Blogs are funny so I will give medium depth to this one.
I have buried 3 men in the past year who I respect as much as any men I know. Two grandfathers and my mother's husband. My paternal Grandfather was last december, and the other two were in the last three weeks.
Geeps/Jim Blazer Sr. was a good man. He was married over 60 years, his funeral was huge, and I loved him. He loved well - his wife, his four children, his many many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I could go on and sound like an obituary, btu I know that he loved well. I know that when my parents were together he called my mom, "Pretty lady". I know that he didn't see her for almost 20 years, and when he saw her at my graduation he said, "Hey there pretty lady."
Richard Jorgensen loved my mother well. He was the most "man's man" I ever knew. He was drafted to play minor league ball, he had a hit record in the 50's, he was the president of a bank, and he married up to marry my mom. I performed the funeral, and it was easily the hardest thing I have ever done or participated in.
Donald Francis Toomey was a true Renaissance man. He was a successful professional photographer (took photos at the Nuremberg trials among other things), he was working on his second book about sacraments and missions in New Mexico (first book was on California missions and Father Junipero Serra), he made many local artists famous by writing about them in local magazines, he sold his collection of DH Lawrence books to the University of New Mexico for 25K (it was a big collection), he is the inspiration to many in our family for higher education, he stepped into a lot of gaps left by men in this family, and I didn't even mention his PHd in Geology...
It has been a rough few weeks.
Tonight I hit a 3 pointer to put us up one 49-48 against a good team (semi-finals of our league). About two minutes later I hit another to tie it at 52... I almost cried running back down the court, I really did... It was just such a simple gift, but it felt so basically good to my heart. We lost, but I was 2-2... I would rather we had won, but I appreciated the gift. My mom (who is having a much worse week than me... and yet, people keep asking how she is doing) says to not feel guilty when little things feel good. So, I'm admitting it felt good. It has been a long hard couple of weeks. My three girls have been rocks of joy and fun. My mom is going to be okay, because she is awesome. And... they weren't just gifts, I have shot several thousand 3 pointers... and Jody threw me two good passes.
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5 comments:
I would love to see your grandfather's photography sometime, if you have access to it.
Glad that the little things feel good. Little things can ease the pain quicker than big things sometimes. I think that a big joy next to a big sorrow could just be too overwhelming and I wouldn't know what to do with it. Those little things though, they bring healing.
Man, this was a good post.
testing, testing, one two three.
damn it feels good to be a gangsta.
actually, I really wanted to write DAMMIT!!!!! but that's what came out.
I just wrote you the longest blog comment known to mankind and somehow, mysteriously, even though I copied it TWICE before sending, it is nowhere on my computer. I will try again momentarily, after I have proven to myself that two of the three comments will post...
dang, I don't even know how to start recreating my comment... so I'll dive in.
Well, here I am, your much-promised and anticipated Biggest Internet Fan. I loved this post a whole lot, because I understood it. You know that I frequently don't understand things you say (side note: just met the smartest person on the PLANET. very intimidating. don't think I like him. need your opinion -- not on what I think, on what YOU think... I apparently am a terrible judge of character). But I understood this post, I think because my heart connected to it. You're one of the extremely few people whose personal triumphs in Life feel like triumphs in my life. I wonder what makes it so? I think you're like the brother that I wish I had and it makes me so geniunely glad to read about your life, in emails and in blogs and know that you're doing good. You sound real good, Blaze.
I moved. It will just make you mad to know that I moved virtually alone, so we'll skim over those details. The point is... I'm making it on my own. No one is saving me, no one is coming to my rescue, no one is there to comfort me in those dark nights of the soul. I am terrified and I am making it. And, like you, I am finding the pinpricks of light and hope and holding on to those as reassurrances that I am not really on my own and that Someone still holds me in the palm of his hand.
Let's smoke cigars soon. It doesn't count unless we do it together this time :) Love to the girls
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