Cemetery, So Much Life

Many heroes lie here. One of them is my Father's friend, Marv. A good man. Lived through three wars. Married some, years. Raised a family. The rest is history. Don't know if he was accomplished man. Don't know if he won medals and such. Don't know what he did. All I know is that his diminutive stature hid a giant of a man. His family loved him. His wife stayed married to him. Friends visit his grave still. What more needs to be said.

Baring Witness
Spoke at his funeral. I remember crying, standing alone. In front of family, friends, complete strangers. No podium to hold on to. No lectern to hide with. Just there to be bare. To be witness. For me to be judged. To be open. To be raw. Sharing feelings, body and soul. To be naked to my pain, to my loss, to my hurt. I am a guarded man. Showing emotions is foreign. I don't like to be so out there.

Lesson Learned: Openness
I have learned that it is not the way. Not all the time. Being a closed loop has drawbacks. Sure, it is good to recoup and heal; however, one can not be open to others. Open for opportunities. Open for love. Open to let others in. To share. We are connected. We need each other. No man is an island. We are all part of a greater good. Some bigger plan. Something larger.

Seeing Marv. His plaque. A lifetime here. Heroes all these fallen soldiers. So many lifetimes. Battles fought. Battles lost. Battles won. Childhoods, weddings, marriages, parenthood. Dreams realized. Dreams lost. Being in such hollowed grounds never was never so hollowed until yesterday. My visit opened my eyes. Before, it was green lawns. Fountains. Ducks. It was a place where people were buried. Nothing more. Yet, yesterday I learned it was so much more. Lifetimes. Lifetimes. Lifetimes. So much in so little place. Heroes all of them. Each battling their war. Our wars. Their personal battles. Each winning peace. Each winning the meaning of it all.

Death is a Transition
A change of state. Nothing ever dies. Its just going somewhere. Returning back to its primordial state. We are all stardust. Nuclear waste as someone would say. Don't like that word waste. Nothing is ever not used. The calcium in our bones. The potassium in our blood. Na+/ K exchange pumps firing electrical impulses. It sends us messages to our brain. It is our experiences in these synaptic firing. It sends out messages to our body. Our actions. Our thoughts. It causes us to speed up or slow down. Contract. Relax. It holds our memory. Brain is just an organ. Yet we are more. We are brain. We are organs. We are a Shell and everything inside. We are our mind. We are our soul. We are everything outside. We are our everything.

We are a gift. Life is a gift. To be lived. To be loved. To create memories. To develop beauty.

Proof of GOD
Watched a video last night. It was YouTube video proving the existence of God. A teacher is proving to his class that of grade schoolers that God is evil. He postulates. God is evil. God created everything. Go created goodness, true. God created Animals. Plants. Everything. True. He also created Evil since is its part of everything. God in turn is evil. A young retorts. God does exist. There exist Cold. True. Professor answers yes there is Cold. Child corrects his teacher and says, False. Cold is the absence of Heat. Child asks another question to his teacher. Is there Darkness? Teacher says yes, there is darkness. Child corrects his teacher again. False. it has been explained that Darkness does not exist. He said physicists defined darkness as the absence of light. He said Evil does not exist. It just the absence of God. Without God in our hearts, Evil exist. This young man was Albert Einstein.

I don't know if this logic game proves God or not. I believe God exist. I believe there is a higher. I believe that we should open ourselves. Open to let the love in. Open to the higher purpose. Open to the everything. Synchronicity. Serendipity. Possibility.

An Apple Am I
Being a strong ndividually is important. It is nice. Being part of a strong collective is also important. It is also nice. Much is gained by letting people in, letting the love in. Let people in your heart. Without Marv, without Tammy, I would never be me. Absence of family, absence friends, I would be cold. I would be dark. I would be absent. They are my light. They are my heat. They are my love. They are the Apple that I take a bite from. They feed my body. They feed my soul. They are part of me, forever. They are me. Marv, thank you for being my apple

Marvin, My Dad's Friend

Going to visit an old family friend. Marvin. He was my dad's good friend. Best friend, I think. We are going to the Riverside National Cemetery. Good three hour drive. It's been too long since we were at Marvin's burial. Fate would have it. His daughter Tracy put a post on Facebook about her mother being in the hospital. Long story short. I said I would like to go see Marvin, but don't know where he is. Got the info and now I am going to drop off some flower. The day I wrote Tracy was the day he died. His death anniversary. Tracy wrote that her mother, Mary, would like that dearly since she is half a country away. Don't know why there has been so much death in my posts. Rochelle. Andres. Dad.

Guess, it has to deal with my own mortality. Yesterday why exercising I felt a a plopping feeling. Thought it was my belly moving up and down from the exercising. Didn't think it was my heart because my heart rate was normal. Put my hand on chest anyways, just in case. Normal, I guess. How normal can it be with congestive heart failure. Anyways.

I miss him. I miss Marv. He was the last living connection to my Dad before he went to the Philippines. I miss Dad.

I'll write about my journey when I get back.

Hospitals: Today's Battlefield, Today's Front Line. Its Where Angels Roam

Every Day, Every Night--The Good Fight Dropped Mom at the hospital again. She goes almost every single day. Every day, life and death. Day in, day out. Taxing to the Body. Taxing to the Soul. Taxing to see so much struggle. A lifetime of healthy living, going to the gym religiously, eating well. Unexpectedly and all of sudden. Person is struck down by a stupid car accident. Or going to the hospital could be the result of a lifetime of bad habits. Smoking 2 packs a day, a diet of fat, greasy food, a regimen of lying on the couch, years in front of the boob tube watching other people live life.

Grew up in a hospital Its a second home. Mom's a nurse. Most of my aunts are LVNs and RNs. Uncle Juhn and Uncle Torney are in database. Uncle Alex works Presybyterian Memorial. Uncle Ruth is Engineering at Kaiser, Panorama. Aunty Dely is in Lab. Aunty Myrna worked in the cafeteria. Aunty Ellen and Aunty Cello are in business services. Uncle Alvin is Respiratory Tech. Cousin Jason and Russel's girl are both in RT school now. Leilani is at USC for Occupational Therapy. Ron Mitchell's in X-ray Tech. (Picture of Ron Mitchell and Rochelle Below) Going to the hospital is like going home. All my family members are there.

As a child, I'd roam around the hospital, running here and there. Road the elevators to the different floors. NICU. Lab. Med Surge. Each time the doors opened it was like changing channels on the TV. Each floor had a different show. ICU/ CCU, slow and somber. People stood around so quiet. NICU--Families crying and smiling. ER--fast and exciting. X-ray has secret doors that hid the cool humming sound. Lab--test tubes and microscopes. Morgue, I see dead people. Ate in the cafeteria since the food was free. Learned how to use the computer in database. The hospital was my second home. Always felt comfortable here.

I Hate Hospitals
That all changed. Rochelle got sick. She had stomach cancer. Hospital was not so fun. Seeing my cousin not getting better. Getting worse. Not so much fun. She was dying and I was . . . crying. Losing a playmate. Seeing her plugged up to the ventilator. Canulas in her nose. Tubes in her wrist. IV bag drip. Hearing the respirator breathe for her. Watching the heart rate monitor flash numbers. Systolic, 100. Diastolic, 60. Respiration, 50. Its like watching the stock market. The Flash of P Wave. QRS Wave. T Wave scroll across the screen. Those are the squiggly lines telling us that her heart's still beating. We're waiting for some sign, something miraculous. Hoping, she would magically be better. Rochelle would pop out of the bed to come play with us. C'mon, Rochelle, lets play. Lets go run around the halls. Go to the cafeteria and get our favorite green jello Aunty Myrna made. Take the elevator rides.

Her funeral has come and gone. But we're in the hospital again. Tatay is sick. Years of smoking caught up. Cancer, again. Lung this time. Here we go again. More tubes. More drugs. More time at the stupid hospital. Tatay passed, too. He's buried next to Rochelle. I hate the hospital. Never want to go back.

Got a call. Back to the hospital. Mike, my half-brother. A brother I did not know until a few months ago. The stranger stopped by a few months back. I was angry. I was jealous. I was stupid. Did not know that Dad had another family before us. A truck, 16-wheeler made a wide left. Apparently, the driver did not see Mike while making the turn. Dirt got in his brain. Looking down the Hospital hall. Dad, he's sitting down. Face buried in his hands. His body convulses. My father's sobs echo down the hallway. "Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Why?" That's all I hear. Another funeral. Another burial. Cemetary, again. More people dressed in black crying. Losing another loved one. Fucking Hospital. I hate this place.

God, Stop. Hospital Bad. I get the point.

Wait, there's more, God answers back. Pushed off a slide. Broke my arm. Damn, hospital. Knelled on glass table. Stitches for my knee. Can't go swimming. Hospital. Got to get shots, hospital. Cousin Edwards on the third floor, appendix removed. Hospital. Dislocated elbow. Patient in next bed keeps talking about yellow spots everywhere. A mere hospital curtain between us. I hear the clanking of the police hand cuffs. Drug overdose. Every one sick and hurt are at the hospital. I don't want to go. So much pain. So much misery. So much. Too much for me. I hate hospitals.

I need a party. Hospital party, well, I guess so. All family friends and co-workers are from the hospital. Their kids I can play with. That's not so bad. Played volleyball. Game winning spike. Gift shop is okay. Doctors and nurses are alright, I guess. Security guards say Hi. Ambulances with the blaring sirens and flashing lights are cool. Hospital green jello is my favorite. I still don't love the hospitals like I used to.

Code. . .Huh?
Time passes. Took mom to the hospital, Again. LCH. Lancaster Community Hospital. 6 in the morning. Pick her up at 7:30 at night. Used to drop her off at 7 at night, then pick her up 7 in the morning. No more graveyard shifts. She's got to watch her Dancing with the Stars. 8 pm it starts. She walks in. Automatic doors open. Says "Bye" to the nurses leaving. Stethoscope around her neck and lunch bag in hand. She walks into the battlefield. She goes into the struggle where life and death happen every single day. As the door open, over the speaker. "Code: Blue. Code: Blue. Code: Blue." It means, everyone get ready.

Code Blue: Heart attack patient coming in. Code Red: Fire. Code Green: Combative person using physical force. Code Brown. defecating person. Code Amber: Child Abduction. Code Pink: Infant Abduction. (Sometimes, its nurse being harassed by doctor. Keep this on the down low, not a very pleasant occurrence) Code Grey: Combative person no weapon. Code Orange: Show of force. Code Yellow: Missing patient. Code Rainbow: Riot.

Angels Roam the Hospital
My mom is one of them. She battles every single day. She works in CCU. Her patients are the terminally ill, post op from heart surgery, Swine flu, isolation. 500 lb morbidly obese that need 6 nurses to roll over. Stabbed inmates. Failed suicide attempts. Car accidents in full body casts. Psych patients that did not take their meds.

Mom guards her patients from the Grim Reaper. She also welcomes and introduces them to Death. Ravages and pains of cancer riddles the young and old. Like Rochelle. Like Tatay. Or accident cases. Like Mike. Like Andreas, my neighbor's son. She has a cordial relationship with Death. There is a Hate/ Not-so-much Hate with Death. Its just the way it is. She goes on with her business. Like every female Filipino, its her calling. Nursing. She liked the white uniform. She wears blue scrubs these days.

Mom gives the patients meds. She checks IV bags and life monitors. Gives her reports. Replaces dressing. She reviews student nurses work. She problems solves. For two shifts, nurses were wondering why there was no stool in plastic bag. Patient report read symptom, diarrhea. Last night, mom scolded the male student nurse. She asked why the tube is not in the patient's anus. Its in the other orifice. She sternly asks if he knows the difference. (She's laughing on the inside) They insert the tube in the correct hole. 700 cc. Jackpot. Its a gusher. NICE. Yuck.

Kaiser, I Hope
I've decided. I will work in the hospital, too. Not because I want to wipe, I don't. As a Pharmacy Tech, I hope. You see, the hospital is my second home. I grew up here. Good memories and bad experiences. And everything in the middle. I'd like to see more angels before I go to heaven. Haven't seen too many Angels lately. Seeing Angels makes me believe in a higher source. Anyways, here she comes. Dancing with the Stars starts in 30 minutes. Tom Delay broke his foot. He's out. Leaving for the hospital. Maya is not bad. Kathy Ireland is stiff. Who is going to get eliminated? Yes, I know the the car is too cold. I will roll up the window, mom. Got to get her home. Her show starts in 15 minutes.

My Fight With Kanye West

Nike+ Challenge--My Origin
Today's battle. A Cyber Bully. Let's call him Kanye. Why? He is a sore loser.(Refer to Taylor Swift/ Kanye West VMA Awards)

Joined Nike Plus. Its a website for runners with Nike+ sensors. On this site, runners post challenges, chart runs, set goals, request traing assistance, etc. Started a couple months ago. Purchased the sensor a year ago, but never used it. In late July, I found it and started using it. Needed something to get my fat ass to the gym. It monitored my progress. This was great, at first. Guess, I needed more. Looking back, I was afraid of the sensor, afraid of running. Never been a great runner. Actually, crappy would best describe me. Geriatric is another good adjective.

Joined a couple of distance challenges. Object was not who's the fastest. Nor is it who does the most mileage in a month. Its just Finishing. This is what I needed. You see, I have congestive heart failure (another post for another time). Needed something to keep me moving. Or I would die fat and short of breath. Swimming is awesome, but the water gets cold. Plus, riding the stationary bike hurts my butt after an hour.

Forrest Gump, I'm Not
So I got on the treadmill and as Forrest Gump would say "I Started Running!!!" Unfortunately, that stopped quickly. Mind willing, Body not so much. Hurt my ACL playing basketball and my meniscus swells to the point I can't bend my knee. You see as a child, I pushed the school bus uphill in the snow while the rest of the kids drank warm cocoa. Let me tell you, "I'm no Runner." Five foot four weighing 275 lbs at the time, 2 foot stride length. Basically, I was carrying another person around my waist while I run. I wrestled 121s in high school. Depressing. Yet, kept walking. 20 minute miles. If you are runner, you know this is slow. Turtles move faster than I do. Snails, too. Senior citizens in walkers, its a race. (Amendment: with one leg) I was okay with this. I was moving.

JPeg Trophies and Medals Are My Candy
Anyways, I digress. Started getting stronger. Lost 15 lbs. Joined more challenges. Took second in a few of them. This started revving my competitive engine. I like to win. Jpeg trophies are my candy. I was hooked. First month, did 8 miles. Second month, August, 74 miles. Last September, finished 200 miles. Now, shooting for 300 in October. Got a few invite to other challenges. Got a number of friend requests. Started seeing my name in first place on a few challenges. One Nike+ Ambassador asked me to post one of my quips I wrote on her Facebook page on her running blog site. She thought it was inspirational. Now, I felt good. Felt connected. Felt proud. Jpeg trophies and medals brought a smile on my face. Kudos and hollas from Facebook friends pumped me up. Invites for new faster and longer challenges awaited.

Kanye West Called Me A JOINER
Now, I'm in a new fight, a new battle. I am faced with a new challenge. Kanye called me a "Joiner." ARRGHHH!!! You see I'm in a Nike+ Distance challenge with 8 people. 2 on my side. 6 on the other. We are beating the other team by a 100+ miles. Its a rout. One of the challengers I have named Kanye West, a coward, questioned whether I was a "Fan" or "Joiner." A Joiner is a "Tourist" for those Fight Club fan. (Watch the movie, if you don't know.) Expected some smack talk. I expect being called out. Its just the way of the jungle. I responded in kind, not wanting to be a Punk. I questioned Kanye's "Joiner" machismo and he responded. Called me sensitive. Ouch.

"Ali, boma ye!"
I hear the Zairians crowd chant "Ali, boma ye!" "Ali, boma ye!" "Ali, boma ye!" ("Ali, kill him!") You are about to wake the sleeping lion. My 2-person team is beating the 6-person team by a 100+ miles. Personally, if either Shellie or I withdrew, I suspect we'd still win. It still would be 140 miles us to 180 miles them. I suspect that I would be able to catch the other team and perhaps win given the 60 days left. However, other runners could always join or withdraw at anytime. Being called sensitive is getting personal.

Sun Tzu Lectures Me
If your opponent is temperamental, seek to irritate him. Draw the other army out. Frustrate and anger the opponent. This personal effrontery from a dweeb one hundred miles behind bothered me. In the 300, King Leonidas said King Xerxes's weakness is Pride. I have always been prideful and I know that the best recourse may be to let the pettinesss pass. Should I let the name calling wash over me and just play my game. However, now I want to win by a few touchdown. No. Coach Yoast is shouting in my ear, "Leave No Doubt." Maximus orders "Unleash Hell."

I am going to sleep over this and plan my next course of action. Any suggestions, please send them.

The Real Battle, The Real Challenge
Challenge is a good thing. Name calling drives me to do more. It makes me want to head to the gym now. Get on the treadmill. Put up some ridiculous, demoralizing-to-the-other team number. I want beat the entire team by myself. Like Kobe putting up 81 points against the Toronto Raptor. I just want take over the 4th quarter. All this extra running will help my heart and help shed the tire around my waist. These Nike challenges raises my competitive juices. And I want to drink from the cup of victory. Nike, the goddess of victory, calls. "Citus, Altius, Fortius" stands for faster, higher, stronger. That which does not kill us makes us stronger--Friedrich Nietzsche. This personal battle is not with Kanye. I must look at the real opponent. Crimson Tide Denzell Washington, the real opponent is not with the Russians. Its with War Itself. That Opponent being Me. Its my Pride. Its my belly. Kanye, I am deleting you again. The rent in my head just got raised and its eviction time. Just win, baby.

Gotta go now, treadmill is calling. I want to win this challenge running away. Kanye West, I will break you. I will cancel this tour, too.

This Blog's Purpose, The Hero's Journey

Compared to my first post this will definitely be different. Not as in depth. Not as long. Not as personal. Just Different.

MNF
Monday Night Football in a few minutes. Never been a huge football junkie, but I will watch this over other things. Brother is a good high school football coach. Been to few of his games. My brother's family are always dressed up Palmdale Falcon gear and we watch and cheer most games. Angelo, my nephew, 2 years old, is going to be an outstanding player. He likes to hit. He likes to kick. He rather watch college football than Sponge Bob. Its close, but pigskin wins.My Brother and Angelo are watching now.

Favre, the Protagonist
At any rate, Brett Favre is playing tonight. Minnesota versus his old team, Green Bay. Being built up as revenge game, sort of. ESPN announcers are trying to downplay the significance and meaning of the game. However, not really. If not a big football follower, here is a little back story. Two years back, quarterback Brett Farve retired from football. He left Green Bay, played 10+ years for the storied franchise. He's been on video game covers. His the face was the face of the franchise. Won Super Bowls. Perrenial All-Star. MVP this and superhero that. He has a street named after him in Green Bay. Later, it came out that management forced out the Hall of Famer, but he still wanted to play. Played for the Jets, after some controversy, the next year. Then Brett retired, with no plans to comeback--Again. Later this year, close to the end of football training camp and before regular season, after saying, "He's Done. Again" Brett came back, again. More controversy, un-retired Brett came with more controversy. He joined the Vikings. He joined Green Bay's division rival Minnesota Vikings. It's like joining the LA Lakers after playing for Boston Celtics. LA Dodgers then San Francisco Giants. Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees. Bad. Brett's joining the Viking was so bad that before signing on with the NY Jets, there was a clause that Brett could not play for division rival Minnesota without franchise penalty (Vikings had to give up 4 first round draft picks or something to that effect). Anyways, the Football pundits are trying to underplay the signifcance of this game and this brings me to the reason I write. This post is about Payback. This post is about Struggle. This post is about the Hero's Journey.

Thank You, Film Class
Everyone has had some adversity they faced. Some thing that has gnawed on their soul. Some grade school bully they wanted to beat up. Something that drives you to do more, whether truth or imagined. This blog is about the Hero's Journey. Learned about this concept from a film class. (Didn't need, but thought it would be fun) Little did I realize that this simple concept has been part of me since . . .forever. You, too. Premise goes like this. Hero (or Heroine) is faced with a battle of some unbeatable foe or some terrible monster. Hero loses this fight, then goes licks his wounds and learns new skills in which will topple is unbeatable foe. Before the battle, there has to be some kind of loss. Loss of friend. Loss of mentor. Loss of some great importance. Think Luke Skywalker and Ben Kenobi in Star Wars. Luke Skywalker and Yoda, Empire Strikes Back. Kung Fu Panda and Rat Sensei. In his deepest despair, our hero finds that intestinal fortitude to fight on and defeat his nemesis. His Arch-Enemy. His grade school bully.

Watch any movie. Read any story. This Hero's Journey is the formula for a guestimated 80% of them. Movies in the theater today. District 9. Fame. Informant. Surrogate. The Invention of Lying. Protagonist lives a certain life. He thrust in some battle. Or the hero has some dream he is fighting for. He loses something--Wife. Family. Home. Dignity. He faces some kind of struggle, real or imagined. He conquers his fear. Pow. Then there is some major loss that test his resolve. Some kind of sacrifice. There is some price paid for this newer, stonger hero-to-be. Boom. He conquers his fears, then his foes. Our hero is whole again and much wiser, stronger, and better somewhow.

Dvds on my shelf. Phenomenon. Celestine Prophecy. Tin Cup. Saving Bobby Fisher. Without Limits. Visionquest. Watch any John Carpenter movie. The eternal struggle is relived again and again and again. There are variations of the players. Variations of the foes. Variations of the lesson learned. Look on your bookshelf. I am sure some of your favorite stories has the Hero's Journey theme in it. Stephanie Meyer's Bella Swan. Anne Rice's Lestat. Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan. Margaret Weiss's Raistlin. Look at the Classics. Hercules. King Arthur. Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.

Blog's Mission
What I hope this blog will do is entertain my readers (if I get any). And hopefully she will touch a chord with some of you. Ideally, this blog will pass the message of Hope, Survivorship, and Triumph. Moreover, she will connect and broadcast the belief in the Human Spirit is strong and lives on. As for the post topics, she will cover Heroes (and Heroines), real and fictitious. She will talk about modern mythology and the classic mythological stories. She will talk about books I have read. Movies I have watched. Article I have read. This post will cover movies, magazines, comics, sports figures, political leaders, general news, etc. Mostly, this blog will discuss my personal experiences, observations, commentaries on just about everything that comes to mind that relates to the Hero's Journey. I know I will at sometime face some inner demons. Share secrets that lay hidden. Hopefully, I will uncover ontological truths and find that inner hero in me. I'm sure in time, you'll learn about me and hopefully I will learn about you. This blog will be my own Hero's Journey.

Gotta go now. Vikings 14. Green Bay 14. I would like to see if the Hero Brett Favre will be triumphant in this never ending battle of good against evil.

Death of Neighbor's Son

Two days ago, I went to Andreas's funeral.

Came home wth streets filled with cars. Another party. Another nieghbor's party with crowds outside, loud Spanish music in the backyard, and late night dancing. This was different. It felt different. No music, no sound. Just people outside. Strange. Picked up the morning paper. Front page reads "Car Accident. 100 Mph." I was stunned. Emptiness hits me. Flashing emergency lights I drove by a few hours earlier were for my neighbor, the cop, his son. Andreas, his girlfriend, and another kid up the street were passengers of an Audi Convertible that flipped over and over. . .and over. No survivors.

Walking inside my house, I felt my energies drain. Hollowness, emptiness fills me. This was okay. My neighbors needed it.

Couldn't help think about the people I lost--Dad, Mike, Rochelle, Tatay.

I thought about Baby Kaprece. Drove hours to Vegas for the Fourth of July weekend. Half hour later, we were on opposite side of the freeway heading back. My Brother's baby was being born. I am going to be an uncle. Supposed to be a glorious day. Our nation's birthday. My niece's birthday.

Cell phone rings. I hear the word "Complications. . ." Mom, the RN, sounds angry over the phone. Kaprece aspirated. What the hell does that mean. Whatever it meant, I knew it was not good. The gas pedal gets heavier. Streaks of light fly by. Michelle and I race home.

Close my eyes for a second. We're on the third floor of AV Hospital. The family is there. All are quiet. Close my eyes again. Out the window, the helicopter get smaller and smaller. Kaprece--only a few hours born--is being medivaced away. "May not see her alive again" I think to myself, as I lose sight of the helicopter in the clouds.

Close my eyes again. Freeway driving to Pasadena. "Children's Hospital 5 miles ahead" the sign reads.

Close my eyes. Baby Kaprece lies motionless in the clear plastic box. Her tiny chest barely rising and falling. The incubator is keeping her warm, keeping her alive. Tubes come out her nose. Her mouth. Out her wrists. I closed my eyes again. I pray.

We got lucky. Lucky, we had the helicopter. Heaven was near and the Angels were close. We learned Baby K is like her parents--She's a fighter.

Close my eyes again. Baby K is now 14. Kaprece has one leg pointing to the sky as she hangs perilously on the the four inch wide beam. Without looking She throws her arms and head back as she blindly completes the back handspring. Nice. She is did well. Again.

My eyes close. She is on top of the podium, her medals are draped all over her. Camera lights flash as Kevin takes another picture. Kaprece competes in gymnastics, State. Level something. I don't know. She unwraps her wrists bands. There they are. Scars. Light brown patches on both wrists. They are from by the tubes that kept her alive some time ago.

My eyes close again. I see the helicopter. I hear the family crying. My nostrils flare. That anti-septic smell of the patient room come alive. I feel the coarse touch of hospital scrubs.

I close my eyes. Its not Kaprece. Its Rochelle. Rodney's sister, my cousin. She was so thin, barely 80 lbs. She wears that funky hat to cover her hairless head. Rochelle had cancer. She died. Not yet fourteen. Not even given the chance to grow up. Not given the chance to compete in gymnastics. Not given chance to finish high school like Andreas. I was so angry. Could not see straight. I was lost. Pain everywhere. I could feel it. It was the only thng I felt. Did not know what to do. Did not know where to go. Could not escape. Pain was all around me. In me. Growing.

Watching the chemo ravage her body made me feel so helpless. Her healthy physique just wasting away. I did not know how to help her. I did not know how to tell her I love her. It was not right. It was not fair. I had all this rage and pain inside.

Her death changed my life. Got into peer counseling. Joined the wrestling team. Got involved in Student Government. Became President of everything. I wanted to do everything and be everything. Her death changed my attitude of life.

Can't say I know how my neighbors are feeling. The loss of their 19 year old son over a car accident. Can't say I understand the purpose or meaning of their loss. I close my eyes thinking of Dad. Rochelle. Kaprece.

I open my eyes. I am on the kneeling pad as the priest says words of prayer. I am at St Mary's. Andreas' father wears sunglasses through the entire service. It is prounounced. No one else is wearing mirrored sunglasses at 6 pm at night in church. I understand now. It hides the redness. It hides hide his tears. Yet, I see the strength--and pain--of a father losing his only son. Andreas, at the starting point for next phase of life, taken.

His beautiful mother and sisters place their hand on the white-covered casket. They hold on. They knew when they let go, it would be the last time to touch their brother, her son. Andreas would be gone. It hurts to watch. So many people--young and old--at the Church. So many mourners waiting outside. They stood there by the hearst. The pallbearers--high school age--young men. Dressed in black. White gloves. Carrying their friend, their brother on his final journey. They place the gold casket in the hearst. Mourners waiting. Waiting. Waiting. So quiet. Young Andreas is driven away. His family stand and watch. Their only son, there only brother, gone.

Everyone stands motionless as Forever passes by.

It is cold. No sounds. No tears. It is quiet. So quiet.The silence is deafening. The sisters and mother shiver. Skies are dark. Everyone dressed in black. All of sudden like the ocean water rushing the beach, the mourners surround the family. Hugs given. Whispers of "I'm Sorry" boom out in the windy night sky. Babies begin to cry. Mothers start crying. Families start crying. It is a flood. A flood of emotions that bathes the entire crowd. So much sorrow. So much pain I can hardly breathe. I could not swim away. I am underneath. Its dark. I feel myself floating. No hope. No escape. Reluctantly, I surrender to the ocean. I just flow with it. Giving myself to the tide. Hope to come up in a better place.

I wait my turn. Wait to give my condolences to my grieving neighbors. So many people. Eventually, the ocean of mourners recede. Its my turn. I hug Andrea's father and whisper, "I'm Sorry for your loss." I turn to the Mother and Sisters, but they are in deep embrace with family and close friends. I'm neither. I decide to leave.

I don't know what my funeral will be like. Many people or none at all. I don't know. I remember watching part of Death of A Salesman and it hits home. My father was in Sales. A good sales person. I was good in sales. I am a Closer. Top in California and in the nation. I left. Did not to be remembered that way. Nothing is wrong with it. Sales is the lifeblood of business. I just wanted to be remembered for something more than just rebutting sales objections. I gave up wanting trophies and awards. I like them, but that is not the important stuff anymore. I mean I liked being in GATE, Advanced everything, AP whatever, Leadership this and President that, but looking back. I don't want to look back. It was who I was. It is not who I want to be.

I am no longer that person. I am person Becoming. . .

I feel a bit selfish talking about my self with the loss of my neighbor's son/ brother.

I know there is meaning to all this. Their loss. This accident. My loss. This everything. Right now I know my neighbors may not see the purpose for their son's death. I know there is one, but I can't see the Big Design. I know there is purpose to all this.

I'm not really close to our next door neighbor, but I felt compelled, obligated to be at the viewing and the funeral. Maybe it is losing my father, Rochelle, Michael--Almost losing Kaprece--that drives me to be with my neighbor I hardly know. Maybe it is my Peer Counseling training and a wanting to help. Maybe it is my realization of my mortality that drives me to be connected with veritable strangers.

Whatever reasons, I know that I just want to be connected. I suspect this one of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. The need to Connect. Connect to my past. Connect to my future. Connect to my neighbor. Connect to my family and friends. We are all connected. There is a purpose for all this. I believe this purpose will be revealed in due time. I hope this blog, my first blog, can help others can see the forest while the the trees are in the way.

City of Angels--Meg Ryan and Nicholas Cage keeps coming to mind. May not know God's plan. . . you know the rest.

My first blog. . .Start at the end for this new beginning.