QUICKIE...

   Ok.  You know when you start doing something for five minutes and then it turns into an hour and a half?  That was me just checking my email.  I meant to get to this earlier. Well, I am committed to this challenge so, here goes...


Today I am grateful for:


1.  My students talking about North Korea like foreign policy experts.


2.  Tiger playing well at the Master's. 


3.  Azaleas on Hole 12 at Augusta National.


4.  My dogwood tree blooming.


5.  The repairman who fixed my refrigerator. 


6.  Ice cold filtered water, finally, coming out of the dispenser on my refrigerator door and not peeing out from behind the interior produce bins.


7.  Sharing my NuGo Vanilla Yogurt Bar with my assistant principal, who visited me at school today.


8.  My assistant principal for not being a predator, but an understanding, down-to-earth woman who loves horoscopes and animals.


9.  Talking to my lovely cousin, Maria, tonight.


10.  Relaxing with Karen and Emmie on this chilly night, in a cozy bedroom.

It Takes A Leap Of Faith...

“…It takes a leap of faith to get things going
It takes a leap of faith you gotta show some guts
It takes a leap of faith to get things going
In your heart you must trust…”

“Leap Of Faith” – Bruce Springsteen

            I spent the day teaching math and helping kids with their projects.  We do World Affairs everyday, and covered the gun debate and an attempted “honor” killing in Afghanistan.  The prospect of women’s rights in a world filled with disturbing acts against, expectations of, and unequal pay for women, well, let's just say I could have really started popping pistons to write about the ignorance and savagery, BUT, I figured I would do that another time—because all you’ve got to do to see the human cost of ignorance is turn on your t.v. However, I WILL deal with it very soon, ‘cause I’m really wanting to scratch that itch, to thoughtfully seethe about it.  Stay tuned.  For now, I’m just trying to stay positive, ignore Republicans, pick a shade to put to this print, and start recounting what I appreciate today.

TODAY I AM GRATEFUL FOR…

1.  Taking Emmie for a walk we both enjoyed.  Got peeps and poops again!  YAY!!!  I am grateful for the love of my life, Emmie.  Today, all the days passed, and all that I will have graced to me.  I was wondering what it is that all dogs seem to have, that draws me in, and makes me get a lump in my throat.  I figured it out:  when I look in their eyes, I see God…

2.  Making a new, true friend…Cynthia is lovely.  She is the wonderful, sensitive woman I spoke with yesterday. And, yesterday was different. Cynthia: you can feel the goodness in her soul just by looking at her dark, thoughtful eyes, eyes that have seen her through evolutions of spirit, and a smile that is genuinely warm and kind.  That’s it!  She is kind and kindred.  Cynthia is a keeper.  I am grateful for her.

3.  Seeing little boys playing on a clean playground, shirttails out, toothless smiles, high-pitched laughter.  I am grateful I saw little boys playing today.

4.  Having a great night’s sleep—something I have not had in probably years.  It had something to do with taking this challenge…it is urging me to write everyday, and reach out to others…thank you beloved Maria…I am so grateful.

5.  Reaching out to a beautiful baby girl who, to my everlasting surprise, is a gorgeous WOMAN now…you know, it seems like I just turned away for a minute, and, all of a sudden, she grew up!!!...beloved Melissa…a little beauty whose mom was the coolest chick we knew on Staten Island, the one who wore make-up like it was worn in the 60’s, thick black-eyeliner, and white lipstick, who loves animals, as Beautiful Melissa does…Melissa, you had big, dark eyes, a mouth people pay surgeons to have, with maybe one tooth, if that many...so, so innocent…toddling around with a dog nearby, a house filled with wonderful things, teetering, like babies do, as you explored your world…I remember you falling once, and Maria turning white as your mother’s lipstick, nearly having a heart attack…but, funny thing is, I don’t remember you crying…your eyes just grew bigger, as color started to return to Maria's face, and now, you are finishing your DOCTORATE???!!!  In PSYCHOLOGY, CLINICAL PSYCHOLOGY!!! God, please, do not let us miss any more of this beauty’s life…our little girl is growing up, and WE WILL NOT MISS THIS!!!!!!!!  I am grateful for Melissa…

6.  Enjoying a dark, crunchy, whole oat bagel that filled my mouth with warmth and nuttiness…it tasted like nutrition…like manna…I am grateful for my daily bread.

7.  Knowing the girl in Afghanistan, whose sick brother tried to kill her, succeeding in fracturing her skull, exposing her brain, cutting up her face, and leaving her for dead, is alive and being taken care of in an underground women’s shelter.  To see women risking their lives to save another, with gentle hands ranging over this girl’s hair, washing her, feeding her, saving her from five suicide attempts is to witness a love that over-matches and defeats the hatred, the IGNORANCE that brought her to them, an act of aching and beautiful courage…I am grateful for the life of that girl and the women who are saving her everyday…I am grateful for courage beyond what we can imagine, in a place we would never want to be…I am grateful…

8.  Feeling a rant about to come on, I am grateful for stopping myself from writing what I am wishing for that girl’s brother, and allowing me to get back to this list…I am grateful for self-control.

9.  Watching L’il Kim showing his tits AND shaking his fat ass…ok…no rant, and no bombs today, either…I am grateful for another day of relative peace.

10.  Seeing God in Emmie’s eyes, healing hands across the world, the smile of a sister in a new friend, little boys dancing a dance of innocence, a little beauty growing into a grounded, gorgeous, sensitive, loving young woman, a cousin I adore more than words can say…ok, I’m crying now…I am grateful for these tears…I AM  JUST GRATEFUL…

And, yes, Bruce, it takes a leap of faith to get you over a river of darkness, to the shores of light, and a house of warmth…today is my beautiful reward…

Showin' Some Appreciation

“Well I sought gold and diamond rings
My own drug to ease the pain that living brings
Walked from the mountain to the valley floor
Searching for my beautiful reward
Searching for my beautiful reward…”

                                             “My Beautiful Reward” – Bruce Springsteen

            My cousin, Maria, is a wonderful writer, photographer, and blogger—among other wonderful things. She also has many blogger friends, and one has issued an “Appreciation Challenge.”  This entails finding 10 things in each of our days to appreciate.  I, who am so attracted to the dark, need to lighten up.  I am taking the challenge.  I have, as we all have at one time or another, sought “my beautiful reward” in things, uncommonly high standards of work and achievement, obsessively seeking to fix the world—little things like that.  Today, I’m just gonna go with it, not do research, not get worked up, just flow—with an emphasis on 10 things I appreciate today.

1.  L’il Kim is showing his tits, but no bombs dropped today.

2.  A Gun Bill will be brought before the Senate…the bipartisan effort was just sealed.

3.  I took my most beautiful daughter-doggie, Emmie, for a walk today.  (This really should be #1…more than a year ago, Emmie turned almost completely deaf, and a little blind.  When we tried to take her for walks, she quaked and cried, pulling us back to the house.  I, already depressed, became clinically so.  Adjusting to her aging was difficult for me, BUT I now see that just having her here to see this stage is a BLESSING, A GIFT…like no other.)

4.  Emmie REALLY enjoyed her walk:  she peed AND pooped!!!  (This really should be #2)

5.  I brushed Emmie’s teeth.

6.  I found a great new protein bar: NuGo Vanilla Yogurt.

7.  I did not wear a coat today.

8.  I had a great conversation with a colleague, told her about Mahdi—one of my students whom I blogged about—and she cried.

9.  After the gift of talking to an intelligent, sensitive woman, I no longer felt the weighing loneliness I feel daily, being in a one-teacher site, stuck in the back of the library, in a very small, glass-enclosed room that has two steam radiators going at all times.

10.  I work in the library!!!

And, one extra, for good measure:

11.  I took this challenge and ENJOYED it!!!

...I guess, from a hill a sacred light does shine, Bruce, especially if you turn your back to the dark...

Unanchored, And I Am Not Shocked

“…Take me back to the days…

      Of the all night rock and roll…

…What was the name of

   that love song you played?

I forgot how it goes,

     I don’t recall how it goes…”

                                                                       “Anchorage” – Michelle Shocked

I don't know how I'm feeling about Michelle Shocked...don't know her, just love the song "Anchorage"...saw her on Piers Morgan and she seemed to be suffering...I know...she said some incoherent, conflicted, and even some ridiculous stuff in a concert “sermon” that does not make me feel good, sort of makes me seethe...but what I saw was a suffering person...read some stuff about her and she seems caught between wanting to accept the Bible on a literal level, although, and she might have missed this, it does not say anything about gay marriage, but she hears some preachers and she wants to believe and belong and accept and still belong, and in the Born-Again community, there isn't too much room for that...but her statements--in various articles and quotes from secondary sources, and herself--seem to veer from "I am the biggest homophobe..." to "My support for the LGBT community is strong and has never waivered..."  What to make of this? 

      I think of her name and, reading that her parents sent her to a mental hospital where she received shock treatment, well...maybe there's a hint there...about who she is and why...and although I am deeply troubled by her comments, I can't bring myself to damn her...anyone who can write a song so haunting and beautiful as "Anchorage" and has gone through a troubled, troubled life, well, I just can't damn her.  Damning is a damning thing.  It damages forever. She seems too fragile and human for damning.  And, she is struggling to make something right, from most of what I have read and seen and heard. If she is being a genuine, albeit, somewhat lost, soul, then I can’t damn her.  I can be--and am--upset and confused, but I can't damn her.  The more I read and hear, the more challenging it gets to make sense of what she wanted to say, why she wanted to say it, who she is, and why she brought the detritus of broken-ness to us, outside of artistry, although she might think it was part of her artistry. I can reasonably say to her, "It was not.  You need better boundaries, Michelle, and there are places to go and other kinds of help to get you to see that."

      This is where trying to find God gets you in trouble:  if you cannot see Beauty in Nature, the music you make, the words you write, then you are missing the everyday miracles you should be embracing.  Instead, if you go Messianic, Hubris will bring you down, sure as it did Prometheus.  All of us have wings of wax or gossamer.  All of us can fly.  You gotta have a good altimeter…know if you strive for the Sun, well, you gonna get burned…bring it down a little, Michelle, or a lot…you think you need to preach or screech…well, the dissonance was just too great…and you failed to make it music—music is no minor miracle, girl…no minor miracle…and you have God-given talent...no minor miracle, either.

     We can all be hot messes, showing our own bi-polarity on difficult-to-reconcile subjects, but, for the most part, people I know--myself included--try to make sense, stay rational...and she needed more than an encore to do a treatise on "Truth vs. Reality" and its nuances--that's a grad school seminar, right there. I can say, however, that she should not try to be a philosopher, has the right of free speech--as do her critics--and might just grow from this experience that has hurt her, and a lot of us, actually.  If for no other reason than her right to free speech--I will not damn her.  I believe there is more to her than this. Imagine if we were all judged for one day in our lives!?!  Now, if she wants to be the Mother of Christian-Skateboard-Punk-Rockers, I say to her: go find your place, your people, yourself....and God please help you because you are going to need that on your journey through Truth and Reality.  In the face of mass exodus…go find your people…there’s something biblical to that…does it appeal? If it doesn’t, you’ll wander around the desert of the 48-, 72-hour news-cycles…maybe you’ll find your sound-bytes in the shifting sands of public opinion…made your mea culpas…they’re out there, too…

     And I want to say to her: you walked across that burning bridge, girl…walk it again, get back to your roots, and tell us what’s it like to be a skate-board-punk-rocker: now there’s a question you used to know the answer to…do you remember how it goes?  Do you recall how it goes? You want to talk about what’s it like to be you, right now? I don’t want to know.  Not until you’re grounded, anchored…anchored down anywhere, in this sphere…Truth and Reality are just too big to navigate, negotiate for anyone, we need a bridge, even if it’s burning, even if we set the fire…’cause, we don’t walk on water, we don’t walk on water…

The Dred Scott Case of 2013: Gay Marriage

Dred Scott

      Dred Scott, acting under the conditions of the Missouri Compromise--stating, in short, that new states shall be free states--undertook to seek his freedom, having been taken by his owner to a free state, and therein kept as a slave.  Under the law, he did not see how he could be kept in an enslaved condition in a state that did not recognize slavery. 

     You see, Stephen Douglas had proposed the Kansas-Nebraska Act, which would give all states the power to decide the "slavery question" for themselves, and saw it through passage.  This negated the federal jurisdiction over slavery, and ushered in what we know of as "States Rights."  Abraham Lincoln, debating Douglas ferociously, condemned this act, believing the Founding Fathers, unable to get the Constitution ratified if they pushed for abolition; for, they knew they would lose the support of Georgia and South Carolina, and there would be no new constitution for a nacient democracy, such as ours was in its infancy, to see growth unto and through the ages, did all they could to provide for slavery's eventual end.  Then, Lincoln argued that Douglas had undermined the strategy of the Founding Fathers, and was assuring the growth and maintenance of slavery unto perpetuity.  This was an unbearble position for our country, Lincoln argued, and would not repair divisions that threatened our very being as a country:  Lincoln proclaimed, "A House divided against itself cannot stand..."

We are still a House divided.  Those against full and free equality for gay people relegate the right to marry to states.  States Rights.  Just as with "the question of slavery."  A gay couple, legally married in New York goes to Alabama, let's say.  Are they not still married?  Well, no, actually, as Alabama does not allow gay marriage, the marriage is not legal there, and no rights attendant to married couples shall be applied to that gay couple.  It's Dred Scott and his freedom all over again.  It is the question of, "Who is a rightful citizen of this country?", all over again. And, while marriage has been the domain of states, about 1100 federal laws, including benefits, family leave, next of kin status, a reprieve from estate taxes when a spouse dies, and the extension of Social Security benefits upon death are all part and parcel of those laws.  The 1996 Defense of Marriage  Act (DOMA), signed into law by President Clinton, is very much a federal case, making marriage, gay or otherwise, very much a federal case. Today, our Supreme Court hears arguments that will determine if we have grown up yet, if we can get our House together, and if we will lead the world as the greatest democracy on earth.  We will have to wait and see...

    

     On March 6, 1857, the Supreme Court handed down its decision on Dred Scott v. Sanford.  What follows is an excerpt of the Supreme Court decision:

The plaintiff [Dred Scott]... was, with his wife and children, held as slaves by the defendant [Sanford], in the State of Missouri; and he brought this action in the Circuit Court of the United States for [Missouri], to assert the title of himself and his family to freedom.
The declaration is . . . that he and the defendant are citizens of different States; that... he is a citizen of Missouri, and the defendant a citizen of New York.

...


The question is simply this: Can a negro, whose ancestors were imported into this country, and sold as slaves, become a member of the political community formed and brought into existence by the Constitution of the United States, and as such become entitled to all the rights, and privileges, and immunities, guarantied by that instrument to the citizen? One of which rights is the privilege of suing in a court of the United States in the cases specified in the Constitution....

The words "people of the United States" and "citizens" are synonymous terms, and mean the same thing. They both describe the political body who ... form the sovereignty, and who hold the power and conduct the Government through their representatives.... The question before us is, whether the class of persons described in the plea in abatement [people of African ancestry] compose a portion of this people, and are constituent members of this sovereignty? We think they are not, and that they are not included, and were not intended to be included, under the word "citizens" in the Constitution, and can therefore claim none of the rights and privileges which that instrument provides for and secures to citizens of the United States. On the contrary, they were at that time considered as a subordinate and inferior class of beings, who had been subjugated by the dominant race, and, whether emancipated or not, yet remained subject to their authority, and had no rights or privileges but such as those who held the power and the Government might choose to grant them. [Italics and underling are mine].

  

            So, here we are, 156 years after the Dred Scott decision was handed down.  It was overturned after the 13^th and 14^th Amendments were ratified  (1865 and 1868, respectively).  The 13^th Amendment abolished slavery.  The 14^th Amendment granted all rights and privileges of citizenship to the once enslaved.  And, today, we are debating whether or not gay people ought to have the full and fair rights and privileges of citizenship in the world’s greatest democracy?  Yes, we are. 

            Let’s face it:  we love to hate.  We seem to need some group or other to hate.  Now, the question is, do we have the guts, the grace to stop hatred and discrimination for this, I want to say last bastion of hatred, but I know we will find others, so, do we?  Do we have the guts to “give” gay people the right to pursue, “…life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness…” that our Declaration of  Independence set forth as the absolute conditions of democratic citizenry?  We can only hope.

  

Because, this guy:

Antonin Scalia

And, this guy:

Clarence Thomas

                                                                                                (ironic, no?)

And, this guy:

Samuel Alito

And, most times, this guy:

…get to decide, according to their various predilections, what will and will not be Constitutional in our republic…Just as Roger Taney’s court of 1857, that got it so right (yeah), in the Dred Scott case.

‘Tis true, what old Ben Franklin told a woman, outside of the hot room where the Constitutional Convention had convened. 

She asked, and I paraphrase, “What kind of government have you bequeathed to us?”

Franklin answered, “A republic, madam, if you can keep it.”

To those of us who believe the full glory of this country has not been reached, but that we can get closer to it, we await the hearing today, and the Roberts’ court decision, with the wish that we can hold onto the hem of this republic, pull it close, embrace it firmly, and KEEP IT, for all generations to come.

And, let us never forget...

Beautiful Boy

Beautiful,
Beautiful, beautiful,
Beautiful Boy,

Before you go to sleep,
Say a little prayer,
Every day in every way,
It's getting better and better,

Beautiful,
Beautiful, beautiful,
Beautiful Boy…

I can hardly wait,
To see you to come of age,
But I guess we'll both
Just have to be patient,
Yes it's a long way to go…

                                                                    Beautiful,
                                                             Beautiful, beautiful,
                                                                 Beautiful Boy…

                                                                                            “Beautiful Boy” – John Lennon

            An Algerian boy, Mahdi, with liquid brown eyes that hold the sadness of what he has seen within them, and the noor—the light of God—shining through them, soft-spoken and gentle, has joined my class.  He was afraid to say why he believes Muslim and Arab countries have problems with Israel and the United States: 

“I am afraid, you know, um, that, uh, they will be, uh, how you say?... mad at me, not like me, so…I not going to say.”

Another student, Edgar, says, “You think we’re gonna be mad at you if you tell us what you been through or think or something?  Man, we’re not like that.  You can say what you want.

“No…I scared and, uh, should not…I should not…”

“We want to hear what you have to say.  It’s ok, man.  We’re cool.  It’s ok.”

“You,” I tell him, “are safe here, respected here, and have the freedom to say anything.  In this country you have the right to speak freely. No one will hate you or hurt you.  Mahdi, you are part of our family.  We can agree or disagree with each other, but you—and everyone here—is loved and appreciated.  And no one will go crazy or say hurtful things to you.  Ask them.  I do not allow ignorance or attacks.  It just doesn’t happen here.  Everyone knows, I protect you.  I protect you and everyone in our class.  You don’t have to speak.  Just know that you can and no harm will come to you.  Do you understand?”

“Yes.  I think I know this.  I…Ok.  I…in Algeria, we see very, very bad things on the news.  And, it hurt us, you know?  And…

Mahdi goes on to tell us about the Israeli blockade of food and medicine from the Palestinian people, the soldiers with guns who provoke the Palestinian people, and a little bit about how Islam is misunderstood, and that terrorists who claim to be Muslim are not Muslim, that Islam is a peaceful religion.

“You know how we say ‘Hi, uh Hello?  Salaam alaikum.’  It mean ‘Peace be with you.’

I tell him “Shalom” means “Peace”.  He smiles and tells me he knows this and is happy.  He tells me he has Jewish friends, and knows, "Not all of everyone...uh anyone bad or the same."

“And, and I want to tell you a story about the Prophet Muhammed.  He have a Jewish neighbor, and the man, he put garbage in front of Prophet Muhammed’s door everyday for many, many days.  Then, one day, Muhammed see no garbage by his door.  A neighbor say the Jewish man who was mean to him was sick.  So, Muhammed, he go see, uh, visit, yeah?  Ok, he visit him. The man say, ‘Why you here?  I put garbage by your door.  We not like each other.  Why you here?  And Muhammed, he say, ‘Because you are sick and I come to help you.’  The man, he say, ‘Why?  I put the garbage by your house.’  And Muhammed say, ‘The garbage is thrown away.  Do not worry about it.  I am here because we are brothers, all God’s children, and I here to help you, to make things better.  I love you.”  And the man, he cry and hug Muhammed and say, ‘I want to be like you.  I want to be a Muslim.’”

We talk about conversion.  We talk about getting along without converting.  We talk about respect for all people, no matter their religion.  Mahdi wants us to know Muhammed and Islam are good, not like some people think.  We talk about ignorance and how it hurts our world.  We talk about forgiveness and how it helps all of us to be better people, is a gift we give ourselves and those we forgive.

Mahdi stays after school.  I know he wants to talk.  He tells me why many in the Arab and Muslim countries have problems with Israel and blame the United States for so much.  He tells me that the news here favors the Israelis and does not show the real horror the Palestinians must live with.  We talk about the media, censorship, staged scenes, and photo-shopped images.  We talk about wrongs on all sides.  He understands.  He even knows some people on both sides do not want peace because it would mean a loss of power to those who “negotiate.” It is an intense conversation.  But he has another story to tell, one that explains why he struggles to forgive Israel, even though he believes that forgiveness is good and right. 

                        “Ms. Reale, can I tell you this I saw that hurt me inside?

I am moved that this beautiful boy wants to talk, to get this out, and that he trusts me. 

“Miss, I was watching the television one day, and I see an Israeli man, and he with a Palestinian woman.  All around her there is Israeli men.  And this man (he clasps his hand around his forearm), this man, he bite her.  He bite her, Miss, like an animal bite.  Then she scream and he throw her up against a wall, and all the other men, they start throwing rocks at her.  They don’t stop.  They hurt her with these rocks and they don’t stop.  And she cry and have no place to go.  This hurt me here (he puts his hand over his heart), and make me to get sick.  That what make us mad over there, in my country.  And we don’t know why the United States, they don’t help her, you know?  Help the Palestinian people more.  They like nobody, like dirt.  But they are human being, you know?  We all God’s children.”

Yes, Beautiful Boy, I know.  And, I know I am blessed to have you in my class, my life.  And I know the world will be a better place with both of us in it, as we try to forgive and love—even when it is so very hard to do so.  That is where grace comes in:  It is easy to love when all is well.  It takes grace to love when life is so very, very difficult.

There is a proverb that says, “When the student is ready, the teacher will come.”   We are all students and teachers.  I am glad I was ready for Mahdi.

           

Torn

There's nothing where he used to lie
The conversation has run dry
That's what's going on
Nothing's fine, I'm torn…


I'm all out of faith
This is how I feel

I'm cold and I am shamed,

Bound and broken on the floor…

Illusion never changed
Into something real

I’m wide awake and I can see

                                                             The perfect sky is torn…

“Torn” – Natalie Imbruglia

            There is nothing more brutal than watching children stand at the foot of their parent’s casket.  So solemn, small, and all alone.  Unable to speak.  Just tears, so many, many tears.  Our brother-in-law died.  He was 51.  He leaves behind four children.  My sister-in-law is a widow at 44 years old. 

            We didn’t see the kids as much as we wanted to because of him, and my sister-in-law as well.  He had a great heart, and was in some ways beautiful, but had no control over his mouth, his unreasonable expectations, his tortured self, and it was a bitter brew.  To have known him almost all my life—we grew up together—and know his astounding work ethic, his intelligence, his humor, his graciousness as a host, his true love of us all, and to know the other side, so dark and damaging and dominant was heart-breaking.  And our love for him was very real, and we were always torn. His childhood wounds—he lost both his parents young—were never worked through, never cleaned and bound.  He ranted and raged and took his pain out on all of us.  So we had this terrible choice to make:  try to be there, overlook the abuse, get sick and stay around, or go.  We left.  For years.  And we were always torn.

            Regret is a motherfucker.  You see the kids, the casket, and, all at once, you want to make things right, make everything all right.  And there is no way.  And you tell the kids you love them.  You tell them you are there for them.  And your nephew says, “But you weren’t around that much.  Why?  Why weren’t you around?”  And you want to die. And you can’t tell him how badly you were torn.

            My therapist told me what they tell everyone, “You cannot control anyone, only yourself.” A basic tenet of psychotherapy; too bad Woody Allen didn’t get this.  So, anyway, you choose self-preservation.  You stay away, in angst and depression, and wonder, at a time like this—when all is said and done—did that self-preservation thing feel better?  Better than you do now?  And that “I gotta put myself first” thing therapists tell us, well, how did that work out for us?  …But you weren’t around that much.  Why?... Where were you?...

            Do I feel any better now, when all has been said and done?  The answer is, I’m torn.  Yes, I feel better for not having to watch the kids being damaged.  Trust me, I was not passive when we were around.  I tried for years to do something about it, but my efforts were futile, and I was ferocious in my frustration and fears for the kids.  No, I do not feel better because I love those kids and hate the years of missing them.  But, I knew we were all limited in what we could do.  I was realistic.  We hung in there for years.  And we left when we started feeling sick inside ourselves just being there or thinking about going there.  And, I’m torn for another guilt-laden reason:  I am feeling relief that he is gone.  I am feeling a way back into the kids’ lives that his mental illness blocked for so long.  And, I’m feeling that maybe—fuck the “maybe;” this is no time for equivocation; the truth is that I believe the kids are better off without him.  I hate that. But, this is how I feel; I’m cold and I am shamed, even though I know our greatest hope for another, for any other, never changes into something real when you are wide awake…And, again I’m torn:  My sister and I lost a parent while still children ourselves, and I know that loss is primal, is, especially when relationships are contentious, forever.  I hate that they will suffer all the insufferable feelings.  I hate that we can’t do anything much about that.  And I hate that I have these awful feelings about him being gone. There is nothing more brutal than watching children stand at the foot of their parent’s casket… I live this truth.  Ann and I were those children. Loss is a motherfucker.  Guilt is a motherfucker.  And, nothing’s fine; I’m torn.

            Buddha said, “Life is difficult.”  What a fucking understatement.  LIFE  is CONFLICT, and just how much you can stand, and how much you can resolve or affect it in any way that makes the living any easier.   Life is a motherfucker.   Nobody survives it.  We search for our purpose.  We hope to make something good of our time here.  We don’t even know, empirically, if there’s a there after here; we pray there is, maybe even believe, and hope it is grand. We grope around, make mistakes, commit our sins, make amends, fall and fail, resound, succeed, witness miracles—even make them, seek to grow, be our best selves (if we are somewhat alright in the head), are funny, crazy, selfish, self-less. We are amazing.  We are all this, do all this without ever truly knowing to what end in the end.  So, I am really not all out of faith; I mean, look, the Republicans just went out to dinner with the President, gay marriage is gaining tremendous support and acceptance, most of us don’t want a crazy person to get a gun, even if it means delving into private mental health histories and making legal gun-getting harder, and I have had a full human experience, ever-growing compassion, and a deep ability to love and love more, love better, despite my early, primal loss, and, probably, because of it.

           

            Hemingway said, and I paraphrase, “Life breaks everyone, and some of us get stronger in the broken places.”   Breakdowns give us the chance to rise up.  Shatterings can let the light in.  We, all of us, are torn.  And where the heart has been rent, love finds its place to repair.  That is not just a wish.  It is my belief.   It is what I have lived.  And, for our little ones, it will be, although and because they are torn.