What, is it Hanuka again?

I was told the video didn't work.  I'm hoping it's fixed now.  Please don't be shy and let me know if it's still not working.

Prior to when we modified the girl's room to accommodate a girl with severe disabilities, we did everything "by hand".  I'm mostly talking about transfers:  from Liam's bed to her wheelchair (and back); to the toilet; the bath; etc.  It was the bath trips that were most challenging.  Never mind the fact that for a person with a broken back (that's me) it's very difficult to lower her into the bath, but to do it all in slippery conditions was outright dangerous.  And when I say slippery I'm talking about the floor, the bath, but mostly - Liam herself. 
Bath introduced a few other "adventures":  small 'accidents'; things and places that most men usually never know about; etc.  These were never easy to handle.  On the flip side, Liam often would relax in the warm water.  This is pretty significant for a girl who was spastic and rigid almost at all times.  Among her many disabilities Liam also suffered from constipation.  It got really bad way too often and lasted way too long.  And sometimes a warm bath was the solution.  You may read those words and feel disgusted.  Ironically what most people may consider too disgusting and horrible to speak of, is a GOOD thing for a person with disabilities.  It means relief.  And it's very positive (after the cleanup etc.)

Alright, after this wonderful introduction, here's a clip of Liam in the bath.  Don't worry, there are no bad scenes here.  Just a happy Liam singing a Hanukah songs for the camera and her grand parents in Israel.

A green-purple hole

A green-purple hole

In recent conversations with various folks I noticed something strange:  Many talk to me as if Liam was never here, as if I didn't lose my daughter.  I find this interesting for several reasons:

• Are people forgetting?  Nah, can't be.
• So are they pretending?
• Or maybe people are intentionally refraining from mentioning her?
• But wait:  It was ME who never wanted to be treated any differently just because of Liam.  So maybe it's all in my own head?

The truth is that I find myself with mixed feelings - very much as described above.  On the one hand, I really don't want any special treatment.  But on the other hand, Liam was part of almost every conversation for 15 years.  Now she's hardly mentioned in any conversation.  Suddenly there's emptiness, vacuum.  Not only in those conversations, but mostly within us.  It's a black hole, or maybe, a green-purple hole - Liam's favorite colors.




Thanksgiving Memories

In past years, when Liam was around, we always made an effort to be at the beach over Thanksgiving.  Liam loved the beach (and so did the rest of us).  There's an emphasis on the word 'effort'.  For e typical family, one that does not have a special need child, it's a pretty easy deal - especially in this internet age:  You find a house/apartment/condo in the area you want, with the size of your desire, at the price you can afford, etc.  You book it, you go.  Done.  But for a family with a special need member, it's could be almost a nightmare.
Let's start with the search:  That's a process I started many months in advance.  Many [most?] property owners or agents  don't really know what 'wheelchair accessible' really means and truth to be told, it's not always that easy.  For example, the landlord, upon hearing the word wheelchair, may think it's an elderly or a sick/injured person, one who can [usually] get up from his/her chair to climb one stair or get in/out of a car.  Very few of them understand what 'it's a 300 pound power chair....it can't climb stairs...it needs room to turn...'.  "Oh", many would say, "the house  has only 2-3 stairs.....is that a problem?"  Yes, that is indeed a problem.  A big one too.  Most  landlords are not trying neither to make life more difficult nor do they try to sell the property (well, sure they do, but not to the point of misleading you).  For a matter of fact, I believe that they're truly trying to help.  Unfortunately, most people are ignorant regarding the needs of a family with a special needs child.  It was just difficult, next to impossible, to find a house which:

• Was able to accommodate a power wheelchair (ground level/ramp/elevator; maneuvering inside the house).
• Was on the beach - because to schlep Liam to the beach every time, even if it was just 1/2 a mile, was just too difficult.  What if she changed her mind the minute we got to the beach; or if it was too windy for her; or if she wouldn't feel good all of the sudden?  Then all of us would have to pack up and leave.  Not to mention packing/unpacking everything for the beach - including the huge beach wheelchair.  If the house was on the beach, on the other hand, we could just wheel her in if we needed to.
• Had a bed for her at the right height.
• Had a nearby wheelchair access to the beach.  This is another huge hurdle.  Most properties have a deck/walkway to the beach, but in most cases this would have stairs somewhere.
• Was equipped with a large enough bath, because we couldn't give her showers away from home.
• Was at a beach or a beach town that is to our liking (for example, we found Myrtle Beach pretty accommodating, but we never liked that town).
• Was affordable enough.
• Etc., etc., etc.  I only listed what came to mind quickly.  There are too many other details in that calculation.  

I searched for tens, or maybe it was hundreds, of houses over the years. 
All this, remember, and we're still only during the search phase.  We're yet to leave home.  If, in the best case scenario, we found a house somewhere, we continued to live in doubt until arrival:  would all those many things we asked the landlord about really be as he assured us? 


Loading the van was an adventure on its own, if I can call it that.  We always traveled with tons of equipment:  In addition to Liam's everyday wheelchair, in which she traveled in, we took a beach wheelchair (on top of the van), Liam's trike, my bike, often Meitav's bike too; oxygen machine + a reserve tank; boxes with medical and special hygiene supplies; extra sheets and towels and cloths - since we never knew what kind of 'accidents' to expect; etc., etc., etc.  (And, did I mention that being a short Ashkenazi Jew is not really helpful when you need to put big, heavy stuff on top of the van?  And unload it at the beach, and load it for day trips, and unload....yes, we traveled with a step ladder too.) But as packed as the minivan was, it had to be loaded in a thoughtful manner.  We couldn't just shove everything in.  Most importantly, we needed to enable a fast out-in for Liam and her wheelchair in case on emergencies.  Even without such emergencies, we still needed to stop several times on the long drive to the beach to eat and allow her to stretch (and change diapers etc.)   I know that this description probably sounds too "dry", too abstract.  One has to live through it in order to feel it.  It's quite  impossible to relay to others all this work, this effort, but mostly the uncertainty of how the next few days would be.

Travel with Liam was a-ok when she was younger, but the older she got, the more difficult it got.  First of all, she was uncomfortable sitting in her wheelchair for such a long ride - especially after the many medical procedures she's went through.  Unlike other kids who may read or play games during such rides, Liam could do nothing.  She just sat there, stuck in her wheelchair, staring into the road.  We would feed her (and feed her, and feed her, and feed her) and read her some stories, but she lost patience early and often.  Back when she was younger we traveled with two child car seats - plus the wheelchair.  We would "ask" Meitav to sit all the way in the back among the bags and boxes, which was unfair and unpleasant for her, but we had no choice.  So the ride itself was a hassle.
The first thing to do when we got to the beach house was to attend to Liam, change her, let her stretch.  Meanwhile, one of us would scan the property:  Are there any unexpected stairs?  How accommodating is the bath?  Can the wheelchair maneuver in the house?  Is there a wheelchair access to the beach?  If not, how far is one?  Again, there were many more such questions and checks.  If any of the conditions turned out to be bad, we had to think what to do about it.  This part of the blog is too short to list all the things we were promised which  never materialized.  These range from an unexpected step-up somewhere to too narrow passages to too small baths traces of rats.  If it's dirty stuff, maybe you can get the landlord to address the issue.  But, what do you do if the problem is structural?  In the 15 years of Liam's life, we never found a property we could return to.  Never.

Who doesn't like to get to the beach, kick the shoes off, and run to the water before anything else?  Unfortunately, for a family with a special need child that's not possible.  First we had to unload half the van, assemble her beach wheelchair, support her with towels/blankets so she wouldn't fall/slide away (after we attended to her inside), put up a tent to protect her from the sun, put her in the tent, haul her out into the wheelchair, back to the tent, back to the wheelchair....you already see where this is going.  Pushing the beach wheelchair in the loose sand is far from a 'walk on the beach'.  It's a true workout.  Back inside it's the usual attending to Liam - bathing her, changing diapers, getting her dressed, medications, etc., etc., etc - except all of that was done away from home, with no lift system and a small bath and small space, all of which makes everything so much more difficult.  And such were our "vacations".  It was more work than pleasure. 


I imagine that you read all of the above as me bitching, as one big complaint.  But the truth is that despite the hardship, we still loved to go to the beach and always looked forward to it.  Just to see Liam at the beach was worth it.  She loved the air (on most occasions....she didn't like cold wind), the sound of the waves, the sun on her face, the long walks.  You could feel her spirit lifting, her skin looked better - everything.  Well, maybe that was a slight exaggeration.  We still had the usual many medical issues to address....it's not like the beach was a miraculous medicine that healed it all.  But we all enjoyed it.  For a matter of fact, during the last few months of her life, when we sensed the end might be inevitable, we discussed a last wish (with the Make A Wish Foundation).  One of the first options discussed was going to the beach (with a nurse who would join us and oxygen and all the medical needs - the whole nine yards) to let Liam feel this air for the last time.  It never materialized.  Her condition did not allow for such trip.

So why I'm telling you all this?
First as a diary for myself.  So that it'd be documented for when I'm old.  Wait, I'm already old.  Ok, so for when I'm really really old.  Secondly, not so much to tell about our family, but to use it as an example to tell the world the challenges any family with a special need child goes through.  And this is at a holiday, when it's supposed to be fun for everybody all the time.  Just think of what other hardships they're going through at more challenging places - school, the Marta station, the Dr office (you'd be surprised how many of them are now accommodating for the disabled), etc.

Lastly, again, this all may sounds as bitching and complaining.  It is not.  We feel fortunate that we were able to go on those vacations and that Liam got to experience and enjoy the beach.  There are too many families of special need kids who never get to go either because they can't afford it or maybe because their child's medical condition limits them.

Has America Become an Oligarchy?

When you don't want to look in the mirror and admit it, maybe you should ask others what they see.

Has America Become an Oligarchy?

Surprisingly, what was left out of this excellent article was addressing the unanswered mystery:  How is it that roughly 40% of these lower class American, many of them blue-collar and unemployed, vote for those who directly screw them.  

A late posting about Gil'ad Shalit

I realize I'm posting this segment a bit late.  While most of what's written below is water under the bridge by now, I still decided to post it not only to explain to folks the issue in general and my take on it in specific, but also to make us all think about this; to show that some of the points presented in this writing may still be relevant to all of us in times to come.

Who is Gil'ad Shalit?
He's the lone Israeli prisoner released last week in exchange for 1027 Palestinian prisoners.

What's with the '? 
The way is first name pronounced, is similar to Liam's (who's correct pronunciation is Lee-um).  It's Gil-ad.  And the A is an English A, not an American one.  It an Ah sound, not an Ae.

Alright, did we get all the technicalities out of the way?  Can the discussion start?  Let's go.  Before I start explaining my take on this prisoner exchange, I need to give some background. 

In Israel the issue of POW's as well as MIA's is an emotionally charged one.  It's difficult to explain it to a non-Israeli audience. At a time like this the entire country feels like one big family - for the good and the bad.  Everybody really feels for the missing guys and their families.   And everybody gets involved in the conversation.  I mean everybody.  While on the one hand the entire country genuinely cares and wants to see the loved one back, there are too many who were impacted by terrorist attacks - either directly or indirectly. 

To demonstrate this to the American reader, lets complicate things a bit.  Imagine a really close relative of yours - a brother, sister, mom, dad, cousin, etc. - was murdered in that Virgina Tech massacre. Now imagine that the murderer was captured alive. 

This is a critical point at this imaginary story:  Do you feel the loss?  Do you feel the pain?  Do you feel anger at the murderer?  Do you want revenge?  You've got to get emotionally involved in this little story.  If you don't, read the above again and again and again until you have strong emotions against him.  You want to kill the son of a bitch with your own hands.

Are you back?  Do you hate him yet?  The murderer, it turns out, is a member of a well known mob family.  The police has many more criminals from that "family" sitting behind bars. The criminals, wanting their guys back, kidnap a policeman, who happened to live in your neighborhood.  You've seen his family here and there and heard about them, your kids go to the same school.  The policeman kept hostage for years.  Nobody heard from him, but he's assumed to be alive.  Meanwhile, everybody cares for his family.  You see his wife with two young kids all the time.  But, why should you care?  You have your own grief to cope with and it grabs you and wraps you whether you want it or not.  But really, do you not care for them?  A wife and two young ones who might never see their dad again.

The times comes and the the governor reaches a deal with the criminals for a prisoner exchange.  The murderer of your loved one is included.  He's about to walk free.  You can't stand this thought, but at the same time you care a lot for the policeman and his family.  Now, are you for or against such a deal?  You're not only emotionally involved, but your own heart is torn apart.

Alright, you can stop imagining now.  Back to reality.

So there all these emotions running high for hundreds of victims' families.  These families want justice, revenge, closure.  They don't want to see the killers of their loved ones walk free again - ever.  At the same time, they cared for Gil'ad Shalit and his family.  (If none of the above is enough of a mess, there's the security situation of setting hundreds of murderers free.  Most if not all of them pledged to go back to fighting Israel as soon as they set free.  Now how's that as an incentive to free them?)

Alright, was that enough for a background?  Let's start attacking the real issue now.  At the core of the issues are two questions:
- Are you for or against such swap?  (I was a 100% for it.)
- Isn't the price of 1027 Palestinian prisoners too high?  (My answer, "no".)

Now for the longer explanation:

• While I recognize the danger of setting them all free, I'm also a big proponent of forgiveness and reconciliation - not so much because I'm a leftist tree hugger, but because I recognize the opportunity for a truce, an agreement of some sort.  Let's ask the same question in reverse:  If all these prisoners remain behind bars, does it give Israel a better chance to reach truce with the Hamas?  I don't think so.

Slightly related (on the subject of reconciliation), I already wrote in an earlier post about Rwanda.  Forgiveness can lead to peace.  I don't think that the opposite is true.

Still on the same issue, I cannot put myself in the place of a family member of a victim of a terrorist attack.  I never lost any relative in such way.  If I was a relative of such victim I most likely would hate seeing the murderers of my loved one walking free, signaling a V-sign and smiling to the camera.  But let me ask those families:  Do you want to keep these guys in prison for the sake of security or in the name of punishment and revenge?  And I'll add another question for the families:  What would bring you a peace of mind, to see the murderers rot in prison or to share a pita bread and a dish with THEIR families?  (While these two options don't necessarily stand one against the other, I hope that the idea is clear.  Should I spell it out?  Nah, there's the World Series on the TV, let's not get carried away....)

So that pretty much does it for the emotional aspect.  Now let's examine the actual deal.

• What would Israel gain from holding all these prisoners?  Not much, if any.
• Yes, but how do you free 1027 murderers?  As explained widely in the media, "only" 400-something of them were involved in terrorist activities.  The other half are mostly small criminals who got caught within Israel or those who tried to work illegally in Israel (in order to support their families in the Gaza Strip).
• What is the risk in freeing them?
• Throughout its 60-something years, Israel always exchanged large numbers of Arab POW's to get just a few Israeli soldiers in return.  So this exchange is really nothing new.
• Previous swaps did not change the outcome of the conflict either way.  They made absolutely no difference.  (Many would argue here that the Jibril Agreement was a direct cause for the Intifada.  It is my opinion that the Intifada would have erupted either way, since the occupation in the territories really choked the Palestinian population.  It was really called for.  On a personal note, around the same time of the deal, i.e., BEFORE the released prisoners had time to organize any Intifada, I took a horseback riding trip in the occupied territories.  Remember, there was no hostilities against Israelis back then.  As we rode through one of the towns, a mob gathered and started following us, yelling, cursing, some even picked up rocks.  We reached for our guns.  It was a most unpleasant, scary event.  The point in telling this story is to demonstrate that the Intifada was brewing with or without the Jibril deal.)
• The biggest risk in freeing such big number of prisoners, to my opinion, is their impact on the power struggle in the Gaza Strip.  Without them, the Fatah stands a chance, a small one, to change things around.  With them, it's a Hamas game.  But, Israel cannot and should not make the calculation outside of its borders.  There's so much you can control.
  
• When Hamas took control they vowed to never recognize Israel and to never negotiate with it.  Well, guess what?  Not only they negotiated with Israel now for several years, but they actually reached and agreement with Israel.  "That's nonsense", would say opponents, "Israel always made swap deals with its enemies".  True, and it's also true that Israel made peace with its worse enemy ever (Egypt) and with Jordan.  By negotiating with Israel, Hamas sort of recognized it, whether they like it or not.  A crack was opened in the dam of resistance.  Maybe I'm too optimistic, but from my years as a water & soil engineer I remember that it's nearly impossible to seal a dam once it was cracked - if you know what I mean.  Hamas found avenues to talk with Israel, like it or not.
• Every deal has a price to pay.  Period.
• What about the pledges by the newly released Palestinians to kidnap more Israeli soldiers, continue the hostility?  Yeah, that's still a war.  The swap did not change anything for the better, but neither did it change it for the worse.  In other words, these are just boasting - nothing more.  I'm not claiming that all these guys would now be good boys.  Not at all.  But, they are likely to obey either Hamas or Fatah and it's unlikely that such authorities would allow them to carry hostile activities in the near future.
• Let's play a little scenario game.
• First, lets assume there will never be any settlement between Hamas and Israel.  In that case, see all the above elaborate explanation.  In short, Israel will gain nothing by keeping these prisoners locked behind bars for the next 30 years.  On the flip side, if Gil`ad Shalit was to stay imprisoned for ever or even die in captivity, the Israeli army would have looked really bad.
• In the second scenario lets assume that some settlement would be reached with Hamas (as I believe) within 5, 10, 15 year.  In this case, surely there would be a prisoner swap at some point.  Well, why wait?  Why not release everybody now?
• A few very prominent Israelis that opposed the deal said something like "soldiers have to protect citizens, not the other way around".  This just nonsense.  First of all, it's well known that in Israel the citizens are the army and the army is the citizens.  Secondly and much more relevant, when Shalit was a soldier, he protected citizens.  But how can he protect citizens by sitting in captivity?  His release (that is, the swap) presents no existential risk to Israel.  Which reminds me:  Some in Israel still live under the impression that Israel is under an existential threat.  They keep forgetting that  a few hundred prisoners who're released into a region where they barely has enough to eat can hardly be any threat to the strongest country in the region.  Common, get out of your trauma, people.
• "The difference", some would say, "is that Israel released cold murderers with blood on their hands while Gil`ad Shalit was not involved with any such activity".  Of course, the other side doesn't see it that way.  The Hamas are freedom fighters, in their eyes; the Palestinians are fighting for recognition and independence; Israel is the occupier.  So it's all a point of view (not to mention that Shalit's tank was guarding the Gaza Strip when he was kidnapped.  In other words, he was actively being involved in oppressing them - again, in their view).  Plus, Israelis forget that only 60-70 years ago they fought the British just the same and for the same goal. 

With these words, I'm of course not justifying killing of innocent citizens (on either side), but I can see how an population that is oppressed over years and years and years, with a huge unemployment, no medical or humanitarian services, etc., etc. - well, I can see how such population tries everything to get out of THAT prison.  And since oppressing this population is not working for years now, maybe Israel needs to think about changing its thinking?  
 
That's pretty much it.  Remember two things:
1.  I'm not any authority.  I'm just a private citizen expressing my opinion.  I'm sure that those who conducted the negotiation and those who made the final decision had other things to consider, some of which I'm unaware of.
2.  While I'm an Israeli citizen and served in the army and fought the same (or similar) enemies, I don't reside in Israel today.  That also means I'm removed from the everyday street-level public opinion, to a great extent.

------------------

Finally, on the same subject, something completely personal.  When No`am, Gil`ad's dad, spoke after he had his son back, he said something like "we just got a new son, all over again".  Even though there's a world of differences, we felt very much the same after we reunited with Liam after her many surgeries - and especially her very first surgery, the one which lasted 16 hours and in which she was actually given new life.  I'm not, of course, comparing Gil`ad's POW situation with us.  But when we handed Liam to the OR staff, we really didn't know if we see her back, or when, or in what condition she'd be.  So when the doc came out exhausted and sweaty and said "everything will be fine" (or whatever he said, because it wasn't always "fine"), we felt just like Gil`ad's dad felt:  that we got a new daughter, all over again.      

Steve (sort of) - continue....

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So, what are you saying, Asher,  you never feel sadness?

Hmm, I could continue on the thought of "an insensitive SOB", but I'll try instead something perhaps a bit more sophisticated and probably above my pay grade. 

The damn squirrels in the back yard...

 The big questions (for me, at least) are: What is sadness?  How do you define it?  How long does  (or should) it last?  How does it go away?  (Before you run to the dictionary to look it up, allow me to add that I think the answer might be different for different people.) Unfortunately, I don't know the answer to any of those.  I mean, I can probably speculate and give the so-called "common knowledge" answers, but I don't think any of that is relevant.  Wait, wait, wait - whattaya mean they're irrelevant?  Ok, here I go:

 ...throw all the cracked pecans straight on my back deck. 

I think sadness might be an instinct reaction to a sudden and unexpected some kind of loss (or a new reality).  I also think that sadness can be terminated/halted/altered within seconds simply using our thought process.  It's that simple - to me at least it is.

I hate them. HATE????  Isn't that too strong of a word?  Yup, absolutely.  Sorry.

Of course, it's not always as easy as it sounds.  Interestingly, for me, it's easier not to be sad when somebody dies than when somebody is facing a terminal and incurable condition.  As I already explained, to me, when Steve Jobs revealed his illness and then lectured about death itself it was a lot more sad than when he finally died.  

I yell at them to stop, but either they don't understand Hebrew, or they pretend to not understand Hebrew, or they just outsmarting me... 

 So what about Liam?  Weren't you sad to lose your own daughter? 

Rather than answer that with a yes/no, I will tell you this:  When you learn to accept life - and death - as part of nature, of our existence, as part of this universe, then, well, you accept it all.  Acceptance does not mean suppression of feelings.  However, it enables you to recognize (life/death) and move on. Moving on, in this case, does not mean leaving your loved ones behind and moving forward without them.  I love Liam, I always will.  I miss her so much, I probably will continue to miss her forever.  Liam is with me at all times.  But I can't find any sadness within me.  (Unfortunately, we're still missing the definition of sadness....we might be going in circles here...)

...waiting for me to sweep the deck and then throwing more stuff on it right away as soon as it's clean.  

 I'm not sure if any of that makes any sense.  Acceptance is something which is difficult for me to explain.  I don't know how I happen to "have it".  But I do know this:  once you learn that you have it within you, you stop labeling things as "shocking" or "sad" or "outrageous" etc.  You simply accept things (that you can't do anything about) as they are.  That includes death.  It's just part of this world.  Now, I'm not saying I will never get sad again.  I don't have a way of knowing that, of course.  But so far acceptance allowed me to cope with some of the most difficult things a person might face in life. 

Lastly, because of this acceptance, sometimes things that I say look like I'm pretentious (in the best case) or that I'm just an insensitive SOB (in the more ugly case).  If you're still reading this blog, you must have recognized by now that I'm truthful and honest.  If you didn't, I'm not sure what you're still doing here.

God, I hate them, I really do.

A slightly different take on Steve Jobs

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Ok, a quick note about Steve Jobs.  Sorry in advance that I'm about to piss off a bunch of readers here.

I'm not sad that Steve is gone.  Here, I said it openly.  Why not?

Of course I'm not happy that such a wonderful person  is no longer here, but I'm not sad from his actual death.  Having spent a year with a dying and suffering person - Liam - I think I can identify with Steve's suffering, I can sympathize with the "smell of death" he must have sensed.  But that's about it.  Now he's gone.  The suffering is gone and I'm glad for that.  He left his mark on society and technology and business.  I'm glad I was here to witness it.  I'm glad I'm enjoying his creation, his innovation, his vision.  That's pretty much it. 

glad + glad + glad ≠ sad

(but just to clarify, [glad + glad + glad ≠ happy] either.  The math is not necessarily that simple.)

And really, nobody should have been surprised of his death.  It was coming, it was expected. Unlike Liam, where the writing was on the wall, Steve told us explicitly "I'm dying".  Now THAT is sad!  Are all the people who express their sadness in public now also felt sad for the past several years when he fought his illness?  It just doesn't make sense to me to be sad NOW.

RIP, Steve:  I often think what does that mean, why we say it, and who do we say it to.  Steve cannot hear this wish any more.  (The wishers should have delivered it to him PRIOR to his death, not now - DUH!)  We don't really know what happens after death (did we cover this topic already?)  All we know is that the physical body decomposes over time.  So how do we know if he goes to rest?  How do we know if resting in peace is what he needs?  How do we even know that we can talk about him as if he's alive?  And why do we speak to the dead as if they can hear us?  In other words, we say RIP for our own need/wish/whatever. 

Maybe I know how to cope with illness and death, or maybe I'm just an insensitive SOB.

(I hope you understand that none of the above yammering shows any disrespect to Steve or diminishes what an outstanding man he was.)

Ride in memory of Liam

My Spin For Kids campaign. Thank you.

This October, like every year, I will be riding my bike at the Spin For Kids ride.  This campaign is to raise money to enable kids with special needs to attend very expensive [and unaffordable otherwise] summer camps.  Liam used to enjoy these camps.  If you donated to my campaign already, thank you.  If you haven't, please consider doing so.  While I'm riding in memory of Liam, I'm really riding to help other kids, those who still can, enjoy the summer.  And thanks.

(P.S.  If it's a 'ride in memory of Liam' shouldn't I be doing the 50 miles laying on a bed in an ambulance with an oxygen mask?  Just a thought...)

First Anniversary

Today, September 4th, was Liam's first anniversary.  Yes, it has been one year since she gave her last breath.  It might be really extreme, stupid, even inappropriate - if I mention any positive terms with regard to this date.  After all, we're mentioning a loss here.  And we miss her, oh so very much.  But, if we go back one year, we made a decision to stop Liam's suffering.  And, once you make a decision and work together to achieve a goal, and when that goal is achieved, you should have a sense of accomplishment, right? 

In life what we do is help our loved ones live.  That's what we, living creatures, do.  Our instinct as human is to provide to our offspring, to see to their well being.  Even though Liam was with many special needs, this was no different.  What is different is that in the last year of her life, as you all remember, we tried mostly to keep her alive.  But when we made the decision to let her go, what did our mission become?  Well, just that.  To help her die as quickly as possible and with least suffering.  Yes, that was our new goal.  So when we achieved it - when she died - we accomplished our mission, right?  So that was positive, right?  (Because when you accomplish a goal it's always positive, right?) She suffered no more; the burden has been lifted.  Just simple logic of one-plus-one. 
Needless to say, nobody felt any sense of accomplishment.  But, accomplishment aside, Liam did stop suffering (at least we think so....because humanity still doesn't know what's on the other side....if you really leave all your trouble behind).  She got relief - finally.

And now, a year later, there's definitely no sense of accomplishment.  Just the loss.  At the same time, we're a positive family that don't live the loss and grief every day.  Rather, we remember the happy Liam, the good memories.  I will be lying if I said that we only talk about the good times.  We remember the difficult last year of Liam's life very vividly.  Rachel even keeps in touch with the hospital staff.  But that's what positive people do:  they can handle the positive and the less positive all in the same salad bowl.

So that pretty much sums the first year.  It was a difficult year, but not all grief.  And really, the one-year mark makes no difference.  It probably will continue to be a mix of laugh and tears for us.  When I look at Liam's pictures, when I'm editing videos of her, when I write about her here - I laugh and I cry.  And then I laugh again because that's who I am.  It's a bit hard for me to believe that I had such a special person in my life, that she was part of out everyday life.  At the same time, it's hard to believe she's not here any more.  Go figure.


Saints only, please

While we visited the cemetery and walked between the graves, I noticed something interesting.  If you go by what's written on the headstones, only good people are buried there.  "To our beloved, modest mom", one grave said; "My dear and special husband", said another; "To my wife, who was loved by all", said a third; and so on and so forth.  I didn't find any grave that said something like "my greedy husband" or "our abusive mother" or "our son who was shot while robbing a bank".  Nope, this cemetery is only for perfect people.  (I would imagine that even a Jewish upper class has some non-perfect people.)  Which raises the questions:  where do they bury the less-than-perfect and what do they write on their headstones?  Or, do they all turn to saints when they die?  Hmm.....
One  sleazy wonderful car saleswomen

Remember the last time you bought a car, especially a used one?  It's almost always a somewhat stressful experience.  The salesman, either at a business or if private, always glorifies the car.  You always have doubts. And you often feel exploited.  And when you try to sell your own car to an individual, chances are you too are not telling the entire story to the buyer.

Well, last week (coincidentally or not around Liam's anniversary), we sold the minivan that carried her.  This minivan was modified to carry a wheelchair.  It has a lowered floor, a power ramp, and a few other necessary accessories to allow for the mobility of a disabled person.  I'm telling all that to explain that the market for such a vehicle is very limited.  Combined with the weak economy, it didn't look very hopeful for us.  Indeed, the van was listed in several places and we hardly got any bites.  So when we got a phone call from this lady (Meggie), we got pretty excited. 

Now usually, when it comes to cars in our household, I'm the buyer, the seller, and the mechanic.  When it comes to buying/selling, I'm ready for the battle (that doesn't mean I like it any - only that I become very militant about it).  But when Meggie called, I left it all in Rachel's hands.  I mean, I was still involved with all the technical stuff (you don't want Rachel to handle that, do you???), but otherwise I checked myself out - until I was asked to take part.  (I don't think that golf or the return of football has anything to do with it.  Do you?)  Anyway, Meggie was helping this poor Hispanic family, with a special needs boy and no money, get an accessible van.  She was raising the money.  Don't ask me everything how the deal came about, because I really don't know.  It was all between Meggie, Rachel, and the Fragile Kids Foundation.  I just sat on the sidelines and was happy to do so.

Now, if it was me making the deal, I probably would have been a bit impatient and maybe nervous.  I would talk bolts and nuts and tires and belts - and money, of course.  I would be short and to the point in my answers.  And, I would have probably failed the deal with this approach.  Call it business disability (since we're talking about disabilities, I want a piece of the pie to).

Well, not Rachel.  The conversations between Meggie and her were all but about the technical stuff.  It was mostly about, well, what ladies from the "disability world" are often talk about:  about the actual kids and their families.  Needless to say, all the conversations were done in a Rachel-patient-and-pleasant-and-understanding style.  Not in the pushy style I would have conducted this business.

First the family came to see the van - with a translator.  While we worried about every paint scratch and broken tail light, they couldn't have cared less.  You could see how excited they were about the van.  About the possibilities and freedom and safety it would provide them.  This is a very poor family.  To have a kid with severe disabilities on top of that is really heartbreaking.  I don't know how they feel about their tough luck, but it seems that Johnathon, the boy, doesn't feel sorry for himself - much like Liam.  He's smart and funny and very cute.  We all went for a short "test drive" in the neighborhood.  They were ecstatic. 

When the deal was nearly sealed Rachel send this note around:

The time has come for us to part from our big white minivan. Truth be told i am having mixed emotions about it. Liam and I spent a lot of time and miles in there. And occasionally she just liked to sit inside and listen to the radio.
The exciting news is that a really cool family, with some great kids are going to receive the minivan. The little boy's name is Jonathon, he is 7 and has some crazy awful condition that I can't remember the name of. His sister is 11 and reminds me a lot of Meitav. The family is Hispanic and dad has been out of work for 2 years, but works as a house painter when he gets jobs.
People have been donating $ to allow them to get this van, which will be a safe way to allow Jonathon to travel with his power chair. I have rotated the tires and filled the tank with gasoline and if all goes well we will transfer ownership this Sunday.

Sooooo. Why am I telling you this story? The family is on food stamps and struggles to pay rent. Wouldn't it be fun to help them with the cost of gas? If we each bought 2 gallons that would be about $7.00 and we could give them an awesome gas card! So I am asking if you feel inclined to help out and buy a gallon or 10. I will be collecting $ thru Saturday evening or if you prefer you can by a gas card for anywhere and drop if off by Sunday at 9:00 am.
Thank you all.

Wasn't that smart and thoughtful of her?  Within a short while our wonderful community responded with donations.  So there it is, at the end, everybody won:

• People who donated money to buy the car (through Meggie).
• Meggie herself, who helped a family who otherwise wouldn't have been able to get such car in this lifetime.
• We finally sold the van.
• The recipient family.
• Johnathon, the boy, who can now travel safely with his family in his own wheelchair.

On the day they came to pick it up, the whole ownership transfer was done in such a good and pleasant atmosphere.  There was no price haggling, no hiding of technical "ailments" and stuff.  Instead, there was information sharing:  how to operate the ramp, how to strap the wheelchair safely, how to make it safe specifically for Johnathon (since he is a different size of Liam and rides a different wheelchair), etc., etc., etc.  In the process, I was almost a dad of a special need child myself - all over again.  And I realized how much I miss it.  Does it sound sane to you?

But the reward in seeing the look in their eyes when they got in the car and drove away was - priceless.  In the most expensive meaning of the word.  Being a part of it all was such a privilege (glancing quickly at the check too...)

And now, it's time to move on.  Rachel will now inherit my toolbox, filter rings, ranches.  And I will do what I do best (and if you guessed beer and football you don't get any credit.  I've been giving it away throughout the blog).  



But, it's just a car, right?

The time of selling the car was interesting in itself - in the weekend just before her anniversary.  Before you make anything out of it, let me assure you:  it was a pure coincidence.  Has no significance whatsoever.  What was significant, however, was the farewell from the van.  Huh?  Farewell you said?  From a bunch of bolts and metal and rubber and what glues them altogether?  Yup, that's exactly what I said.  Here's why:

• This van was part of us for 12 years for the good and the bad.  We took vacations in it; we were singing out-loud while driving - both girls giggling; and we also had night drives to the ER; and puking; and Eema-I'm-hungry; and so many other memories.
• It's yet another farewell-ing to Liam.  Every piece of equipment we get rid of leaves a little hole in our lives (and sometimes a big space in the house).  But it's also a part of a new beginning.  Many people asked us in this past year if we "returned to our routine" or if we "recovered".  And how many times did I have to explain over and over again that there was no routine and there's no recovery.  What there is is a new beginning.  A new beginning with strong ties to the past.  Usually a new beginning is a good thing.  For us it's not that clear cut.  A new beginning means leaving the past behind.  When it comes to a piece of furniture and even a car (with laugh and puke residues) it's a fact that you have to recognize and move on.  But when it comes to a loss, let alone your own daughter, a part of you - it's much tougher. 

(But, before we get too sentimental, let's just remember that if Liam was still here, we would have getting rid of this piece of junk anyway.  It was time for us for a new van.  This does not take away anything from what the other family got.  Our piece of junk was a treasure for them.  If they maintain it the way I did, it will last them anther 100K miles.)

It's just interesting that this lifeless piece of junk was able to generate so many emotions with so many people:  us over the years and now the new family who owns it.  It's interesting because it's just a car, right?


So we know what to do about sharing death, right?

In response to my "Death" post, our good friend Joy, who lost a also daughter, wrote me this (among others):

To Asher, I say, “Break the taboos!!!”  When folks ask, I always say, “Two kids!”  If they know Rebekah and press for more information, I give them what they are asking for.  In fact, you might say that I am somewhat militant about acknowledging my daughter Rachel.  Just this morning I filled out information on a Dekalb County Jury summons and said I had two kids.  So, Asher, go for it; I know you have a militant spirit too!

What an excellent letter!  To my credit, I was gonna do just that anyway.  Really.  Because that's who I am.  I can't keep things inside.  (Thank goodness the Israeli army days are over...)  I like to be free.  And freedom means to lay it all out.  Unfortunately, and despite Joy's kind and wise words, it's not that simple in my world.  I too, can be militant about it.  Military I know well.  I know how to handle hand grenades and mines and RPG's and all that ugly "goodies" I'm happy not to be part of any more.  I guess that if I'm in a non-work related social situation I can be militant, blunt about it.  But in the office it's still a different story.  I was thinking just about that as a bunch of us had lunch together recently.  And I was thinking "what will happen if right now someone asks me about my kids and I would say two, one 14 years old; the other passed away...etc., etc."  That would be a hand grenade in the middle of the table any way you cut it. 
I'm lucky that I'm currently working at a place that I think would be very understanding if I throw such a bombshell (whatever "very understanding" really means....who the hell can really understand what it means to lose your daughter - and in the most painful way?)  But, why throw a bombshell in the first place?  I prefer to stay patient and see if I can somehow make it infiltrate slowly. Sneak behind the enemy lines.  I'm going for a guerrilla war rather than heavy artillery.


Platelets

I'm a regular platelets donor.  Every 2-3 weeks they stick a big needle in my arm and I'm hooked to the apheresis machine for 2 hours.  No biggie.  So when, during my last visit, they asked me about scheduling the next one, September 4th was a natural choice.  (Maybe this is where I should mention that I'm not an easy stick.  They have hard time finding my vein.  And while they search for blood, I'm in pain.  If you read the old blog, you'd see that Liam was very much the same.)  Well, I didn't choose this day to feel Liam's suffering.  I chose this date because it was time for me to donate anyway and because cancer patients really need my donation.  And it just seemed like the right thing to do on this day.  To give life to somebody else.

------------

So there, that's how I spent Liam's anniversary.  I visited her grave, I thought about her, I exchanged notes about her, I wrote about her life and about her death and about her car which now continues to help somebody with special needs to get around, and I donated platelets.  Oh, and I watched some sports and I drank some good beer - naturally.  I consider this as a pretty good anniversary.  Liam would have liked it.

Death

Today let's talk about death, ok?  Why not?  If everybody's talking about life all the time, why not talking about death every now and then?  And how do you talk about death?  What do you really want from us, Asher?

I want to be able to talk about my dead daughter - my Liami - in the same way I talk about the living ones.  But in our society that's not something people do.  Try saying the word "death" - in any form or context - and the conversation mutes at once.  Or everybody's leaving the room, finding "things to do".  Disappearing.  Changing the subject.  Just not to talk about death.  We are "allowed" to talk about other losses:  drained out retirement funds, work loss, divorce, medical problems, etc.  Just not about death.  Death is taboo.

And if, very unwillingly, people are talking to me about Liam's death, in most cases I immediately feel that they feel sorry for me.  And I don't want anybody to feel sorry for me.  I want to be able to talk freely about any subject, including Liam (who is dead now, I'm sure you noticed by now).  So that's it.  I can talk about her here, in my blog, as much as I want.

Well, the term "talk about death" is probably inaccurate.  However, there are too many cases in life when I feel that the taboo status our society treats death with, prevents me of mentioning Liam.  It puts me in jail and shut my mouth.  Here are some examples:
    •    When in a friendly conversation people as me how many kids I have.
    •    When somebody asks me what I did over the weekend (I went to visit my daughter's grave, how about you?  Did anything interesting?)
    •    If I want to put her picture on my desk at work.  A picture would necessitate a story.  And, well, you get my point.
etc., etc. etc.  Any answers I'd give to any of the above questions is likely to throw a bomb in the room.   

It seems to me that death itself is not "negative", right?  Death is just a situation - just like life.  What leads to death is usually viewed as negative, and rightfully so, in most cases (I can't think of one that is not).  But death itself is just a transfer "mechanism" (for a lack of a better word) to, well, to something yet unknown to us.  We're sad about the separation from a loved one.  That's natural and instinctive.  But why do we refrain from talking about it?

A good friend told me that telling people at the work place cannot be a good thing and might even be "dangerous".  People look at you differently and the company may be biased against "special needs".   Nobody wants anything out of the ordinary.  It's hard for me to accept or believe this as true.  If it's true, it's stupid and absurd.  And I'm sure most Americans would deny it.   But I don't want to take the risk.  In a society where you can't reveal that you're gay, how can you reveal that you lost your 14.5 years old daughter?  It's not exactly a don't-ask-don't-tell, just a don't-tell.

So yes, I'm hiding Liam from those who never met her and don't know our history.  I'm hiding her during social events, business meetings, every day work, etc.  I'm hiding her both when I know that the conversation would become awkward and when I don't know what the consequences might be.  I'm swallowing a cotton ball every time the subject threatens to pop into the conversation.  Apparently, burring her 6-feet deep was not enough to hide her.  And I feel I live my life in a lie.

The cruel irony is that when Liam was still with us, we were always very proud of her.  That is also a mini-taboo in our society, by the way.  People often have to "hide" their special need kids.  Not us.  We were proud of her and I believe we taught society how to treat her (and us).  And the irony is that now that she's gone and there's nothing to hide any more, now it's a taboo.  That's how screwed our society is.

There are some people who are very private anyway.  To them maybe such situation (of hiding the dead) wouldn't be a big deal.  But I'm not such a person.  I like to be open to all and about everything.  Unfortunately, this is the society we live in.  Even if I had a lot of money and wisdom and fame, it's quite unlikely that I could change society.  But, if I had the money at least I wouldn't have to hide her like I do now.   And maybe that would have left a little dent on the way society treat is.  (So what, at the end of the day is it all about money???)

In short, anybody who reads this post can feel free to talk to me about death.

 

And after we brought her home from the hospital, we just waited.  And as expected, Liam, who in the past several weeks/month needed special medical attention to survive; Liam, who in the entire past year we were afraid to give her Morphine for her pain in fear that she'd stop breathing - all of the sudden started breathing on her own.  As if from under the Morphine she said "I can breathe by myself, I can do it".  The typical fighting spirited Liam.  The same brain, which had so much trouble ordering the body to breathe, suddenly worked flawlessly.  Fooling us.  And what you, the parent, hear, is "I don't want o leave you yet".  And the doubts continue to nag you - are we doing the right thing?

But we made a decision and we stuck to it.  It was a one-way, deadened street (no pun intended).  We could not turn back and was nowhere to go anyway.  In truth, we didn't do much.  We just allowed nature to take its course.  We just saw that Liam wouldn't suffer.

We knew several minutes before that it's about to end.  We sensed it.  When the moment arrived, I placed the stethoscope on her chest and listened.  Then I buried my face in her neck, just like I did so many times before during our 14.5 years long honeymoon, and she would giggle with delight.  I looked around me and my eyes said "that's it".  The girls washed her body and put flowers around her.  When they arrived to take her body away, I picked my Liami, just like I did so many times before in the past 14.5 years - from bed to the wheelchair, to the bath, to the X-ray table, to the OR bed, to her bike, to the swing in the playground, to the airplane - and I laid her in their bed.  This time she didn't laugh or complain.  And she was a bit cold.  And maybe a bit heavier than ever before.  And they took her away.  The end.

Tissue.

 

As much as it's painful for me to talk about the above, you're still welcome to talk to me about it.  Well, you're welcome to try.  Either I will or I won't.

Irony of the day

It is a well known fact that Georgia is a red state - thanks to its rural residents on the most part.  Recently GA passed an immigration law similar to the one from Arizona (not exactly, but in spirit at least….the bottom line is to limit illegal residents - Latinos, that is).  
But now that the law is signed and implemented, [many of] the very same red voters, who elected officials that passed it, are themselves suffering from it, because . . . well, illegal immigrants can't work and all the businesses, which rely on cheap manual labor, are hurting.  Am I the only one who sees the irony?

And here's a double irony:
No cheap manual labor means prices go up.  Prices go up means that the government collects more taxes, but also that the economy weakens - both of which are exactly the opposite of what Republicans promise to their voters.  
Am I the only one who sees that?  Is it really that complicated?
Just to clarify, I'm not at all in favor of allowing illegal immigrants to live and work here freely.  I'm just pointing to the irony in the situation.  Food for thought.

(I would love to get comments/corrections/clarification to explain to me if I don't understand the picture correctly.)

How many children do you have?

I'm seeking advice from anybody who can contribute.  Please feel free to either post a comment to this post or send me mail directly (dorfa1 at gmail dot com).  Ok, here we go.

Sometimes, specifically when I meet new people, the friendly question comes up in the conversation - "how many children do you have?"  How should I answer such question without shattering the conversation into small, awkward pieces?

If I say "two", the next question will be "how old" or "where do they go to school" or any other question that will require me either to lie or to, well, shatter the conversation.

If I say "one alive and one no longer with us", well, then I just shattered the conversation.

If I say "one" (and nothing else), then I'm not telling the truth.

What to do?  

Again, any good advice will be greatly appreciated.

Mother's Day

This is where we spent Mother's Day morning.

It was very quite.  Hmm.....

Happy Passover - the morning after

But don't confuse my observation of the Hebrew bible in specific or religions in general, with what I do and how I live my life.  So for example, despite my "Happy Passover" post from below - i.e., despite the fact that none of this really happened - I celebrated Passover with my family just the same.  

We don't do a traditional "Seder".  Oops, let me rephrase that.  We don't do the traditional Jewish Seder.  We do have a tradition of our own.  Weather permitting, we gather in our backyard with friends and some family.  Most are Jews, but this is not a requirement.  For a matter of fact, there are no requirements at all.  We dress casually.  The only requirement that I'm aware of is that my wine glass stays filled. 

The atmosphere is light.  No formalities.  We do some light reading on the subject out of non-traditional writing and even sing a song or two.  There are wild beast and frogs and "flies" - all plastic.  We throw them at each other.  We eat, we drink, we chat.  We drink a bit more.  It's fun.  The credit all goes to Rachel who thought of the idea, designed it, and she's the one who makes it all happen.

And, how do I explain to myself the contradiction between knowing that the Egypt exodus never happened and celebrating it nevertheless?  Here's how:  family, friends, wine, fun.  If anybody asks me about the details of it all, then I'm always happy to share my knowledge.  Otherwise I just sip my wine.

What, you're eating bread on passover?  Shame, shame, shame on you!

When I was a kid in Israel we celebrated the Seder in the kibbutz among several hundreds people.  Although it was conducted in a secular way, it was still waaaaaay too long and we ate really late.  I hated it - like most kids. As I grew up, I skipped it altogether (or showed up late just for the meal).  I admit that I don't know enough about the Jewish religion.  But what I do know (or rather, feel), is that there is no fun in almost everything.  They try to teach you the stuff the hard, restrictive way.  And when there are so many restrictions and rules and regulations, those who are not directly involved tend to either shy away (in the best case) or rebel (worst case) or ignore it (the majority).  And there's quite a bit of guilt involved.  The bottom line is that the religion loses.  I'm always thinking:  If Judaism had more pleasant ways to introduce itself and teach, any chance it would have become more popular?  Since I understand well the history of Judaism (but not Judaism itself) from it very core, this question has nothing to do with who I am today.  It cannot change me. But I'm wondering about the past.  If it was different, how would I have been today?

who dat?

Even though none of that Jewish stuff is important to me personally, I feel fortunate that we found a non-traditional way to celebrate such holidays with our kids and community.  Not because of the holidays itself, which has no significance to me, but because it represents what is significant to some of us - opening of the mind, recognizing other cultures, respecting all people.  In a similar way I would happily sit down to a Christmas meal.  By doing so, I teach.  I teach that being kind and considerate and tolerant to all and open minded is more important than obeying an archaic set of rules that was put together by religious leaders thousands of years ago and which were relevant back then, not necessarily now.  And I teach that if you eat bread on Passover, nothing bad happens.  And you don't have to feel guilty for doing that. There are no consequences.  Some would argue with my teaching methods - no doubt.  Oh well, can't please everybody.  




Gone with the wind

In all previous Passover get-together's there were always many kids running around.  They were making their own Matzo and my job was to bake it on the open fire - just like it happened during the Exodus (the one that never happened, you know).  That was good because it gave me something to do, something dirty, something manly.  And, I was helping at the same time.  Bonus points for free.  My other job, which was more of a choice, was to sit with Liam.  Help her eat, keep her happy when all the reading was still going on.  Well, now the kids grew, we no longer do the messy Matzo business.  And now Liam is gone.  The wine and the company helped keep me happy, but it is always moments like this that makes me miss her so much.  When all the tables were cleaned and all the quests were gone I sat in front of the TV and watched a video of her.  And shed a tear or two.
 

Happy Passover

Today is Passover - the story of the great Exodus out of Egypt and how Israel became a nation.  Modern science knows by now - for sure - that factually and historically none of that ever happened.  But let's assume just for a minute that IT DID happen exactly as told.  For a matter if fact, let's go a step further and assume that every word in the Jewish Bible is true. 
If that is indeed the case, allow me to ask:  What kind of deal did we sign up for?  I mean, the Jewish people, ever since they became, well, Jewish, are constantly involved in persecution/war/hostility.  Neither the land nor the people ever experienced any period of peace.  Let's repeat that:  NEVER in thousands of years!  So why are we praising our God as the greatest (among all gods)?  Why do we keep repeating the same prayers if none ever worked for us?  Are we indeed the chosen people?  Chosen for what, life of misery?  Is it possible to choose not to be chosen?
Happy Passover, all.  Enjoy your Matzo.

Head Cleaning Techniques

WATCH OUT:  A HOLE!
I was just thinking to myself:  I was laid off from a few jobs in a short time; Liam got sick, than had a miserable year (redefining the word Miserable), which ended even worse; I don't like my current job.  How much worse can it still get?

Turns out that it wasn't the end.  Shortly after that thought, about two weeks ago, I was laid off - again!  So here is the sandwich:  got laid off in 03/2009, then Liam got sick (and eventually died), and I was laid off again, exactly two years since the last layoff.  To the hour.  Nine AM of 3/31.  The last day of the first quarter of the fiscal year. 

The first thing you feel when being laid off is confusion, I guess.  You still don't know how to chew on it.  Anger mixes with many question marks and with fear (for the well being of the family) and with even a few heaped tablespoons of "depression" (the double quotes since it's not really depression….it's just some temp depressing feelings).  And lots of lots of self pity.  In 2009 I was laid off from a company I loved working for, so the shock was really strong and didn't go away easily.  It felt like a son of a family who dad walk to the door and says "we love you, son, but your role as my son has ended (and dad gives no explanation).  Here's some money.  Please don't show your face here any more.  Good luck".  I was crushed.  This time around….well, we'll get to that soon.

The worst thing about unemployment, next to the unknown, is that it wraps around you at all times:  at home and on the road and with friends, in the evening, in the morning, at night.  All the time, nonstop.  You're under stress and worrying all the time, all the time, all the time.  It's exhausting.  In 2009 it grabbed me and I held on to it for the entire time I was unemployed. 

And that very much was the feeling on that day two weeks ago.

PAUSE.

Resume.

The day after I was laid off I went out on my bike.  When I ride I like to listen to all sort of podcasts I'm downloading (Fresh Air, Wait Wait, Car Talk, Think, etc).  Beside the fun in listening to something interesting which requires thinking, when you concentrate on what's entering your ears, you don't think about the everyday bullshit that you swim in.  It's a good and extremely affordable therapy.  Somewhere on the bike path to Stone Mountain I stopped to stretch a bit.  And as I'm raising my leg and lowering my head to stretch my hamstring a small thought is entering my mind:  "Hey, it could have been worse….what if on top of the layoff my back was bothering me?  And what if the roof was leaking?  Or the car broken?  So maybe not everything is so bleak.  Maybe there are reasons to still be happy."  And just like that I felt a huge bolder lifted off my shoulders.  I felt light and worry free.  A small switch and it was all over.  Can it really be that easy and simple to let go of the negative thought?

After a few more miles I thought I saw a guy carrying a recording equipment rides next to me and holding the mike between us:

Imaginary Interviewer:  Soooo, how do you feel?
Me:  You know what, I feel a lot better than before I started.  I feel light and free.  The self pity is gone.
II:  If it was so easy for you to let go of them, is there any reason why you should wrap yourself again in those negative thoughts?
me:  Is that a trick question?
II:  Common, think a bit.
me: Well, of course.  The answer can be found within the question itself.
II:  But the fact of the matter is that nothing has changed since the morning, right?  I mean, you're still unemployed, there's no income, there's still a huge uncertainty regarding the future.
me:  Is that a question?
II:  So what really changed?
me: The only thing that changed is my state of mind.  This morning I felt like I'm at the bottom of a deep, deep hole.  Now I'm feeling like I'm somewhere in the hole still, but not all the way at the bottom.  And the self pity is gone.
II:  And?
me:  And what?
II:  Please continue.
me:  There's no reason and certainty no gain in holding on to the negative thoughts.
II: and…..
me: Easier said than done.  This is only my first day in this round of unemployment.  It is very possible that more difficult days are ahead of me.  But it's good to know that I found a safe place.  It's good to know that I can let go of the negative mind.
II:  I'm listening.
me:  (what are you, a shrink?) So, if the situation will not change until I get a new job (assuming I will find one…), then the only thing which is under my control is my own mind.
II:  What about the hole?  Are you at the bottom?
me:  I guess you're not listing very well.  I just said I'm NOT at the bottom.
II:  So where are you?
me: I'm always searching how to climb up.  Call it stupidity or that I'm disconnected from reality.  Or, you may call it optimism.
II:  But how do you climb up?
me:  As usual, by grabbing and holding on to what's stable: family, love, friends, health, etc., etc., etc.
II:  Is it not depressing - to fall back into the hole every so often?
me:  What is my choice, to be depressed?  That's not me.  I believe in myself.  It's built into me.
II:  Is that what also helped you during the Lim ordeal?
me:  First of all, the so called "Liam ordeal" is not over yet.  Grief is a sticky material.  Secondly, I wouldn't bring Liam into this conversation.  While we're naturally positive people, it was impossible to apply optimism or pessimism to last year's impossible situation.  We tried all we could to help Liam find a way to stay with us.  When that was proved impossible our job turned to help Liam die in peace and with no pain.  Unlike the negative mind, the situation was unchangeable. 
And now, if you and your fancy recording equipment would excuse me,  I have a head wind and some steep hills to fight.

But he was gone already.  Or maybe he was never there.

(The above was written on April 3-4.  The negative thoughts have not returned since.)


WATCH OUT:  A WALL!
One, two, three, four, five, six….flags.  Huge rafters extending north-to-south.  Cross sections of crossed iron rods connect between the rafters.  Bolts the size of Italian sausages and nuts the size of onions mount the rafters.  I can count 25 east-to-west top cross rods in between the rafters.  Here's the ventilation hatch.  Here are more east-west criss-cross rods.  FLAGS!!!!  Six, five, four, three, two, one - wall!  Turn.  Push.  Clock.  Floats.

When I swim freestyle of breaststroke I use marks on the wall or the side of the pool to help me navigate through the vast water.  But when I'm on my back I concentrate on the ceiling of the natatorium.  Counting iron rods, beams, flags.  It's a true therapy for the mind (and it's far cheaper than a shrink).  Not thinking about anything, just counting.  Counting, counting, counting.  Listening to my waterproof music (the greatest human invention since seafood jambalaya). 

And I swim, swim, swim.  And while I do that, the mind clears.  It might be the chlorine from the pool that infiltrate my brain and cleans everything.  Or, maybe my arms are like windshield wipers - swoosh-swoosh-swoosh - moving all the thoughts out of the way.   Swoosh-swoosh-swoosh…..THE WALL, you idiot.  You were dreaming again.  Turn.  Push…four, five, six…flags.


Ahhh, finally the weekend
Looking for a job is a job on its own.  And it's an exhausting one - mostly mentally speaking. In the beginning you get a lot of bites.  Most of them boil down to nothing almost immediately.  Other fade away after several days.  It's like a roller-coaster.   Every email or a phone call is a new hope.  But when the hope shatters, you're back at zero.  Some days I'm busy, busy, busy all day with chasing leads.  On others I have nothing at all.  It's just important to put it all in perspective.  A day with no calls at all but maybe with a lunch with a friend of a friend might turn out to be far more promising than the busiest day of many contacts.  In other words, it's not the quantity that is important here but mostly who do you know.  I'm not too excited about the busiest days just like I'm not depressed from the quite days.  Well, at least not yet.  The problem is that you're constantly on high alert.  That's where the exhaustion originates from.

But on the weekend it's different.  On the weekend I'm just like the rest of you - working people.  I'm unlikely to get a phone call or an email from a recruiter.  I can let off my high guards.  I can rest…..unless a friend calls because he heard so-and-so and then you can't get for the weekend to end so you can look into it.