Everyday Heroes

These are troubling times, but I suppose humans have been making this assertion since the origin of our species.  Certainly we have perpetuated and witnessed savagery and injustice from the beginning of human history.  The first 15 years of the 21st century AD have simply continued the trend.  But there is always hope. Hope!

When you dig into the individual lives, you learn that regular folks are often secret heroes.  Some are bearing heavy burdens, some have overcome long odds through determination, and others are true to a dream regardless of the difficulty of the path.  Here are three stories:

N:  N is 83 years old, a self-described "tough old Irish chick."  She is widowed and white-haired, but her eyes are bright and her voice is strong.  Her 50-something son, C,  lives in a "garden apartment" in the basement of her home - he has bi-polar disorder.    C had accepted treatment and was doing well - driving for Uber, coaching hockey for a youth league and volunteering at a local soup kitchen. Unfortunately, he decided that he was no longer ill and stopped taking his medication.  This is typical behavior among bipolar people - lack of insight into their own condition is part of the disease.  In short order, C became manic - driving cross-country, spending money like a drunk, talking fast and crazy,  causing consternation among his family and friends.  N has refused to banish him from her home, even though his mania is potentially dangerous - he has verbally abused and threatened his mom.  She is having trouble sleeping, her concern for her son grows daily.  She has heard from many that she needs to protect herself - "safety first" is the prime directive for folks that have mentally ill loved ones.  N is determined to continue to fulfill her maternal duty even though her son is a middle-aged man.  She projects a combination of courage and anxiousness.

E:  For his entire life, E has been dedicated to music.  He is a sideman with great talent and has played with many famous stars, particularly blues people.  His music has taken him on tour around the world, to Europe and Asia.  E is also an extremely considerate person.  He does not forget the people he cares about; he checks in on his friends faithfully, especially when they are going through a bad patch.  Now, E is going through a bad patch.  The proliferation of free digital music and the fading interest in the blues among younger people has caused gigs to dry up.  The oversupply of musicians has kept the pay scale for live club dates at 1970's levels.  Many of the famous old blues stars that E supported are retiring, or dying.  As a sideman, E has depended on others to generate work. The pickings have been slim and he can barely make ends meet.  He has resorted to selling some of his beloved instruments to pay the bills.  And yet, he has not given up on his dream of a life in music.  He has formed a band and is striving to get bookings - driving for miles into the far suburbs to find a venue that will pay a living wage (or any wage) for excellent live music. E works harder for less money.  In spite of his travails, he is the one helping others, providing support to friends, committing acts of kindness daily.

S:  S is a small businessperson, running a retail establishment. Her shop employs happy people that greet customers by name. A first-generation American, S has a bright smile and is a wonderful conversationalist.  She also has suffered terrible losses - a failed marriage, and, the most horrible thing, the death of one of her children.  This would cause most of us to struggle and withdraw, but S carries on.  She has a new partner and a new home, closer to her business.  She has grieved and survived,  Perhaps the pain is still sharp, but she doesn't show it to the people that come into her shop.  She has a cheerful greeting for everyone and her business appears to be thriving.  And here is the most impressive thing - she radiates empathy. This is a woman who has refused to buckle.

I don't think that these three people consider themselves to be especially heroic, but they are.  Perhaps many of the people we pass on the street have similar stories.  And, for some reason, this gives me hope. 

Moving On

In December 2002, my family moved about four blocks.  We moved into an old house - very old, built in 1880. It is a local historical landmark - there is a plaque on the porch declaring its status. The place was being sold by a divorcing couple - the former husband was living alone in the rambling old building.  He was having a tough time, struggling with Lyme disease and the loss of his marriage.  When he moved out, he left lots of stuff behind, including some very cool beer mugs that I still use.

The house had "good bones" but was in need of attention.  It was a wooden structure that really had never been properly scraped, prepped and painted since it was built. There were non-functioning bathrooms and a funky, do-it-yourself finished basement with warped wood paneling on the walls and smelly wall-to-wall carpeting laid on top of a cold, damp concrete floor.  We moved in, my wife and our two girls, and we rolled up our sleeves.  The old house ate money at a rapid pace, but we got it into decent shape.  The list of projects is never cleared in a 125+ year old house.  I replaced two rotted porches and re-painted the whole house again last year.

Like the previous owners, our marriage fell apart in this old house.  After almost three years of litigation, the divorce became final last month.  Our home  must be sold .  The two young kids that moved into the house with us in 2002 are now young adults.  We will be closing on a two-flat, pictured above, in a couple of days.  Two-flats are a common form of housing in Chicagoland - they are great for extended families or live-in owners that need some income from a renter. I will put my two young adults in the downstairs unit and I will take the upstairs unit.

It will be good to be out of this old Victorian.  It takes too much attention and diligence.  The place will never be completely "fixed up."   The old house echoes with memories and scenes from a family in turmoil.  We had some terrific, happy times in this old house, but also some nightmare experiences. It is definitely time to move on.

We are downsizing and getting ready for a different situation.  There is quite a bit of uncertainty around this transition - we are all a little jittery.  And the two-flat needs work, too, so I will have a new list of projects.  The conventional wisdom ranks moving as number 3 on the list of most stressful life events - of course, death of a loved one is number 1 and  divorce is number 2.  Loss of job is number 4.

This feels like a new start, but there is no joy attached to the event.  I am 60 years old and the idea of a new start is not exciting.  But we will grind through this.  With luck, we will be settled and centered by the fall.

A Loss

I haven't been writing many entries for this blog lately. There have been many other things consuming my time, and a blog is a self-indulgent exercise - as bad as Facebook and Twitter. Who cares what I think and what happens in my life? Very few people outside of my family.

But I thought I would indulge myself today.

About a year or so ago, my youngest daughter (now 13) managed to beg and wheedle her old man into letting her adopt a kitten, a stray that was abandoned at the front door of the local animal hospital. The kitten grew to be a spirited tomcat, named Smitty (pictured above). He had all of the characteristics that make cats admired and reviled - independent, graceful, predatory, curious, and vocal. Smitty noticed the great outdoors when he was a small kitten - he was determined to break free of the "big house." He would hide around the doors and bolt whenever someone came in or went out. We tried to keep him indoors, but he simply refused to stay. So we put an identity microchip into the scruff of his neck, got him a collar with a bell and let him be an outdoor cat. He was much happier, and would occassionally reward us by bringing home a dead mouse.

On Saturday at 7:30 AM, Smitty was yowling and the dogs were barking. All of them wanted out, so I opened the door to the back yard and let them go. Then I made coffee and turned my attention to the newspapers.

On Saturday at about 10:45 AM, our doorbell rang. A man was at the door, holding Smitty. The cat had ventured onto the busy street in front of our house and was hit by a car. We thought that Smitty shied away from the street - he had never been seen near traffic before. I knew immediately that he was gone, but I rushed him to the vet anyway. I didn't want my girls to see the him. So Smitty was crushed; I don't think he had much time to suffer. It was sad and weird to carry his body - limp and bleeding from the mouth. Smitty was all muscle and energy - where did it go?

My 13-year old daughter cried and cried. My 17-year old daughter wept as well, even though she didn't have much to do with Smitty. My wife was very sad also. And I, who don't really like cats that much and never wanted this cat, felt the loss as well. He was the first living thing I saw when I woke in the morning (I am the first one out of bed). He was the only other male in the house besides me. Smitty was a proud, aggressive tomcat.

Good-bye Smitty. I hope to see you on the other side (if there is an "other side".