Meanderings and Musings of a Cluttered Mind

May 8, 2012             Nine months and a day.             That’s how long it’s been since Devin was killed.             It didn’t hit me until last night about 9 p.m., as I was ironing my clothes. I said something to Ruth about it.             “I know,” she said quietly.             And for the nine-month anniversary of his death, Devin came to me in a dream last night. Don’t know if I can call these kinds of dreams a vision like the one on 80 th Street. That night, and the feeling of Devin being with us on Thanksgiving remain the strongest form of a connection I’ve had with him since his death. They were beyond mere dreams or coincidences.             In last night’s dream, I found myself in Devin’s room, the way it looked when we were stationed in Germany, but the bed was pulled to the middle of the room so I could stand on one side and Ruth on the other. She came into the room in her nursing scrubs ready to go to work and wanted to say goodbye. I was on the other sid

Shadow desperately wants to become a father. But since he doesn't have opposable thumbs to search the Internet for foreign offspring, it's doubtful he'll be adopting puppies from China anytime soon. And, sad to say for Shadow, having offspring of his own the old-fashioned way isn't going to happen since we, ahem, took him to that trip to Disneyland a few years ago. It's just that nobody told him. So he tries. Everyday. With our other dog, Sandy. Who also won't ever be having puppies. We get our dogs from the shelter, and it's a prerequisite when you take one out of one of those cages, you don't set them up for a litter of six or seven puppies to get thrown back in when a family gets tired of them. She gets it. "You're spayed," and "Stay," sound alike to her, and she's never had an interest in becoming a Mommy, which just makes her bitchy and pissed off when Shadow tries to change her mind. Even if Shadow tried to be ro

Instead of picking up with Chapter 8, I surprised myself by writing this. Sat down to jot down a few sentences, and this is part of what came out. May 2, 2012             Found some pictures of Devin on the digital camera today.             Couldn’t help but talk to him out loud.             “Devin, why’d you die?”             Sometimes – no, check that, usually every night -- when I let the dogs into the backyard for their last pee of the evening, I like to stare into the yard, then stare up into space and just wonder.             I wonder where Heaven is. I wonder if it’s all around us. I wonder what Devin is doing and how it all looks to him, far removed from this Earth. I think of regrets and I think of ... stuff. Just think.             I’m fairly certain Sunday and Monday was a significant step forward in the grieving process, though it was a simple thing. I cleaned the kitchen.             We needed a new refrigerator, and as we cleaned the old one out, and p

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 opening ceremonies, when I was taking pictures of them, with our paralyzed ve

 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 care of Ruth. Just do what you have to.”             A few minutes later, it was Ruth who called me on the phone.             She sounded utterly empty, and was now probably experiencing what I felt at Kennywood -- somehow outside her own body, going through the motions.             “I’m OK right now,” she said. “I’ve got to ta

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.             “Gary, what’s wrong?!?”             I paused and started to form words I did not want to say.             “Devin’s … been in a car accident …”             “Oh no! What happened? Is he in the hospital? What hospital is he at?”             I didn’t answer right away.             “What hospital is he

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.             I called Lou back to make it official, and asked him to tell me more about the accident.             “Gary,” Lou said, “I will never lie to you. There are things I won’t tell you, but I won’t lie. He did have lower body trauma. Again, Gary, I am so sorry …”              What wasn't he telling me? I didn't have th

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.             It truly is roughing it.             Devin has been on most of these yearly canoe trips, and could be a paddling fool on the water, where he could show off his boundle

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.             “Lou, can we have an open casket?”             Years earlier I went to see Roman at the funeral home. His casket was closed. What a horrible injustice that must have been for his family. Not only is your son dead, but you can’t even see him.             “Yes, you can,” Lou said.             He told me a little bit more about the hours after Devin’s death.             He had his Renaissance F