Dear Pop,

If you ask me, I say the best part of the day happens at sunrise. I say it happens before the streetlamps give way and surrender their post to the new day. It’s beautiful here in New York City. Sunlight is on the rise but nightfall has yet to loosen its grip. There is a brief pause in the skyline—same as there is a brief pause in us, just moments before we inhale and exhale. The moment is still, just like we Continue reading →

When there is no one left and when the room is more empty than you ever thought possible; when all else has failed you, and all that you held closely has unexpectedly slipped quickly through your fingers; when the sound is so quiet that all you hear is the high-pitched ring of nothingness, and when the room is so painfully still that time drags and seconds move like individual eternities; your thoughts are stuck  and your heart is broken, you’re numb and Continue reading →

Blessed Father,

Although I am drawn to it, I cannot give in. I cannot surrender and go the way of my anger.

Although I am drawn in and feel justified to respond; it is better that I leash my tongue instead spitting back or saying something to defend myself when there is no need to; for this is the way of my enemy and I will not liken myself to them. Continue reading →

Alone at my bottom with nowhere left to fall, I was most afraid that my bottom had a trap door. And when I say alone, I mean the worst kind of alone; I mean the kind with no one to turn to and no to speak with. When I describe alone, I describe this from inside an empty apartment with naked walls, no pictures, and hardly any furniture. I had an old television set, but no cable. I had one VCR but only two movies. The walls Continue reading →

January 1, 2017 New Year’s Day

We are hours after the sunrise. I was up before this (of course) and waited to see the first light move from the east and raise above the empty tree branches that stand above Old Wesley Chapel and its tiny cemetery. The winter blue sky is clear with sporadic patches of soft white clouds that move overhead in groups of pillowy cotton. The January sun isn’t bright this morning but it shines without any kind of warmth and leaves shadows on the mountains behind my home.

My home stands at the top of a hill. The hill slopes downwards behind my house and my property reaches down to Haverstraw Road. Beyond Haverstraw and passed the homes is wooded land on the risen mountains.

God, I wish you were here to see this . . .

I took a walk up the road to see the frozen pond. There is still snow covering the ice where a series of footprints left behind by one of the deer tracked a line and drew a circle to show where the little fawn entered and where she decided to make her exit. I like this place. The pond, I mean. This is somewhere I pass on my long morning walks during the warmer months. Today is not warm; however, I wanted to walk and feel the cold winds fill my lungs.

I wanted to feel the chill on my face, inhale deeply, and then say to myself, “Ahh,” before I exhale. Everything is so clean here. There is room to walk freely and see things like the golden eagles that turn through the sky and hover above the grounds between the Catamount and Panther mountains.

There is something so plain and so beautiful about this place. I swear you would love it here. It’s the kind of place that deceives the cold heart and tricks it into feeling something warm and inviting. I have never been anywhere like here. But this is mine. This place or this corner of the world — this here is mine. Perhaps this is why I feel so strongly about my surroundings.

I took a walk this morning to keep a tradition alive. I looked upwards at the sky and felt the wind on my face. I watched the tiny windmill in my driveway spin and change direction. I could smell the aroma of a nearby fireplace.

God, I wish you were here.

I am not sure where you are now or what you can see. I have always said that the eyes in heaven never blink — not even once. I believe the eyes of heaven never blink because blinking is an earthly thing and since that which is of flesh is flesh; that which is of spirit is spirit. And you are of spirit.

I know why I blink. I blink because my eyes need moisture. I close my eyes to rest. If I need to imagine something or gain a picture in my head, I shut my eyes so that I can see this picture more clearly. The eyes in heaven would never do something like this. They wouldn’t need to. I’d like to believe that you see us in ways that I could not comprehend. Since I am still of body, I cannot understand what it is like to see through the eyes of the spirit. Since I am of flesh, I cannot understand what it is like to be in the presence of you, as you are now, in the form of the spirit. Because I am earthly, and because I am still of the flesh, I am simple and only wish there was a way to hear from you.

I have this dream sometimes of you and me, moving through the rolling waves across the top of the sea. You are wearing a captain’s hat, a white sweater rolled up high as a turtleneck upon your throat as you stand at the wheel of your ship in the wheelhouse, moving outward and onward to ports I’ve only dreamed about.

You are there somewhere. I imagine you this way. You are far out beyond the lobster pots, passed the scallop grounds where boats drag the bottoms and passed the long-liner fishing boats. I imagine you this way. You are somewhere beyond where the cross-Atlantic barges move cargo from foreign ports to ours. You are in the endless ocean — so vast and beautiful. I dream of you like this.

Currently, the offshore weather reports a gale warning. There is a small craft advisory and conditions between the Hudson and Baltimore Canyon are as follows: There is a cold front, west winds moving between 25 to 35 knots, diminishing to 15 to 25 knots early then becoming northwest 10 to 20 knots. As of now, the seas are anywhere between 7 to 12ft which will eventually subside into seas of 5 to 8ft in wave height.

Pop, wherever you are now, I imagine you standing at the wheel in your wheelhouse, wooden pegs to the wheel held in your hand as the bow your ship raises and falls; throttles forward to keep you moving through calm seas. And somewhere, sitting comfortably with a smile, perhaps doing needlepoint in a comfortable chair next to a soft white lamp, Mom is there and waits for your return to port. I envision her smiling because at last, she is home, and at last she is with you, painless and free.

There is a feeling I suppose that comes when love is so deeply rooted that wherever we are — we still feel the company of our loved ones; in which case, we are never alone. I lose sight of this sometimes. I forget there is nothing so strong as a Mother’s love. I forget that you being who you are — your strength could never be diminished nor could your love ever become short of reach.

Today is the first day of the New Year. I took my walk. I took my deep breath and had the chance to say, “Ahh.”
God, I wish you were here to see this . . .
I wish you both could visit. I wish I could see the expression on your faces when you walked through the front door of our home. I could show you my tool bench downstairs and the refinishing projects I’ve started. Claire and Mom would make dinner. You and I could sit on the back porch, look at the mountains, and do nothing else but enjoy our time together.

All my love,

Your Son

B—

Dear Pop,

27 years ago today . . .
Can you believe it? A full-grown man is born and raised in less time than this.
27 years ago. It was passed the midnight hour when the nurse came out to see Craig and give him the news.
Mom, Dave and I had decided to come home once they turned on the machines to keep you alive. You were no machine to us. No, to us you were more than artificial life.

What I remember most about this day is the hours later. After receiving the news, I remember the first time Continue reading →

If anyone ever asked my mother, she might have told you the hardest day in her career of being a mother was the day she drove me up to a drug and alcohol treatment facility. I was far away from home and fortunately, I was even further away from my friends and the other influences that kept me sick. If anyone asked my mother if she felt this was the right thing to do; she would have explained about the guilt she felt. She might have explained about the feelings of failure, asking herself, “Where did I go wrong?”

I did not grow up in a broken, nor abusive home. I was not neglected, nor were my parents active alcoholics or involved with drugs in any way. I grew up in a normal, average home with the same Continue reading →

After scrolling through a series of photographs, I came across one with me in it. Having realized that I almost failed to recognize myself, nearly asking, “Who is that fat guy?” I became painfully aware of what had happened to me.

To put this kindly; I was overweight. My knees hurt and my ankles were bad as well. My face was rounded and bloated. My stomach was round too and the tattoo of an Asian princess on my lower rib and across my stomach had gained enough weight that she no longer resembled an Continue reading →

I heard these words before.
“A fellowship of men and women who share their experience, strength, and hope with each other, that they may solve their common problem and help others recover from . . .”
I heard these words before, but words like these were too far for me to grasp.
Walking through a series of double doors and into a small room, lined with chairs that were filled with others like me, I had no idea what to expect. This was not my first time in a room like this. I suppose it was just the first time I was able to pay attention. My mind had cleared enough that I could listen to what was being said. It was the first time I listened to Continue reading →

When I was young, around 19 or so, I met this girl and we decided to try and play house. This seemed like a good idea at the time. In truth, I had never had a relationship before this girl. I never really had a high school sweetheart or went through the normal teenage patterns of love or at least the kind of love that teaches how to love someone else. I never felt that sense of white-picket lust or the romanticized idea of sexual desire that is often confused for love—the kind that comes with the general novelty of man and woman, together, and happy.
At best, my attempts at love were Continue reading →