Woke early, couldn’t sleep. Restless, head filled with half-formed thoughts and shapeless anxieties. Things which you stuff away in a box in the course of the day, but which peek out and steal away in the early morning hours when the guards doze at their posts. Sometimes I can stuff them back away and return to lethe. Mostly I buckle up and greet the day. If you can’t get by on five hours sleep, well: You’d better learn to.
There’s a sound the world makes just before dawn. A stirring in the darkness, the birds sense it first. There were many times back in my youth when I’d be out in the tree stand or duck blind waiting for those first rays of sunlight, feeling in my chest as much as hearing the whirr and rustle of things moving cautiously about, some seeking their rest, others readying for their day. All of them aware in their primitive way that Something Else was among them. Potential danger. Even mortality, as best as a wild thing can grasp that concept.
Dawn has an almost anticipatory scent – like bread baking in the oven. Back in the day it sometimes commingled with the panting plash of a shivering golden retriever, wet fur and low moaning. Sometimes it was gun oil, or the purposeful feel of the arrow’s nock against the string. Acorns falling in the forest. Or were they the sounds of deer hooves?
In Southern California in the year 2008, it is the respiration of a sleeping family, the exhalations of the backyard greenery and the sound of the coffee pot attending to its scheduled duty. I suppose we all evolve.
Flew twice yesterday. They are beginning to run together, the faces. The Hobbit asked me afterwards who I had flown with and it took a positive effort of concentration to remember the first customer. An eager young man, amazed at it all, enthusiastic and joyful. With a regrettable tendency to wrap the bird up into a nose-low death spiral. It’s funny what you take for granted. He’s not a pilot, he doesn’t know. How could he?
The second was clearer. A displaced Bostonian, come west for the winter but soon to return to what even I have become to think of as “back east.” A vaguely delineated otherplace which excludes all of California, Arizona and New Mexico but includes parts of Texas and all of the Old South, as well as the Mid-Atlantic states. And which is exemplified by New England and the Northeast. We scarcely know what to make of a place like Illinois that claims, from a decidedly eastern half of the continent, to be a part of the “Mid West.”
Your man was aggressive and trusting. There was a cloud bank out to the west that obscured the horizon to a degree – so much so that he placed the little Varga in an extremely nose-high attitude I had not anticipated, nor yet encountered. I radioed a “knock-it-off” to our competition and I took the airplane back from him as the airspeed indicator regretfully unwound, and wondered, in the growing quiet, just what might happen next. Eased the stick forward and throttled back to idle to take the torque off her. A little rudder to get the nose slicing back through the horizon. Back nose low, back to where the airspeed lives. Hoping that once it got pointed down hill it would stay that way, rather than play the fool and spin across the horizon. The plane recovered nicely, which was a kind of blessing.
We don’t fly so very high, and we don’t wear parachutes. It’s very important to get some things right. It helps to have experience.
The Biscuit buried a friend yesterday. A classmate since 5th grade. He’d gotten himself into some trouble, recently. Drugs and alcohol. Many of them do. It’s a relatively affluent neighborhood, and the only real hardship any of them have ever known is an empty house during the work day, upper middle class ennui and the opportunities that combination brings. I told my daughter a year ago that, the way some of her friends were running? They weren’t all going to finish the race. Some among them would be left behind, eternally young. Lessons to the others.
They found him in his bedroom, their only child. Blue and lifeless. Drugs and alcohol, at age 17. The Biscuit said it was a lovely service. Sad of course. Very sad.
I’m sure his parents worried for him. I’m sure they woke up early of a Sunday morning filled with nameless dreads which they talked themselves out of in time. Kids today, they experiment with things. But they all grow up eventually, go to college, get jobs, have children. They all come back to visit, repaying the old cycle of love invested, and love tested.
Well, most of them.
I remember the look on my mothers face as my twin brother and I returned from a funeral of a classmate that hanged himself in his garage, only to be found lifeless by his sister.
Nobody had any idea it was coming.
At the end of the day you do your best and hope it’s enough.
Hope you sleep better tomorrow mate.
I remember the day that the first one of my friends passed away. I was TAD at Point Mugu and I think it was one of the most shocking events of my life. Not the fact that she passed, which was expected, but the fact that I wouldn’t see her the next time I went home was just a shock to consciousness. I think every kid has experienced loss in the form of a grandparent or something of that nature, but deaths such as those just don’t seem to have the same effect as the loss of a close friend.
Since then and during my time at the boat school, my worst fear has been that I will have to bury another friend or, heaven forbid, console the family of a sailor under my command.
I hope you can help your daughter get through this…good family and friends are the only way it can happen.
A next door neighbor growing up — the son of a police officer — was found one day after having played Russian Roulette with his father’s service revolver. I still remember the civilian medevac helicopter landing on our street to carry him to the trauma center. He didn’t make it either.
It was the first time growing up that I remember realizing that guns weren’t toys that you played cowboys and indians with in the backyard. I was in gradeschool at the time.
Jim C
Interesting how regional perceptions change regarding where you live at. A lot of people I know refer to anything between Texas to North Dakota and Nebraska to Indiana as the “Midwest.” To me anything outside of Nebraska, Iowa, Kansas, and maybe parts of Missouri, Oklahoma, and South Dakota is something other than the “Midwest.” Of course, to me D.C. , New York, and Boston might as well be right next to each other and as for out west, there’s the mountains, the desert, California, and then everything else.
I managed to escape high school and (thus far) college without losing anyone close, but that’s not to say there haven’t been some very close calls, both with accidents and not.
I hate to dwell on the mundane, especially when there is substance in the post but Lex stumbled onto one of my pet peve’s. Namely, what besides California constitutes the West when referenced by the East or by someone who is from the East?
As a point of reference I was born in the Land of Enchantment (in the back of an ole Rambler Classic Sedan) and true to that ubiquitous start have lived elsewhere since I graduated High School. Spending some time in San Diego from time to time (Boot Camp and S-3 Training at NORIS, and business) or up in the LA area but by and large I have lived on the east coast over these 35 some years since leaving the real South West. I did several tours to sea out of Norfolk (boat rides) while stationed at Cecil Field in JAX, I have worked at PAX River in Maryland and have lived in eastern PA (not too close to Philly but close enough to enjoy Flyers Ice Hockey). So being around the East Coast mind set for these many years has been eye opening.
One of my chain pulling issues not having to do with how people drive out here, is the issue of the West. When I hear that word or its variations (Mid or South) I get real sensitive to the actual state mentioned or referenced. Now, maybe it’s me but when I hear “Mid-West” I think Idaho, Utah or Colorado. NOT Ohio, Illinois or Indiana. And Oh by the way, the Southwest is New Mexico and Arizona and NOT Texas (I have a natural aversion to anything Texas so that might be debatable). These “people” here seem to drop out the entire area of the country immediately out of the Ohio river drainage basin all the way out to California (they never get the Northwest incorrect – go figure).
The media even adds to this as I have heard on many occasions a news report from the “Mid-west” and the reporter signs off from Cincinnati or Chicago. Arrgggggg, blood shoots out of my eyes like those little Horney Toads found in the desert west of Albuquerque!!!! I know it’s an education thing and I worked real hard with my kids making sure they knew how big and full the country really is, in between the two coasts. But I really believe it’s a cultural thing. Like the food or the English spoken here. The whole take on the history of the country is so East Coast centric that it is disturbing to one from “out west” whose take is based on the country before Roanoke, Popham, Jamestown or before those religious zealots stumbled onto that rock in Plymouth.
Hard to fight city hall even harder to fight the east coast mindset!!!
Thanks Lex for letting me bleed.
Jimmy T
Well done as always Lex. It is well known that a picture is worth a thousand words… what you have an incredible aptitude for… is weaving 10 words into a picture.
I too recently found myself, “restless… head filled with half-formed thoughts and shapeless anxieties. Things which you stuff away in a box in the course of the day, but which peek out and steal away in the early morning hours when the guards doze at their posts.” It sure would have been nice to be able to sum said frustrating time as eloquently as you.
Thanks for the pictures in prose!
-JC
I lived a good long time in San Diego when I was active duty and married someone from about 5 miles south of where you’re at. I knew folks from town in those days that were actually born there and lived all their lives west of the Colorado River! They’d go as far north as Seattle or even venture forth to Hawaii or in a few cases Australia..Everything else was “back East”..a place they didn’t know and in my experience seemed afraid of. Ain’t natural. Or is it? ‘Course, I had the luxury of being a Navy ping-pong ball for years- eastcoast westcoast, gulfcoast..well, you know.
re Death at 17: no words.
b2
Directional appellations for these regions aren’t always enough. Midwest is one of those vague ones – it might mean the Corn Belt, or the western end of the Rust Belt, or the Great Plains, or something else. A great many states have distinct regions within their borders and overlapping those of their neighbors.
I tend to think there are country people and city people; mountain folks and flatlanders and coastal dwellers. But even within those classifications there’s infinite variety. It’s part of what makes it fun to be a geographer.
As my mother always used to say, “If God had wanted us to all be alike, He’d have made us on an assembly line.”
I’ve always slept well. No matter if the world were crumbling around me, I slept well.
Until I had children.
And it’s not the physical care of them that keeps me up. It’s the “shapeless anxieties” that infect my sleep, like you said. We’ve not yet come upon the worries as you describe but I have had to explain some things to my children that have been gut-wrenching. My prayers for the Biscuit is that she recognizes the dangers that caused her friend to wind up where he is and avoids them at all costs.
I remember the pain my mother experienced when she had to take me and several of my friends to the funeral of a classmate who chose to drive after he had been drinking. He was 16 and just at the beginning of his life. Until I had children, I did not realize how deeply it affected her and how much she must have worried that the possibility existed for me to meet the same fate if the choices I made were not smart ones.
As a member of the bereaved parents fraternity it is always tough to hear of a child who has departed this life much too soon.
What are we to make of such tragedy? No matter the circumstance, it is always an affront to nature for parents to have to bury a child.
For my wife and I it was as if some evil force had dropped a house on us. Squashed flat with grief we were.
When such a thing occurs how do you pick yourself up and navigate through the misty corridors of life? It was the love of others who gently picked us up and led us by the hand. It was the belief that our son would not want us to lose our way. It was time. It takes time for broken bones to heal – even longer for broken hearts. It was faith that some day we would be together again.
Life is fragile and fleeting. Each day is an opportunity to show our appreciation for those we love and to live our lives such that those who have gone before will be proud. Live strongly, love deeply, and accept that, whether it is apparent to us or not, the universe is unfolding as it should.
My deepest condolences to the parents of Biscuit’s friend.
Lex- More beautiful word pictures, of the good, bad and ugly of life around us.
You could do worse than to tour around the country on a whimsical schedule, sharing your observations along the way. By plane, by motorcycle, or car.
Charles Kuralt did it well, and profitably, and seemed to enjoy his work.
We always love to see the world through your perspective. Thank you for sharing!
“Dawn has an almost anticipatory scent” Nicely put – it sure does. Very sad about the young man…I’m sure it can be tough to be a young guy nowadays…& what some say about daughters: “treasures of sleeplessness.” ouch.
My 19 year old son lost 2 friends within 6 months of each other (one on the day before HS graduation), both to reckless driving. Since then, I battle those “shapeless anxieties” more than ever before. My sympathy to your daughter, I know my son struggles with the losses.
Your way with words humbles me.
Here is something to ponder during those reflective times…
Sid- Sweet. I wonder if that’s Worf’s (Michael Dorn’s) old Sabre. Always cracks me up to see auction prices in the six figures, then right below it “Get Low Monthly Payments” and “Pay instantly with your credit card”.
Teen funerals are decidedly my least favorite place to go. No funeral is ever pleasant, but those for kids (esp. people your age or younger) just seem even more painful. Of the 4 I’ve attended, 4 were caused by drugs, alcohol, or suicide. Used by the deceased. Heinous. And then there’s that contingent of peers who purport to love the person so much and weep and carry on, purely for the chicness. At least when people are fake at a wedding, they’re pretending to enjoy themselves. . .
I never lost a friend in high school or college. I cannot even begin to imagine. The death of a child is just out of the natural order of things… something incomprehensible.
I’m so sorry for your daughter.
Jimmy J ~ that is an awful fraternity to be a member of. I’m sorry.
Well, written Lex, very expressive. I had a HORRIBLE scare this friday night with my 5 year old little guy. I have a rather large bed. You actually have to have steps to get into it and I was up talking to hubs on the computer at 1:30 am and I hear a loud thud and no cry. So, I rush into my room to find him just laying there on the floor. He fell out of bed but was unconscious. So, I panicked and called 911 when he came to which was only after a few seconds he could not turn his head and screamed his neck hurt. I was so scared my stomach literally felt sick! So emergency finally came and they checked him out and said he needed to go to children’s hospital an hour away so I asked the lady (my babysitters mom) across the street if she could watch my 3 year old little lady (who miraculously slept through the entire ordeal)so that I could ride in the Ambulance with my little man. We finally get there and get the xrays and THANK GOD he did not break his neck but he did sprain it! Poor guy. I didn’t want to pick him up myself and take him to the hospital myself cause I know with neck injuries it is best not to move the person and I didn’t see exactly how he fell out of the bed but everyone said I did the right thing. WHEW! that was quite an emotional scare. I have not cried about it yet. I think I am in still in survival mode LOL! I know it will all hit me soon and I will have a good cry but it is funny how we as humans cope with a situation. He is acting pretty normal and wants to play. All of that said cause I relate to the sleepless nights! Pondering things and pensively thinking about everything. Life is so fragile and we take it for granted so often. I could not imagine what I would have done had he injured himself worse. I think this weekend I faced my worst fears but haven’t yet dealt with the emotion. Thanks for sharing your thoughts. I am so sorry about your daughter’s friend. Children are so precious and are such a gift to treasure. Make sure to give yours an extra squeeze! I know for myself this weekend especially the reality of how precious they truly are was never so real!
Jimmy J: certainly not a fraternity anyone wants to belong to. My deepest sympathies to you and your family.
17 is just to damn young to become acquainted with death and grief over a friend. Family? Perhaps. But a friend – it’s not right. The Biscuit and her friends shouldn’t have to face this for many years to come.
The boyfriend of a high school friend decided to play chicken with oncoming cars, on a dark road, in the snow. He didn’t make it. I was 16 at the time and it is too damn young to go to a friend’s funeral. Too damn young to grieve for your first love.
Having a strong, supportive family makes all the difference. Certainly The Biscuit is in capable hands with her parents.
Jimmy J,
My sincere condolences. My father’s biggest pain sometimes I think is that he feels like he could have done more with us. Truth be told he did a great job-and I think he did the best he could. Any failings we kids had are our own responsibility.
God bless you and God bless the family of Biscuit’s friend.
Jessica, I can relate to your story. When my youngest, now 14, was just over one year old he had a fever. I was trying to take his temperature to see if he needed more childrens Tylenol when he had a seizure right there in my arms. Eyes rolled up, whole body shook and tensed. Scariest thing ever happened to me.
Yelled at wife to call 911. She freaked and was unable to talk. Luckily my parents were visiting and my Mom, the nurse, got on the phone and talked to the operator. About a minute later we heard the siren of the Fire Truck, which in our area are always sent out on Medical Emergencies, since the Ambulance crews are a little thin on the ground.
Bubba only seized for about 30 seconds, but I still swear to this day it was a half hour. He’s never had another seizure or any medical problems. (Knocking on Wood heavily.)
Jimmy J, my best to you and your family. I have no idea how a person would live through something like that, but I guess you have to go on to keep the memories alive.
Condolences to the Biscuit on her loss. Captain Lex, give her an extra hug from all of us, and squeeze real tight. I know I hug all of mine every chance I get. They roll there eyes some, but Hey, they’re mine, right?
Kris, Skippy-san, & Idaho Joe,
Thank you for your kind words.
Our son died 29 years ago in a mountain climbing accident. Since that time I have been acutely aware of the pain that families go through when a child dies. Whenever I can, I try to reach out and help those who are suffering. I try to point out that, although at times it seems impossible, there is life to be lived even after such an enormous loss. It was the love and kindness of people like yourselves that helped us go on.
With our country at war, families are suffering and having to come to terms with those kinds of losses. It is appropriate for us all to be aware of that and try to be of some comfort to them.
Unfortunately, as this post points out so poignantly, war is not the only cause of children dieing before their time. It does not, however, mean the families suffer less.
I know Life offers no guarantees that they will all grow up and come back to visit…eventually. Right now, I’d settle for just knowing he isn’t trying to drink himself to Death, crying about some imagined problem he thinks he created for his Mother and I, and hearing “Hey, Dad” just a couple more times. Any time.
He has a Life worth living. I wish he felt that way too. Because I just can’t cram all my experience into his head to help him see that. I think we are too far gone for that. I didn’t listen well to my Old Man either. Of course, maybe he’ll surprise me. Maybe he will grow up and come visit some day.
Most days, I think he will. Some days, not so much. He’s a really good kid.
Subsunk
Jimmy J, Subsunk, and Lex – Y’all make my heart hurt. Just wish I (or anyone) had some magic to make it all better. I’m sorry – I don’t. I will be adding some names to my ever-growing prayer list, though.
In third grade in Pensacola in 1972, my best friend at school, who sat next to me, died when his mother gassed herself and him and his little sister in the garage. The father was at sea on the Lexington, they flew him back that afternoon. It was an awful shock.
Around that same time, my little brothers were playing at a friend’s house across the street and the kid hauled out his dad’s shotgun and was showing it off when it discharged. Fortunately, it only blasted a hole through a bed and the stuff underneath it. That was a close one.
When I was in AI in P’cola, I had a friend who was a class or two ahead who just disappeared one day. He was found a couple days later floating in P’cola Bay on a Hobi Cat – he’d checked out with a large caliber handgun. We’d had dinner together the night before he did it – talking about flight school dreams – and I had picked up no signals that he was contemplating this. We never really came up with a reason for his action. I’ve often wondered what was going through his mind while we talked. I regret that I might have missed a queue that might have allowed me to somehow derail that train.
It’s a hard lesson that yours is learning and I’m sorry she’s getting it so early. Good that she’s you to back her up, Lex. Best to you both during those wee small hours of the morning.
Brian
This isn’t a personal problem any longer, unfortunately. I had a grandfather check out while cleaning a shotgun, according to the police report. That’s a polite way of saying it was a suicide but the police figure the family should collect any life insurance.
No, suicide will be with us. It might be an impulse decision, can’t know beforhand. Women tend to take pills and run the car in the garage, men tend to choose bullets and no chance of being salvaged. Ghastly choice, both, survivors are left to pick up the pieces.
I heard this on the radio while driving home Sunday, I think it was Drudge on the air.
There were some stats in the USA Today this week that make this pale. 48% of black females have STD’s. Something like 8200 black men have been killed this year, that surpasses the number of white men killed and blacks make up only 12% of the population.
Others have been talking about this, obviously, but from my view we’ve a minority American community bent upon genocide, and I’ve no idea how to stop it.
Suicide I can deal with. Wrong decision but there it is, pack up and move on. Genocide? That’s something that has to be stopped before it erases a generation. Sadly, I fear it will be a problem ignored.
– Max
Max – it’s not being ignored. However the only way to fix this nightmare is for those who perpetrate these crimes, those who live with them and those who claim they advocate for them – to take responsiblity for it and change it from within. All the “programs” in the world won’t help if the group in question doesn’t want the help or can’t see that they need it.
Jimmy J, I’m really sorry for your loss, and my condolences to each who’ve shared here.
It’s a tough call, sensing the responsibility to apply parental discipline and guidance, and yet scared to the bone that that harsh taste of discipline might be the last thing remembered.
Best wishes to all, and to your loved ones.
P-dub.