The Three Men I’ve Loved

The classic adage states: “it is better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all.” While there may lay truth to this saying, it begs the question of comfort or consolation. 

Now as a single woman in my early 30s, in the 21st century, recently out of a breakup I feel a bit like the protege of Carry Bradshaw’s character from Sex and the City: a wounded yet still somewhat hopeful romantic just aimlessly looking for my person in what seems like a dating apacolps of swiping, ghosts and more misses than hits. This isn’t how I pictured where I’d be at 33 years old. It’s a far cry from is as a matter of fact. Yet here I am, trying to make sense of it. 

In the midst of my daily work commute, and in between teaching students about double digit multiplication and the California regions, I got to thinking about my dating history. From the handfuls of weirdo first dates; the douchebags that reveal themselves after a few dates; and the no rhyme or reason ghosts that don’t call back, there are three men in my time of dating that have stood out. And these three men, I have indeed loved, and each one has been vastly different from the last. 

The first man I’ve loved, we’ll call him John. John was a classic story of unrequited love. I was in the college, as a junior transfer to San Francisco State University.  Not two weeks after my mom moved me up to the hilly city, John (a friend from SoCal) moved to the east bay for a job. He was a familiar face that was comforting as I navigated living in a city of strangers and living outside my parents' place for the first time. We were the best of friends, and spent lots of time together. We even trained for our first half marathon together with a couple other familiar faces. I even met and vetted some of his lady suiters. In the midst of my first year of living in San Francisco, and much to my dismay, I fell for John. Confessing my feelings to John was one of the most nerve racking things I’ve done. And not because I was fearful of rejection, but because I knew rejection was imminent. Yet, even when he didn’t return my feelings, I don’t regret sharing mine with him. Thankfully, and to his credit he was a perfect gentleman about my declaration and confession. It took awhile for me to be okay; and even for John and I to be okay. Yet with most things of the heart it took a decent amount of time for that to happen. Now over a decade later, I look to John as a close long standing friend and often refer to him as a big brother from another mother. Our resilience in the face of strain, speaks highly of the kind of friendship we have, and the kind of people we both are. 

John taught me friendship of the most loyal kind. 

The second man I’ve loved, we’ll call him Charles. Charles was a classic story of love at first sight, and a Prince Charming by most modern definitions. Charles and I matched on Eharmony some years ago. Even the mere sight of his profile smile and stance got me reeled in. Hook line and sinker, and I was a goner! After the back and forth message dance, we met a week later for our first date. Despite my confidence and experience dating, I was nervous as I hadn’t been in a long time. And after a five hour first date that flew by with him ending it with a walk to my car, and asking me to go to Mass, I keeled over with my hand to my chest in an enthusiastic “yasss!”  A man who wants to take me to church? Sign me up! The man wined and dined me; he made all the moves; and was the first man I had brought home to meet the family since high school. He footed every bill, and showered me with gifts, flowers and all the words any girl would want to hear. He was sincere, heartfelt, classy and gentlemanly. A single look from him would make me weak at the knees and melt. Charles was the first time my heart felt at home. It was a surreal feeling, and one that’s hard to explain or rationalize, but if you know the feeling, you just know. 

Like most things that seem too good to be true, it sadly was the case with Charles. Months into a relationship with me, he came to realize he jumped the gun with me too quickly after a previous relationship (yes, I was his rebound girl...don’t ever be anyone’s rebound). I was shocked and shattered when he broke my heart in his car, in the parking garage on the eve of my 31st birthday.  The last time I ever saw or heard from Charles was the afternoon after, as he took me to a painfully romantic lunch overlooking Newport Beach, and he dropped me off at my place as we stood with solemn dispositions in my driveway. And after we said our final goodbyes I turned away from him and his car and walked with a heavy heart to my doorstep before collapsing and erupting in tears after closing the door with a broken heart. It took me a very long time to heal from that heartbreak. 

It’s incredible after all we shared that I haven’t seen or ran into him since that last goodbye. Just like that he was gone, disappeared from my life, never to be seen again; except his memory that remained like a ghost lurking to torment me with it’s unrelenting reminders of his trace. For some time after the breakup, I almost wondered, did it even happen? Was it real or just a dream? And with time, my heart did in fact heal and I was able to move past it. I knew I had reached that final point of healing when I stumbled upon an old necklace he gave me, and the sight and memories that ensued didn’t bring a tear to my eye. After selling it on Poshmark to some woman in Alabama without any hesitation, I knew my heart had healed. I was finally and truly free. Time really does heal all wounds. 

Charles taught me what it feels like to have your heart feel at home; he taught me what I deserve and how I deserve to be treated (well, aside from the whole birthday breakup timing); he taught me the magic in romance and the butterflies that follow from a connection that’s difficult to put into words. 

Bear with me as this is starting to sound a lot like an Ariana Grande song. 

Now the third and final man I’ve loved is quite different from the other two. But all three of them are not like the others, so touché. We’ll call this man Daniel. My story with Daniel is an on again/off again sort of a story. We met by chance when a friend of mine dragged me to a Catholic mixer of sorts in LA on a summer night over a year ago. At the closing of the evening he approached me and the chemistry was instant when we both quickly discovered we’re both Catholic school teachers; and one of his colleagues was a classmate of mine from grad school. Like most savvy men in this modern world, he was smooth to find me on Facebook, and we hit it off. Daniel, certainly made some grand gestures; and sure was a sucker for these gestures. He showed me what a man of action and service looks like.  And for the first time in a long time I felt I could be myself with someone romantically. I didn’t have to put up a facade, and I could really be vulnerable with my insecurities. It felt natural to be with Daniel; it felt good to be with Daniel; there was no fluff, no smoke and mirrors with Daniel, but it felt the most real and honest scenario. I felt the most comfortable with him. 

Believe me when I say, I’ve never been a proponent for the whole on again/off again relationships, but I was certainly eating my words in this case. After breaking up, moving on, and several months passing by, Daniel popped back in my head, and I could not shake it for the life of me; I fought it for over a month. So despite any other dating move I’ve made, or despite better judgement, I reached out, and we reconnected. And while I wasn’t sure what to expect in this uncharted territory, it was a great reunion. If I’m being honest, we were both pleasantly surprised how we just picked up right where we left off. And why wouldn’t we? There wasn’t any dramatic end to our initial breakup. So why wouldn’t our reunion be anything but good natured? To quote a line from How I Met Your Mother, “when you date someone a second time around, you aren’t starting over, you're picking up where you left off.” And that was indeed the case for Daniel and me. Regardless, of the stigma of “getting back together,” it was so good to reconnect, and it felt great to be in his presence again, and catch up over the past few months. Having dated before, there was a new sense of steady awareness of each other, and how to operate. And after some more months of being together and dating, and doing all the things we used to do, it felt comforting and familiar. I was pleased that some things were indeed different (on both ends), and I was content with taking it slow and steady. I enjoyed the similar humor and silly antics we both did to each other. The daily teacher rants or stories from his school and mine was comforting to share and we definitely appreciated the fellow teacher venting partner. 

Without disclosing too much information, the relationship was good, and I’d argue it was better the second time around. We didn’t have any dramatic argumentments; and neither one of us lied, cheated or stole from each other. We genuinely enjoyed each other’s company, and had plenty in common, not least of all the attraction. But much to my dismay, he broke it off for reasons that I’m still trying to come to terms with and accept. And it wasn’t until being in the shadow of this recent breakup, I came to realize that I am in love with Daniel. Great, after the fact, I figure this out - fantastic! 

Daniel taught me more than I can put into words. He taught me how a man can take care of me physically; how his actions speak louder than his words; and he showed me how a man can go out of his way for me. He taught me a level of intimacy that comes with insecurities, personal demons, and overall health; and the rawness and sincerity that can come with it. It was a gift to see just how wonderful that level of intimacy can be.

Now don’t get it twisted, by no means was our relationship a bed of roses, or some unrealistic fairy tale where he swept me off my feet, but there was still goodness between us and our relationship. I cannot speak for Daniel, but for me, it was the hardest I worked mentally and emotionally in a relationship, and with that, and for what it’s worth I treasure my time more because of it. Despite the end of our run, and even our second run, it was still worth it and worth wide, and there were plenty of moments that were fulfilling.  In the midst of the hurt and heartbreak I bear, you’d think I’d regret our second go around. Simply put: I don’t. Something drew me back to him, and while I may not understand why, I have to put my faith and trust that there was a purpose for our reunion. While he brought goodness to my life for the time we were together, and what he taught me about relationships, I know (at the risk of stroking my own ego) I know I brought a level of reciprocity to him and taught him a thing or two in our process as well. 

With all sincerity, I wish him nothing but the very best. The man is a good guy, with a good heart; he’s just not my guy. C’est la vie! Perhaps one day in the distant future, once our time isn’t a bittersweet memory, but a just a fond memory, we will run into each other, and we’ll talk fondly with each other before wishing each other goodwill. 

There ya have it, three very different men, and three times I’ve fallen in love. They say that third times a charm, well I’m hoping for me, the fourth time will be forever. So wherever my forever man is I hope he can have the friendship John gave me; the romance Charles gave me; and the real intimacy and acts of service Daniel showed me.

So while I don’t exactly appreciate the old adage of “it is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all." I rather cling to the revised phrase by Hunter Hayes, “it’s better to have loved and lost, than lost the nerve to even try.” So while I’m doing the work to take care of myself post breakup and heartbreak, I remind myself in the midst of the process, this too shall pass. The clouds will clear and the sun will shine again, and life does indeed go on. 

Give it Time

As an early 30 something year old woman, I’m no stranger to dating, relationships and breakups.  And while it may be cliche, this timeless adage remains true: time heals all things. The words of this saying rained heavy and true for me recently.

It was over the summer, and I found myself spring cleaning; in the summer. Go figure. As I was going through drawers and cabinets in this seasonal purge, I stumbled on something; something I buried deep in the depths of my room. It was something I forgot I even had, and it was something that held so much hurt. It was a necklace an ex boyfriend gave me a couple of years ago. Something so small, held so much meaning, and once brought me so much joy; and yet conversely in the aftermath and shambles of the sudden and dramatic breakup, caused me deep and immense pain.

For a while, I kept the necklace out on my dresser where all my other jewelry sat. It posed both as a symbol of false hope, and a dagger of pain of what once was. Admittingly, I allowed this symbol to sit on my dresser and remind me of the hurt for far too long.  At some point, I went through a purge of the relationship: I threw away the love notes, and deleted all the text messages and pictures we had together. But that necklace - it remained. I shoved it in shoe box that sat in the back of my cabinet closet. For a while, I forgot about it. And as it does, life went on.

Months after the breakup, I still found myself heartbroken, and struggling to allow myself to feel or even love again. No man I went out with once or twice even came close to the pedestal I held my ex on. I built up that metaphoric wall, and I cut men off left and right. I would rip men apart if they even so slightly offended me. As current jargon goes: I became a bit of a savage. It was a pattern (if I’m honest) I was in denial of.  And as much as I’m embarrassed to admit it, this common thought ran through my head: “how will I ever find another man that comes close to him?” Hopelessness and severe heartbreak was the cloud that followed me.

Now, as I found myself time and space later, stumbling on this necklace, in a routine summer cleaning session, the pain that I once felt at the sight of this necklace was all but gone - in its entirety.  The memory of him and the relationship blew into my consciousness, and for the first time I didn’t feel a dagger to my gut, and the act of holding back tears wasn’t the dance I did. Rather, I stood in gratitude of him and our time together. And the sentimental value I held to this necklace was finally gone. This distinct thought ran through my head: “yea, that happened; it was good while it lasted; it hurt like hell when it ended, but now it’s done...it’s finally done.” And in that exact moment, and with no hesitation of sentimental value, I posted that necklace for sale online and shipped it off to a woman in Georgia within the same week. My hands were finally clean of the heartbreak. Finally.

Now either by chance or circumstance, I met and quickly started dating someone new around the time I finally let that piece of jewelry go. And despite my previous protest of any other suitor, I allowed this man to stick around for a while longer than one or two dates. In good old fashion - fashion - we met in person, at a young adult mixer of sorts, that a girlfriend of mine dragged me to.  And although I protested driving through an hour of LA traffic to get to this function, it was a pleasant surprise to meet this man by the end of the evening.

I was pretending to be interested in some of the pamphlets in the back of the room, as I waited for my wing woman to come out from the bathroom, when he approached me and struck up a conversation. There was instant chemistry as we quickly learned that we are both Catholic school teachers and one of his colleagues was a classmate of mine from grad school at LMU, and a rapid exchange of teacher tales proceeded the small world connection. And in good 21st century fashion, the man looked me up on Facebook the next day, and the rest is history.

As our relationship developed and grew, he surprised me with his acts of service. Helping me set up my classroom, coming to my aid after a knee injury, and a somewhat grand gesture of friendly peer pressure at a karaoke night were just some of the ways he wooed me, made me feel safe, and I felt I could finally trust again. I finally felt like I could let that wall down. And as all relationships do, we went through highs and lows. He shared pieces about his life story and demons he battles with me, as I did as well. I affectionately annoyed him with videos and pictures on our dates, and I enjoyed watching his epic lip singing and ridiculous valley girl accents, and we each would vent or share a laugh from our teacher chronicles from the day.  Our date nights in, with take out, microwaveable popcorn, and a movie as I fell asleep in his arms; trying to keep up with his 6’3 height on any afternoon weekend hike; lesson planning or grading side by side; or trying to get that white boy to dance with me and some coworkers on a few occasions will always be a fond memory for me.

And even though we didn’t last, I don’t regret the time we had together. I needed him for that time, and at the risk of sounding arrogant, perhaps he needed me as well. While we both are great individuals, there were issues of compatibility we both realized some time in. And while the end of our relationship held hurt, and some anger for me, in how he handled a situation, I’m grateful for the last peaceful conversation we had before wishing each other well and going our separate ways. When it comes down to it, our time ran its course, and we had to count our losses.

As I’ve hit milestones of this breakup it’s taken me a bit off guard, and yes it’s caused me some tears; though I’m not ashamed to have cried. In the words of Usher, sometimes you just gotta let it burn. In the meantime I’ve kept busy with what I love doing and those who love me close.

And while there are still unanswered questions in my head, I realized I had to let those lingering questions go. I realized, as much as I wanted more clarity (because who doesn’t like more clarity) at the heart of the questions it really didn’t matter what his answers were. In the words of someone I look to as a father figure at work, he said to me: “Babzy, you’re too much of a gem to worry or waste your time thinking about his answers or reasons why. Because really, why does it matter? And what would it change?” It was then, I realized my own sense of closure came from my ability to decide I don’t need his answers. It wouldn’t define or change my view of myself or my sense of self worth; and it certainly won’t dictate my ability to move forward and meet someone new. It was in this realization, I found a moment of personal growth and confidence.

Now as I compare my inner thoughts, I feel a very distinct difference in the way I feel now (post breakup), then from when I felt two years ago as I held that necklace (post breakup).  The overwhelming sense of content, peace and gratitude now, is a far cry from the feeling of despair and hopelessness I felt nearly two years ago, in the shambles of my breakup with necklace boy.  And that right there is growth in emotional and mental maturity. Forgive me as I dust off my shoulder in pride for myself.

They say you learn more about what you’re looking for in a partner after each breakup. But I can’t help but think after each significant breakup I’ve had, I gain a new sense of clarity of who I am, what’s important to me, and the person I want to become. In two words: self awareness.

While there are still moments this man crosses my mind, and at moments it’s been tough, heavy thoughts haven’t prevailed or clouded my days. They simply pass. The hurt and anger that was once there, has been replaced with serenity and forgiveness. There is strength and wisdom as I turn to people I trust to confide in, and I feel cool, calm and collected. Instead of feeling: “how will I ever find someone again,” I instead feel: “I know there’s someone else out there for me, it’s just a matter of time.” Am I ready to go back on the market now? Well that’s debatable, but I’m taking it in strides. But again the timeless adage rains true: time has healed.

Remind Me of Myself

Would you

would you please

please remind me of the things,

the things that inspire me to

...write...

That gift is now but a distant tease.

Remind me

remind me of

what stirs

what stirs my soul

to dig & dive deep

deep in my heart & mind

and let thoughts churn,

churn before I

...write...

For alas the thoughts,

the thoughts & words

...words...

that once

once upon a time

would flood my mind,

they are now

now but a fleeting whisper,

a whisper that

that I can’t,

can’t seem to decipher

decipher or decode.

For my thoughtful gaze once

once upon a time flooded on the drop

drop of a dime.

I’ve forgot how to

how to decipher or decode those

those fleeting

fleeting thoughts into

into words & wishful wisdom

...words…

that I use to

use to construct with ease.

What happened to my ability to

...write..?

That gift, it’s like,

like a not so distant dream.

Those inspiring and

thought

provoking

...words...

have all but vanished.

Those vulnerable and honest

confessions

honest at times to a

fault

have escaped me.

Its absence is a silent & ghostful grip

grip on my memory,

and

and it’s choking me.

Where have those

...words...

those words gone?

They have

have all but disappeared?

Those words

words that would

that would cut to the

heart

the heart of the matter

and speak of grit

grit & grime

grime & slime

And from

from time to time

even offend others

or move them

move them from something

something universal

of something human

of some common human

human struggle

or even bring

bring tears

tears to the eyes

eyes of others.

and touch something

something within

within the core of their

heart

& perhaps even

the

core of their soul.

Those words

those words are

are but a fleeting memory

memory of

me.

I can’t even grasp

grasp them anymore.

Where have they

have they

Gone?

Perhaps they’re playing hide & seek?

Yet finding them appears to be bleak.

Where have

have they

hidden?

They are just

just a fleeting

fleeting memory.

A memory that I

that I once could mold

could mold & mend.

I use to do

do so with ease.

Those allusive

...words...

Those allusive

...words...

they tease me.  

they allude it’s presence

to me.

They linger

they linger & lurch

and tease me,

tease me of

of a former self.

of myself.

I long for those

those half one liners

and those

those full one liners

that would cross

cross my mind.

They’d cross & grace

grace my conscience with

with the flow of the wind.

Or as a ray of grace

grace illuminated a patch

a patch of grass

grass through the

the tree branches

on a afternoon

afternoon jog.

Or when those grace filled

grace filled words

words would flood

flood my mind

my mind with a simple

chat

with a

friend

a friend that’d utter some

some profound

profound wisdom.

And my mind

my mind would

race

race & scramble

as I’d strain

strain to retain those

those words &

wisdom.

I miss it.

I miss the poetic

the poetic thoughts

thoughts that would

that would downpour

downpour my keyboard

as I sipped

sipped on a latte

with earphones in

earphones in while

while Alanis Morissette

Miss Morissette sang

sang about

irony.

As I sit & wonder

Wonder & ponder

ponder & struggle

To write,

I can’t help but consider

How long this

block

will last?

For it’s been near a

year…

A year since I’ve been able to

...write...

But mostly I wonder

I wonder

will I ever find

find that gift

gift to write

write

ever

again?

Vanilla Oreo

Disclaimer: this blog post is a fond and funny teacher memory from my first years teaching in West Philadelphia. It comes from a school where the demographics were and are still Black American. Being a white woman, I am keenly aware of the fact that my experiences with these students for the two years that I taught gave me a sliver of insight into their reality. Just because I have some experience teaching in this dynamic does not make me an expert - it gives me some experience and just a little insight. In other words, I mean no disrespect to the community I served and taught (least of all these lively students I taught and came to love) in this post as I try to convey a fond memory.

It’s been a minute since I’ve taken to my keyboard in some recreational writing. Feeling motivated (and if I'm completely honest) having the time away from 35 energetic nine year olds, as I enjoy some much needed R&R, I’ve decided to stretch those creative writing muscles.

As I’ve talked and shared with many friends and family of this new chapter of mine, as I’ve embarked on teaching in a homeroom setting, the kind of stamina is quite different than what I’m use to; and the sheer class size has been quite a shock to me. After all, I’ve been a teacher for 7 years now; I ain't no wet behind the ears naive sap to the classroom. I am all too familiar with the demands; the dynamics and the duties of a teacher. Nevertheless there are some differences I have been intrigued to observe in the demographics of students I face now; the obvious being the way my students express themselves in the classroom. It has truly been a night and day difference.

It was the fall of 2011 and I found myself in my second year teaching in West Philadelphia. I was still new to the profession - no doubt about that - but I had a few tricks up my sleeve; I had some wisdom. The operative word being: some. In my role at the school I was an English Language Arts (ELA) teacher to all the middle school grades. I provided extra support to 6th and 7th grade students who struggled in reading and writing; and I was (for lack of better words) an honors ELA teacher to the 8th graders. Because I had the luxury of small class sizes, I waited after the first couple of weeks of school before making a seating chart. In this way, I could observe student dynamics. In other words, I watched very carefully who I should sit as far away from each other as possible - for their sake and for my sanity. It was the last day of my “trial period” and I definitely got some clarity about two of my 8th grade boys.

Fifteen 8th grade students strutted into my 3rd floor classroom with overhead notes on the screen, in the front of the room, waiting for them to copy said notes in their notebooks. Most of the students found a seat rather quickly, and without much fuss - except two outspoken boys named Zachary and Romel. Zachary snagged a desk that Romel apparently had his sights on. Romel approaches Zachary's space (puffed chest and all) and says, “Yo, you be sitting in my desk!” To which Zachary spits back with, “I don’t see yo name on it!” To which I reply to Romel: “Romel, there's an open desk right next to Zachary. Why don’t you grab that one?” I then start with my lecture, and all is well in the air….for about 5 minutes.

Cue Romel...“Ms. Quigs, I can’t see the board to write down all these notes, cuz SOMEBODY (as he swerves his head towards his challenger) be in my seat.” Cue another head turn and eye roll towards Zachary. You don’t think Zachary was about to take that line lying down do you? Nope!
With just as much aggression in his voice Zachary fires back, with his arms held out in good challenger fashion, “Say something else and I'm about to pop your head off!” To which I defuse the situation with my mantra for that class period: “boys, boys, boys, you’re in 8th grade, you don’t want Ms. Quigley to solve your problems for you.”

Another two minuets pass before Romel instigates again, with a similar overtly passive aggressive (if that makes sense) line about not being able to see the screen. And of course, Zachary is quick with a line that is equally as defensive and aggressive. This was a verbal showdown happening in my classroom, and my patience was thin for this kind of classroom banter. But I am a woman of chances (three to be exact) and we were at strike two at this point. So, I reply the same way: “boys, boys, boys, you’re in 8th grade, you don’t want Ms. Quigley to solve your problems for you.”

And yet, another two minuets pass and Romel just can’t seem to contain himself. “Oh, Ms. Quigs I wish I could see the screen, if only SOMEBODY hadn’t taken my seat!” I almost wondered at this point if his beef was about the seat, or more about not backing down from a verbal showdown. And in the same breath, Zachary, hallars back with another hostile line; “Say one more word, and see what happens!”

And that was strike three - and my patience was gone and done!

In a series of swift, silent and stealth motions I shocked these boys and they were rendered speechless - finally! With a stack of papers in my hand and an empty desk in front of me, I slam the stack of papers on the empty desk; this is followed by my high heel shoes click-clacking across my hardwood classroom floor, before I stop dead cold in front of Romel’s desk and say with a tense whisper: “get up.”

He finches his whole body in his shock and startled reaction before saying, “whaaat?”

“I didn’t stutter Romel, I said, get, up…”

With more hesitation then I have ever seen in him, he stood up with cautious and apprehensive eyes, (almost tremblingly) not knowing what was about to happen to him. And without a word, I slid his desk down the room before stopping directly in front of the overhead screen; and before doing the same to his chair. As I take a few steps back, I look at Romel, before looking at his desk that is literally front and center, and say, “have a seat.”

With confused and shocked eyes of what just happened, he takes his seat - front and center, and smack dab in front of the projector screen, as he now has no issue seeing what notes to take down. He had to cock his head all the way backward to see and transcribe his notes in his notebook. “I just solved your problem for you Romel - you’re welcome.”

In unison, the rest of his classmates, bury their faces in their arms in failed attempts to muffle their laughter from the sight they just witnessed. One of their biggest class clown instigators was just put in his place and silenced. My alter ego was dusting off my shoulder - certainly a proud classroom management moment for me.

Now the kicker to this moment was after the fact as the class period ended, and my students were changing classes. Three other students (neither Romel or Zachary) approach me to offer their praises to me.

With books in their hands, and raised eyebrows, they say with a sigh, “Ms. Quigs, we gotta tell ya something. We weren't sure ‘bout ya. Ya know, ya be white - no offense or nothin’ - but ya know? Anyhow, Ms. Quigley, ya got a lil ghetto in ya! Ya be like a vanilla Oreo - white on the outside, but there be a lil chocolate ghetto on ya inside!” I chucked with a grin as I corked my head to the side, “I’ll take that as a compliment I suppose - thank you.”

And I still (to this day) take that as a compliment.

What's Heaven Like Dad?

Dad, what was it like? What was it like to die? When you passed in the middle of the night, four years ago today, as the rest of us had fallen asleep; did your soul stay for a bit? Did you wait for us to go to sleep? Did you choose to pass quietly, after we all gave you our consent the night before; and we said our goodbyes, and gave you kisses as you lay barely alive before we all went to bed at midnight in exhaustion?

Was that intentional, that you took your last breath once we were all tucked away and asleep? And as you breathed your last breath, did you hear a voice softly call you by name? Was is muffled at first and as they continued to call you by name did the sound of their voice become clear? And as you let out your last breath in the stillness of the night, was someone there to greet you; like an Angel or perhaps someone you once knew that went before you? What was it like to leave your body? Did you open your eyes anew? And the pain that plagued your body, I imagine it was gone; but could you feel your spirit, like I can sense the presence of my body? Did you sit up from your body, or maybe levitate out of yourself?

Yet again I wonder, did you linger and wait till we found you pale and cold at 3:55 that morning, on September 3^rd 2013? When I approached your death bed, before falling to my knees in screaming tears, were you there beside me with your old friend who went before you, or that Angel companion? When all I could do for two hours before they came to take your body was hold your lifeless hand; were you holding me in your soulful embrace? And as they wheeled you out of the house and into the hearse and I began to keel over in screaming sorrow, did you and the Angel paint that beautiful sunrise as comfort to us, as a sign of your love for us?

Hours later as I stood in that small room later that morning; that room in the mortuary; that room they laid you in; I stood as close to you as I could, and I studied and stroked your face as I began talking to you in my head; and I began screaming to you in my head: “Dad, don’t make me leave you! Dad, don’t go; Dad, please don’t go! Dad don’t leave me! Dad, PLEASE don’t leave me! DAD…no…please don't go!!!” Could you and the Angel hear me in my own head? Did you reply? Did you hold me in the moment? Did my screaming thoughts bring you to tears, like they brought me to tears? But you can’t cry when you’re dead – can you? So how did you reply? 

As we made call after all; as we finalized the details of your final services; as family and friends began flooding in; as I cried over each word I wrote for your eulogy, were you there? Was your hand on my shoulder? Did you say words I couldn’t hear? Did you wait before crossing over or going to the light? Again, did your soul linger?

And once you were finally ready to go, what was that like when you left this world and into the next? Did you tell the Angel you were ready, or did the Angel tell you it was time to go? Did the Angel take you by the hand and you two walked towards a brilliant light; a glowing bright and brilliant light? Did you look back at us with loving words as you walked towards Grace? Were you scared or nervous as you walked toward Everlasting Grace? As you walked closer to the light, did the sounds of this world begin to muffle or drown out; and what was it replaced with? Was it replaced with silence; like a vacuum of silence; or perhaps not? And as you walked through this tunnel and closer to the light, did the view of this world begin to fade? And once the sights and sounds of this world faded out, and that vacuum of silence became more, I imagine you being spun and flipped through a strong wave current through this vacuum of silence before viewing glimpses of your life; viewing yourself and each significant moment from an outsiders perspective, before viewing your life in an extreme fast forward of sights and sounds; while again, viewing some pivotal moments through eyes anew. 

Did you see moments from when you were a boy back in Kansas and Missouri? Did moments from Vietnam and serving in the Air-force during the war flashback too? Perhaps the years in college and in Chicago came flashing back; did you remember peoples’ names? I can imagine the day you met mom came up; and maybe even the day you two said “I do.” And as you viewed your life in these extreme flashbacks, through this tunneled fast moving current, did the ugly human moments come up along with the moments of laughter and beauty? Did the moment you became a father for the first time show when Katie was born? Or the moments Joey was an infant and almost died; did those moments appear as well? The summers you and mom took us four kids camping and you taught us about the stars over campfire – did those moments come up too? In this vacuum and as the cinema of your life played, did moments of me come up? Like the time I moved upstate for college – did you feel that same feeling when I flew the coop? Of perhaps you viewed a simple moment between us from an early morning as we sipped our coffee on the front porch; as everyone else still lay asleep? After all, you and I both were the early birds in the family? As I imagine you viewing the days of your life through those eyes anew and in the sensation of this vacuumed current, I imagine sounds of laughter and soft music playing as the moments from your life’s cinema began to fade and that light became so bright all you could do was close your souls eyes before the rush of the vacuum current stopped and you found yourself suddenly and without reason on an empty path – like the Yellow Brick Road in “The Wizard of Oz,” but perhaps just cobble stone instead; and that cobble stoned path was surrounded by wide open green rolling pastures you might find in Ireland and a beautiful blue sky to top it off. Or maybe you found yourself on a tropical beach, as the sounds of waves crashing filled your senses. As you and the Angel walked the path (or the beach), I envision you asked if you were getting close. As the Angel smiled at you, you were told to just look ahead; and as you did I imagine maybe you saw the Pearly gates, but actually, I imagine the gates to Heaven was more of a beautiful carved wooden gate twinkling in fire flies. And as you approached the gate, I like to think that perhaps Saint Peter was there to greet you and welcome you, and tell you how good you’re looking. As you pass through the wooden (or pearly) gates you take stock of yourself for the first time, as you realize the form your spirit is in. You’re in the best physical form of yourself you were at in your lifetime – I’ll take a guess and say it was when you were 34; the age you married mom. As the sound of laughter continues, and soft music continues, I suspect your eyes saw a garden beyond the gates.

This garden is none like you have ever seen before. In this garden, the trees were so stout, as the branches hung with beautiful green and flowered vines; every flower you had ever seen and more surrounded you with such vibrant color, and every color of God’s beautiful rainbow. And as you looked further into the gates of Heaven you caught the glimpse of creatures of the sea in the air, far off in the distance. And as you looked through the distance, an array of magnificent mountains and waterfalls framed the background as souls of people (so many souls of people) flew through the distance of waterfalls and rainbows, and the creatures of the sea as well just floated through the soft beautiful glow of God’s Everlasting light!

As you strolled through the tall grasses in the gates entry way, did you walk side by side with the Angel, or had the Angel departed (perhaps to guide another soul to Heavens gates)? Who did you meet first in Heaven? Did you encounter your father – without the bottle? Rather did you first meet your mother instead; striped of her anger and rage? Was she the soft kind soul she once was; the mother she would have wanted to be for you, but couldn’t be? Did forgiveness flood your soul as you reached for each other in embrace? And who else did you meet again but through your eyes anew? Surely a familiar face took your spirit’s hand as you both took flight and levitated to God’s thrown room.

What is God’s kingdom and thrown like? As you approached His thrown did He have a face, or is He this inconceivable being that is merely impossible to describe – a sight to see and not tell? Was His thrown made of clouds, or marble; maybe forest green ivy? The inside of his throne room must have been jaw dropping! Were there pillars as high as the eye could see of stone and flowers? Did you walk on water to God’s throne or perhaps hills of smooth sand? Was a choir of Angels there singing the most beautiful notes you had ever heard, as their voices were paired with Heavenly harps and flutes and trumpets? Were children who hadn’t even had a chance to live (or barely had a chance to live) there to welcome you with childlike excitement, to bring you to the feet of Jesus? As you approached the feet of Jesus, did you catch sight of his Mother, the queen of Heaven and Earth? How beautiful is Mary? How stunning is her timeless face? Does she radiate with Grace and love and loveliness? And as the lost children walked, skipped and jumped alongside you, and as you neared the scared feet of Jesus, did your scares show too as you fell to your knees at His feet? When you spoke to God, face to face, for the first time, were you overwhelmed with joyful tears, or did you two simply embrace in smiles? Did you ask all the questions you had for him? And did you get your answers? Did he have a cup of coffee ready for you; just how you like it - black, no cream or sugar? And did you enjoy a cup of joe with God? 

As you strolled and flew through Heaven, were there God’s animals there too – maybe Comet, Sugarbear and Lexi (our old dogs that passed away)? Did they tackle you with glee and loving licks? Possibly, did some fascinating jungle animals come and play with you? A monkey for example, did a monkey jump on your shoulders and point you to a Heavenly pond surrounded with other souls? Or rather, instead of a monkey, did a magnificent pearly white haired horse nudge you to this pond surrounded by other souls? And as you looked puzzled at the pond, glistening in God’s radiant light and vibrant rainbow, did this animal tap the surface; and in creating that Heavenly ripple, was a portal to which you could view us revealed to you? And how often do you frequent that pond to check in on us? Or do you simple know how we’re doing by some other supernatural power? And when you’ve paid me a visit when I’m fast asleep; how does the work? Do you leave the gates of Heaven, back through the tunnel and just lay your hand on my forehead in my room? Or do you simply (and somehow – I don’t know how) bring my mind and thoughts to you (not my soul, but my consciousness) to Heaven and speak to me that way? And when I've been in distress (either physically, or mentally or emotionally) does your soul know? Can you view my life in the way God does - where he already knows the plans of my life before I even do? For Heaven is separate from time - right? 

While I miss you every day, I know you are well, and I know you take care of me - even of it's in different form. All the same I miss you dad! But partially I'm selfish; I am selfish because I want you back here with me and mom, and Joey, and Katie and Gabby. I'll be the first to admit I should be more happy for you; for you have left to go home - where all our hearts can finally feel satisfied. And you are free from pain, human constraints, and you're on this grand great trip - the last adventure, the Everlasting adventure! All the same, I wanted you with me longer - again, I wanted you with me longer - I am selfish in that regard. I'm sorry dad, I can't help it. Yet God's plan for you after your life was more, and perhaps He needed you more with Him; and I like to think His will is being done with you there in Heaven. So, I take comfort knowing you are out of pain and free from your demands, and still very present with me and in me. Dad, I know you know this, but I want to tell you I love you so dearly, and miss you terribly, yet I know you are still with me, even now as I finish this entry!