Meanderings and Musings of a Cluttered Mind

Chapter 7     My phone rang again, the sound for a text message, as I made my way through the Pittsburgh airport terminal.     It was from Tomah Jim.     We spent the better part of the last week, hustling from one end of the David L. Lawrence Convention Center to the other. The Wheelchair Games are a big deal, and Pittsburgh pulled out all the stops, with celebrity athletes galore on hand, like Rocky Bleier and Franco Harris, two of my childhood favorites.     Bleier himself had come back from a devastating Vietnam War injury that could have left him in a wheelchair. That didn’t happen. He walked again, and helped lead the Steelers to four Super Bowls, so it was only natural that he was the honorary chairperson for the week.     Usually if I was at one end of the convention center, they were at the other, shaking hands, taking pictures and signing autographs. The only time I got close enough was during the ope...

 Chapter 6             By now, the Edmarks and Lemens came to the car. I could hear confusion on the other end.             In the distance, I could still hear my beautiful wife sobbing. Each jagged, choked sound was like another stab of the dagger to my own heart.             Someone on the other end said they had to get Stephen. He still didn’t know. He was at another part of the park doing a geo cache with Paul Lemens.             I could hear some of the younger kids excitedly yelling for my only surviving son. I braced for what would surely come next.             Miriam composed herself and took control.             “Gary, we will take c...

Chapter 5             I disconnected from the travel agency and hit the answer button to connect with Ruth, the woman who gave birth to Devin nearly 22 years ago.             600 miles away, she just finished the hike, dropped off everyone at a grassy lunch spot, and went to park our maroon, Chrysler Plymouth mini-van in one of the asphalt lots in Devil's Head State Park She sat inside the van, got my voicemail, and called back, waiting for me to pick up.             My mouth went dry as I prepared to say … what? How do you tell your wife her child is dead?             The next few seconds are seared into my brain.             “Hi honey,” I said flatly.         ...

CHAPTER 4             We got back to my mother’s house and I collapsed in a chair. I tried to call Ruth once more, got her voicemail again, and hung up without leaving a message. She would get it soon enough. I knew they canoed the day before, and were probably hiking today.             I called up my e-mail and did something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I clicked on the photo Lou sent and blew up to a larger size.             On the screen in front of me was a tightly cropped face shot of Devin, obviously taken on the highway, obviously dead.             It was Devin, but did I really think it wouldn’t be?             He was dead.            ...

Sorry to do this out of order, but I figured now that Chapter 1 is necessary to put everything into context, so here is an excerpt from that chapter. CHAPTER 1             Our family began planning our annual, neighborhood canoe trip back in February 2011. Every year in August, for the last 10 years, several neighbors and friends have gotten together to spend a weekend canoeing down the Wisconsin river and camping on sand bars, which are like mini-islands, along the way.             Word of caution: There are no bathrooms on these weekend excursions. If you need a toilet, you carry a shovel into a wooded area on a sandbar. Some are able to make it an entire weekend, but most end up breaking down and saying, “I need to walk the shovel.”             And we all know what “walking the shovel” means.   ...

CHAPTER 3             We made it to the parking lot and the phone rang. It was Lou Denko again.             “Gary, I hate to do this to you, and this is not the usual way we do this, but I need you to identify Devin. Can I send you an e-mail …”             I hadn’t thought of this. They still needed a positive I.D.             “I don’t want to get your hopes up. This is a one in a million chance here, but we can’t do the autopsy until we know for sure …”             Autopsy? They have to cut up my son?             Dear God.             I swallowed hard again.      ...

CHAPTER 2 August 7     The Wheelchair Games were a blast, and inspirational at the same time. Watching hundreds of paralyzed athletes compete and excel in events that any one of us would bomb in was awe-inspiring.     Some had been paralyzed after their military service in car accidents. Others were paralyzed or lost limbs in various wars. None of them had a bad attitude.     It was my job to help with media and write stories. While there was a sizeable public affairs staff, I became particularly close with Tomah Jim and Kathleen Pomorski, another public affairs officer from the Coatesville, Pa., VA hospital. If we weren’t hanging out together on the job, we were usually getting dinner or sharing a beer afterward, patting each other on the back, talking smack, and making fun of one another.     In my pocket was a commemorative coin we all received as a token of our service. I don’t collect many of these military-style coi...