till noon. Then I tried praying, meditating, but the words in my heart were all dismal and darkening and I could not seem to escape it. I tried going online, reading blogs that make me happy, but it only served to highlight the chasm I feel between my life and the peaceful life that others live. So, I finally did what always helps....I got comfort food and over-ate.

Where is my help? Where is God? I feel locked inside myself. I need air.

Eulogy

My dad died on Father's Day 2005. I'm thinking of him today. Here is the eulogy I gave for him at the funeral mass:

Hi Dad. I know you’re there, because you’ve told me a thousand times you’d be sitting in the last row at Immaculate, making sure we gave you a good send-off. I hope you approve so far. It’s hard to top you, but we’re trying. Well, Dad, I want to tell all the people here about you. The you I knew. I had forty years with you, so I count myself very lucky….of course, Danny had almost as many, but since age is a sore point for him, we won’t go there. So Dad, sit back and enjoy… and everyone else, listen up.

My dad was a pirate. Not many kids get to be raised by a pirate, so I know it was a very special experience, and it's one that needs to be shared. I loved my dad fiercely, and as you all know, we were a lot alike. My dad loved a good story -- and a good fight-- and so did I. We spent the better part of my adolescence trying to see who could raid whose ship the most…and, of course, who won the right to be captain. Dad, I’m going to swallow my inherited Irish pride here in front of all your friends and confess that, despite my fighting it to the death sometimes, you always managed to keep your crew in their place.

But what a time we had! Growing up with a pirate for a dad means lots of adventures, lots of storytelling, and lots of chances to prove our bravery to the captain. I remember the summer nights we used to spend walking through Greenlawn Cemetary with you, Uncle Jim, Mark and Krissy.

' I’ll give you fifty cents if you go up and kiss that gravestone, all by yourself,' you’d say with a grin. Uncle Jim would always double it to a dollar, so we’d fight our fear left and right to get it. I’m proud to say I always took the challenge. I scared myself half to death, but I never let you know that. We spent a lot of time there, which is funny, because now a part of you will be spending a lot of time there. You used to say “I want that spot, right down by the water.”

“But dad, that’s so spongy. They can’t put a coffin there.”

“Sure they can. I’ll just slip out and go swimming every night” you’d insist. I have to admit, I loved imagining that as a child – you swimming with the fishes. It gave me a peace that you would never really die.

Now that you’re on the other side, I guess I can finally tell some of those funny stories without you getting in trouble. Like: remember how you used to have us duck under the seats of the sheriff’s car to drive us on errands? You hated the traffic on North Street, so we’d hide and you’d light up the siren, and we’d laugh all the way there and back. And remember all those times you'd take us out of school to see the best movies on opening day: Star Wars, Jaws, Indiana Jones? You understood that some things were just a little more important than school.

How did you manage to make everything such an adventure? And you never minded the odd dozen extra kids along for the ride. In fact, I can’t remember much of my childhood without Mark or Krissy there, the Huuskonens, Mark Tuttle, or Brim and Craig . Our house was really just a massive pirate ship where the captain always had room for more crew.

And you had no problem forcing your crew into slave labor: weeding the yard, carting boxes in and out of the screen-house and cellar. We hated it, but every one of us can thank you for our tireless work-ethic.

( I wrote more here to sum things up, but I lost the draft, and forget how I ended it!I'll add it if I ever find the ending!)

Anyway, I miss you Dad.