Glass Gloves

Bob is a nice guy, but…..

Why do we always include the “but” with the phrase, He’s a nice guy?

There is always the but. I imagine soon I will become the butt of many jokes as I stand for my marriage. Supporters are dropping like flys. Some say - you are a better man than me - but …… I can see the head shaking in their head. Thinking to themselves - “Man this guy is in serious denial”.
I had a dream last night. It was somewhat chaotic. She was getting very bad advice from two individuals I used to party with a bit way back in the day - one of which I barely knew, but was about 20 times as wild as I was in my younger days. The other guy got a nice stay in prison for inpersonating an officer at one point. We had gone into and out of a couple of parties and at one point found ourselves in Dallas sort of passing each other - she was happy, longing, but at a bit of distance.

Somehow we wound up talking at a large chain link fence. My second best friend had advised her that the persons she was talking to were bad news since she wouldn’t believe me. He was on one side of the fence. I  and the wife were on the other side.
Later somehow after that we talked abit.

She said - I love you, but no hugs for now. I need more time.  I said okay.

She had bought a brand new Cadillac - silver. Pretty sweet ride. She then asked me to drive her Cadillac. There was something significant left on the dash after I drove the vehicle, but I can’t remember what it was. I guess there’s the but.

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When I was a but a young strapping buck, my dad took me to meet the General Manager for one of the car stores he frequented to gather more inventory for his business.

My Dad introduces me. The man puts out his hand to give it a shake. I put forth my hand. I shook it nice and solid like I had been taught, but there was a problem. I had inadvertently done a “tennis shoe inspection”. That is, looking down as I shook his hand. The tennis shoe inspection was both a sign of weakness in yourself and a lack of respect for the person you were meeting. The General Manager looked at me and said, now son, you always look a man in the eyes when you shake his hand. If you don’t look the man in the eyes, that means you have no respect for him. I’ve made it a habit ever since. I used to find myself passively evaluating whether I garnered someone’s respect based on their handshake.

Welcome to the amazing world of car dealership politics. I still have not figured out why doctors ALWAYS have a weak handshake though. I’ve never met one without a weak handshake. Perhaps they need those kind of hands to be a doctor  - you know - steady hands?

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I opened up the refrigerator today to get some cheese and butter to prepare a meal for the kids. It was the last of the cheese. The last of the cheese that my wife had purchased the last time she went grocery shopping and still lived with me. The cheese really hurt. Something so simple as cheese able to wound me like that - able to stir up memories of going shopping with her over the years.  What this did do was remind me of why I love her so much - even still. Memories perhaps?

I had stayed the night with my mother about a month ago. This was a different trip to her home from the guilt trip that I had written about previously. Anyway, after the kids were down - I went to her and just started crying. Long sobs. I don’t know where it came from. Through this mess, I had usually shed my tears alone so as to not burden anyone with them. I hadn’t cried on my mom’s should in so long that I can’t remember when the last time it happened was. It may have been when I was a teen-ager and we had gotten into an argument. After that, it felt good to be at my mom’s house.

Anyway, I fell asleep that night rather easily, but was again awoken to something.

Romans 12:9-10 – “Let love be genuine: abhor that which is evil, cleave to that which is good. I had wrestled with this for about a week and concluded that it was rather simple. Love the wife… hate the evil she is doing.

The Roman armies used to keep large quantities of cheese as an easy to store food source as I learned recently on the Discovery channel. It is high in calories, could be easily transported, etc. Good for feeding people over the long haul. The last of the cheese.

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As I’m putting on my Tuxedo for one of my best friend’s wedding, I get the call.

“Shohn - Poppa Joe is dying - you need to get up here.”

The wedding will be over in a couple of hours… I’m the third man in the line. I feel presented with a large dilemna.

“Is he awake or conscious?”

“He’s been out for a day now - they have him on the machines. He will be dead by tomorrow”.

“Okay.. we’ll leave in a couple hours.”.

I start praying… “Father, may he live until we all get there”.

My friend comes up to me and sees the sudden change in my heart. It is one of worry, fear, and deep contemplation.

“Shohn - what’s wrong?”

“My grandfather is dying - I’ll be leaving after the grand march”.

Half-way through the grand march at the wedding, I decided it is time to go. We have done our bid for king and country here. I give away bittersweet, but hidden and teary eyed goodbyes. My other best friend’s mother says to me - “You take care - I know how that feels and it hurts - get there fast.”
We arrived later that night. The whole family was there.

I’m afraid to see him, yet I go in to the hospital room. I hear the cold metallic beeps of the equipment keeping him alive. His heart rate is very high - his breathing is intense and goes in and out every second or so. Silence. I pray some more. I hold his hand - caress his face. I recall the last memories of seeing him alive and well. I recall distant memories spent at the lake house as a boy. Distance. Silence. Sadness. Deep and intense grief. I tell myself he is going to a better place so cheer up.
We went to my Granfather and Grandma’s new house for the night to rest - they had just purchased it - not even through unpacking - to spend the rest of their lives together in. They moved back the the place where they met - it was overlooking my Grandpa’s favorite lake. They made it. He got sick… and now he was about to die. We got a couple hours of rest.

Delusions of a grand funeral march New Orleans style started popping up the next morning. We take turns going into the room to visit him. I call my dad to understand what is going on since he works at a hospital. Dad tells me that he’ll be gone in a couple hours. It still hasn’t hit me yet. Denial. He will live. I can pray him out of this.
I reach down into my soul and pray some more. I’m not making the spiritual connection. I can’t feel the connection. Faith starts waning - his heart rate increases. Everyone gathers around. My youngest aunt starts screaming… “Daddy!” ….. “Dadddddddddy”. My uncle stands there in silence. My mom is tearful. My grandma is holding is hand and caressing his face. They used to fight like cats and dogs, but here she is saying goodbye. My husband she says. His heart rate drops…. and drops. Something happens to one of the machines. It loses power. Everyone panics… put the machine back on him… put it back on him so we can see what is going on.

The machine is reconnected. His heart thumps once every 30 seconds or so.

Thump…………………………………………………………thump……………………………………………….

It goes to a minute.

His breathing stops.

My aunt screams out again….. .”Daddy” … “Daddy”….

I walk outside of the hospital… needing to be alone. I call my Dad. I can’t let anyone see me with tears… they need strength right now, not tears. I tell my Dad it is over. He sees death every day and can no longer stand my grandparents, but still puts out genuine comfort for me. He stands there in my shoes living that moment with me. I start crying. Make sure noone can see me. Tears drip down my eyes and I wipe them away. I close the conversation and feel my strength returning. The tears unburdened my heart. I return back to the hospital to see everyone. Memories… we start talking about memories.
We had to return our home. I took the week off from work to deal with this. Funeral plans are made - I have to go get a new suit for this. It was that week that we made the decision to move closer to my side of the family.

Thump. …….

He comes to me in a dream after the funeral…. Everything is okay. Thump.

This pain is one I can release though - it is over, he is in a better place. The divorce - it will stay with me until the day I die. Regret - what could I have done better? Why couldn’t I breach her walled up heart? Thump.

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