Family – Page 4

music box

She used to kiss my cheek and whisper “cherish each day.” The rhythms of her voice gently danced on my face. Looking back, I never quite knew what she met at such a young age. Through my years of time with her she kept a music box. Nothing fancy, just a simple wooden box. For the longest time, I never knew what she kept in there. Only sometimes I would walk past her bedroom, the door slightly cracked, and hear music. It became clear to me, whatever was in that music box meant a great deal to her. Sometimes I would walk in on her just closing the box; the music coming to a soft end. She would just look at me and gaze. Almost marveling like she never saw me before. Like I was still a newborn baby,

As I grew older I started to wonder more and more what could be in that music box. Teenage years and adolescence blinded me from seeing things from a simple angle and such the magic of the music box drifted away. Nevertheless, from day to day my mother would still have that look on her face. That “music box” look. Although things got loud and fast in my life, I still recognized her look of awe. How couldn’t I? The music box melody streaming in the background of my life like a constant love from a mother to a child.

In my 30’s life started to slow down, in unison as did my parents. They were growing older and time was slipping away. My mind starting bending back to what my mother would always tell me as a child: “cherish each day.” Something I was beginning to desire and something my parents were mastering. Age started to mature and humble me. I started spending more quiet time in my life. Reading, pondering and spending time with them. I learned quiet is good medicine for any cause or concern.

One day everything connected. The idea of the music box started making sense to me. I still didn’t know what it contained, but the idea of simple and pure enjoyment was a yearning I had gained in my older age. I approached my mother and asked if I could see the contents of the music box. To my surprise, she declined. She said softly “Sometimes, the journey is finding your own music box.” I took to her words. I understood. It would be simple for me to crack open this box. It would be a whole different thing to discover my own. “It’s something that finds you” She said, “Not something you look for.”

In my 50’s, My parents were talking slow and moving even slower. Unfortunately, time has a way of passing in a tricky yet constant manner. I spent many moments in thought pondering their lives and how I appreciated them so. The sacrifices they made, their discipline as parents and most importantly, their love for me. I started to wonder what kept them so strong, so in unison, so in immense enjoyment. Not only of each other, but of life also.

After my parents had passed, I went to their house to help box belongings. While cleaning, a twinkle from the corner of my eye sparked. Sitting peacefully, the metal from the music box shined in humbleness. Gently opening it, a paper appeared with my mom’s handwriting, underneath that paper were dozens of old photos of our family. The paper read as follows:”we’ve reached the end of our journey, son. Yours is just beginning, One picture a day is all you’ll need. Look at it, cherish it. These pictures are all you need to know what’s important in this life. When you’re having a rough day, week or year, know whats really matters. It’s in this box, thats all that matters.”

After that, I never went a day missing the opportunity to pull out a photo and just admire every inch of its contents. We need time daily to truly appreciate what is important to us. People, not things.

Whether you know it or not, all of us have a music box. It’s not about creating one, its about letting it find you. Find what’s really important to you and be true to who you are, thats the winning recipe. More significantly, work to prioritize your life in such a way that when your gone, someone, somewhere will say your life was worth living. If not for you, for them.

Deep Thoughts, Family, Life, Memories of Nonni

Mickey & Mike

Mickey and Mike are my two cousins. Both are very special to me and both are without question great people. How I came to be close with them are two very different stories. But when we were close, (the span of 4 years) it was a bond that was very special and unique on all levels. You may recognize their names. I’ve mentioned them before. They are indeed my cousins who went and spent time at Nonni’s on sundays. But thats not where this story began. The story began with a book cover. It ends with content.

It was at my cousin Victoria’s (Mickey’s sister) birthday party which me and Mike first got close. Mickey and I always had a closeness because of our age. But Mike and I never really connected because of the 10 year gap. The party was a great time. It occurred at a more innocent time in my families timeline. Currently that side of my family tragically avoids each other and celebrates family milestones in an isolated fashion, but at this time everyone was just playing their usual role in the family. Everyone got along enough to be in the same room. It was great. I overheard Mike talking about film. I never knew Mike was into movies and such. We talked a little at that party and we had sort of an unsaid, natural closeness. I also overheard Mike talking about how he needed a haircut. I told him without question I would do his hair as one night after work. He came and again the conversation flourished, from the barber chair to the parking lot something was happening. Something new, yet something genuine.

It was a click moment in my life. Here was someone who I knew my entire life, who was always around but suddenly was turned into everything I admired in a blink of an eye. I couldn’t believe that A.) he talked and thought about films the way I did and B.) he actually cared about what I had to say. Mike has a calm, comfort to him. He listens to you talk and very, very rarely talks about himself. A trait I wish I had. After that talk in the parking lot things were different for me. I had a new friend. More astonishingly, it seemed he had one too.

After a little while of phone convos, Mike proposed the idea of heading to Nonni’s to fix a light for her, that was actually the first Nonni’s visit, but we started to make it a weekly thing. After a little bit Mickey caught wind and starting showing up and we sort of just formed a unit, a strong one. Mickey and Mike had got along cordially, kind of like Mike and I. But they shared similarities. They were both very interested and involved with music and the creation of it. They had a strong connection with arts and past experiences. The unit was forming with energy leading us. I don’t think any of us forced anything. It all happened so naturally.

Mickey is different from Mike in many ways though. Whereas Mike has “strong” image in my opinion, Mickey had a gentleness about him that came off as a very innocent energy. You got the feeling being around him that he was never going to be controversial and always would support your feelings on matters. Mickey had/has a big heart and in my opinion displays it in a soothing yet comfortable way. Mickey and I grew up together, we basically stayed at Nonni’s all our early summer days until we were in High School. We played Mortal Kombat (physically, not video games) We imagined our own companies, we went to the park with Nonni and played baseball. We did all sorts of fun stuff but most importantly, we connected on a deep level at young age. It solidified us a friends, not just cousins. Connections happened with Mickey and Mike in my life, just at different times. It was hard to see all of our little connections until the 3 of us combined to make a friendship. It seemed like fragments of rivers winding aimlessly until spilling into a vast ocean.

In the beginning of our hanging out, much weighed on Nonni’s. We met there every Sunday and things were cool. I found myself looking forward to seeing them and catching up on the week. Sunday after sunday we would meet and every time we would learn and feel out a little bit more about each other. We would start to have little running jokes and familiarities in conversations that were never there. It was so interesting to me. These people were around my entire life yet now, just now I am letting them into mine and learning so much more than the cover of a book. Soon, just meeting at Nonni’s wouldn’t be enough. We started to go to the movies every Sunday night after Nonni’s house. Sure the movies were great, but the magic happened after. Long conversations in the parking lot ensued while we learned more and more about one another. Like newly realized strangers, we were shocked at what we thought about each other and we were enthralled to learn new elements of each other’s life for the first time. Every sunday for me, was a new chapter to the most excited book I ever read. It was a page turner.

The 3 of us also conversed about so much more than we could ever imagine. Relationship issues. Past experiences, what we’d learned. What we wouldn’t be doing again. What we wanted to do again. It was truly a cathartic experience for myself. I could honestly say I learned how to “comfortably” just be myself around them. I didn’t need to put up a front. They enjoyed my company for who I was and I appreciated that. It made me feel “OK” to be me. I hope they would say I gave off that same energy to them. It was such pleasurable experience to be in their presence.

Sometimes writing characteristics of people just doesn’t quite get the job done, so i’ve thought very hard of memories I have of us to really portray these amazing people and hopefully add some vibrancy and life to their portrayal displayed here. There are three memories that I believe are very telling and an accurate picture about us and our relationships. 1 of Mike, 1 Mickey and 1 of all of us:

MEMORY 1 – Unselfishness of Mickey
I filmed my movie in mid 2008. Mickey’s home was the main set piece for the filming and even I didn’t realize how obtrusive filming would be. It was encompassing on us, never mind Mickey’s family who basically traded their house for a film set for 40 early mornings and 40 very late nights. Mickey wasn’t hired to do anything besides be patient (which he was). Early in the filming, it was clear I didn’t have the right man power for the crew. Mickey somewhat picked up on this and quietly, in a humbling manner just began to help. He wasn’t looking for rewards, he wasn’t doing anything to get noticed. He plainly witnessed someone he loved in need, and he delivered. I figured it was a one day thing and I was thankful. But day after day, he made my movie a priority in his life. In other words, he made something I cared about mean a great deal to him. He didn’t have too, and that was the point. That was Mickey in a nutshell. Quietly helping behind the scenes when no one asks. He’s got huge heart and the remarkable aspect of it is; he’s unaware of just how unselfish he is.

MEMORY 2 – Kindness & Thoughtfulness of Mike
Mickey unfortunately had the inevitable happen to him. His girlfriend of multiple years broke things off after she entered college. It took a month longer than Mike and I predicted (october). Well, Mickey has a kind heart and really had super strong feeling for this girl. It wasn’t hard to see what was going to happen. It was unfortunate but a ticking clock, nonetheless. Sure enough Mike called me on a Saturday and said simply “Mickey’s a mess.” “Say no more” I responded. It was like our trio bat light in the sky was shining. Mike came to the salon and Mickey followed. I will be hard pressed to forget such a night. Mike sat for hours and hours at the salon literally until early morning giving Mickey advice on how to handle things. It was an act of amazing trust on one side and unparalleled kindness on the other. I sat back and watched in complete awe. 2 people completely in the moment. Mickey called, Mike responded. I had the extreme pleasure to observe such thoughtfulness from Mike. He cared immensely for Mickey and you could clearly see, it hurt Mike to see Mickey hurt.

MEMORY 3 – Something Real
When our Nonni ultimately ended up in the hospital for the final time, it was unfortunately in the midst of our families internal warfare. People who avoided each other (and Nonni) purposely were sort of forced to come and be around one another. They felt a need of some sort I guess. I’ll never forget that feeling that everyone was there to make up for lost time with Nonni. It felt so fake to me. So manufactured. I bad situation I admit. But in the middle of all that I beheld a sight I will never forget. My big, loud Italian family conversing with one another barely being able to look each other in the eye and across the room I see Mike and Mickey just talking, even laughing. Doing what we did. Enjoying each other’s company. We left nothing on the table. Especially with Nonni, but even more so with ourselves. We were all genuine in our feelings for one another. What more can someone ask for? In a time were everyone was playing the role of life, we weren’t “playing” anything. We had something real. We had a bond that didn’t require a death in the family to mend.

Mickey and Mike weren’t obligated to be anything but cousins to me. There was no script for us to follow. Events didn’t have to happen. But they did. Not a day goes by I’m not genuinely thankful for friends like them and the experiences we shared together. I realize many people go their entire lives without such relationships. I take nothing for granted. Every Sunday at Nonni’s, I knew something special was happening. Every time Mickey, Mike and I were planning something, I knew it would be for the ages. I knew these memories were what mattered and I had a feeling they did too.

The reason the Mickey and Mike time in my life was so profound, so special and most of all, so inspiring is something I have pondered for a very long time. I recently came up with an answer. A simple answer. I guess the only way to put this may be in an example: Picture someone in your life that you see everyday but don’t talk to. Now, think of what your thoughts are on that person. No doubt, you have an opinion. Sure you do, we’re pro’s at that. Then finally, one day go talk to them. Let them filled your skewed, perceived book covers with pages of freshness and breath life into it. The simple truth is actually really simple with Mickey and Mike. If Nonni’s never happened I fear to say they would still be book covers to me. Sure we would see each other at family parties and such. And sure, maybe their content grew clearer as time ticks along, after all they are family. But that directly strikes my point. I was “supposed” to be close to these two special people. But I wasn’t and I never knew I wasn’t till I got close enough to see who they really were and are. Two special people who hold a permanent spot in my life and heart. Our time we grew close was magical to me. No other word comes close. I love them very much.

Deep Thoughts, Family, Life, Memories of Nonni

Thankfulness

One day I’ll truly understand what being thankful means. As I grow older and dare I say, more mature, I’m beginning to question more and more what I honestly think about things and the place they have in my life. We all have that time in our lives where things are just accepted. Usually at a young age, shaped by our parents. So obviously what we are thankful for ties hand in hand with the values which we are taught. I speak for myself when I say. Just recently, those values have shifted from another’s to my own.

I guess being thankful starts with comfort. You are naturally thankful for things you “like” or “enjoy.” But as I have grown older, I begin to realize being thankful is tied directly to what you truly hold dear. For some it may be possessions, others achievements. Nothing wrong with those. Both are reputable in the world and mostly cherished.

In my life to this point, the most honest answer I can give, would be relationships. Past and present. Big and small. Relationships are unique. They are not given but earned. They take time develop and mature. Occurrences and past experiences shape the final result. No 2 could be alike. No 2 should be alike. They are tailor made for the participants and fill emotions in the gaps of those peoples lives. Very special are they and treasuring them is simple yet steadied art to achieve.

Firstly my wife Lindsey, She is an unselfish, honest woman who is pure at heart. Those traits are all too often looked upon lightly (mostly by myself.) And in my opinion, qualities that aren’t easy to abide by, she effortlessly performs them daily. I’m thankful for her and her presence in my life and by zero means do I deserve what she brings to it. I still haven’t figured out a way to demonstrate the emotion of thankfulness to her in a acceptable way in my opinion, yet she stays. That means everything to me.

Another relationship I am immensely thankful for is my cousin Mike. We live in different states now. But in my younger years he took time to show me I mattered. He spent real time with me talking about my interest and helping me with my problems. Things I now hold very highly for my wish list on how to treat others. He told me without telling me that he cared about me. Even though we are miles away, the bond we made remains strong. Something to cherish and not something easily obtained.

My best friend Jeremy also is someone to cherish. I look up to him in many areas, professionally and personally. He has done many things for me in the past and recently. Things that some family members wouldn’t do for each other. He is someone who is truly a friend with no motive behind his actions. In my opinion that is a rarity. I only wish I could return what he is to me unto him. To this date, I’ve never met a more selfless person in my travels.

My Nonni is someone who I daily gain more respect and appreciation for. The longer she is gone the more I look back upon her and what she held important. I miss her a bunch. I miss the way she would tell a story. She would make you feel special and she wouldn’t shy away from true feelings. She loved telling you how she felt. Sometimes it was harsh, but it taught me a lot. Being a true friend and loving a person doesn’t mean you yes them to death or tell them what they wish to hear. To Nonni, loving you meant to give it to you straight, a noble trait in that is seemingly lost in most people nowadays.

Last (in this post) but certainly not least would be my mom and Dad. Maybe we always didn’t see eye to eye and still probably don’t on topics and life decisions. But that fact alone has only makes me appreciated them more. They still care for me regardless of decisions I have made in my life. There is a bond there that can never be broken, for better or worse and I appreciate that. They truly care for me and I’m not so naive to take that for granted anymore. A constant love is what they offer, to me thats the best gift parent can display.

Those are just examples and Lord knows if I mentioned everyone this post would be intolerable even by my standards. But I guess what I am trying to get across is that being thankful changes in one’s life over a period of time. Right now for me, I’m most thankful for people and the connection I make with them. I’m one of those “I don’t expect anything” people. It’s one of my few traits I actually very much appreciate. So when someone takes in interest in me, I really, truly appreciate it.

I dare you to take time to search what you are truly thankful for. Not some monotone, prefabricated answer that is expected of you. Something that truly matters. It doesn’t matter if people don’t agree. That’s the beauty of opinion. Take careful notes of what you choose. Save them. And after a couple of years put them together and see how you’ve grown. I promise you’ll learn something about yourself. If for no other reason, you’ll understand that you are not as important as you think, and the objects of your thankfulness are the things that are.

And that is something truly to be thankful for.

Family, Life

3 years old

LIAM AGE 2 VIDEO:
https://vimeo.com/75968967

I understand you are not old enough to read this. But I hope my actions and affections towards you reflect these words. Three years ago today, your mom and I welcomed you into the world. In an instant, I was exhausted, jubilant, scared, proud, and hopeful. In the intervening years, not too much has changed to my shame, aside from the fact that you have changed us both in ways I couldn’t have anticipated. On a daily basis you make me doubt my ability to be a great dad and then reinforces it immediately thereafter. Seeing you when I come home is the highlight of my day, and as soon as I walk through the door, whatever I had hanging over me is diminished.

I know you can’t understand these words and sentences. But maybe one day you will read this. Maybe not. Either way, 2nd to meeting your mom, you are the single best thing that has ever happened to me. I love you and thank you for being such a sweet boy. Happy Birthday.

your daddy

Deep Thoughts, Family

My Brother Mike

Why do I love my brother? He is genuine, smart and soft hearted. His dynamic has effected my whole life in a positive manner. More so than anyone else, he has emulsive control of his actions. Something I feel I fail at. He is there when you wouldn’t think he would be. He is a true friend.

When I was young, my brother Mike and I were not very close. We have 10 years in between us, so naturally we led 2 separate lifestyles. I would see his life as vignettes. Him getting ready to go. Him coming home. Him having friends over, etc. I very much took the role as a younger sibling who watched, sometimes in awe, sometimes in confusion but always with intrigue. He was a charismatic, fun person to be around.

He moved out at a young age and “real” life engulfed him. There he was, one day living as my older brother, the next gone into the working world, living with friends and being a grown up. It’s funny how people come in and out of your life. But the beauty of family is, he was gone but not far. His visits would range from getting laundry done to coming to dinner and of course family parties. The old ball and chain for some. For me, I cherished these times. Call them bookmarks if you will. But each return of his marked a new chapter, a new development. A story being written. I was so interested in as a young boy.

As I grew older, it seemed our relationship starting becoming more relevant. Our conversations began spawning hours of talk. Talk that mattered. We even started hanging out. More so then just him baby sitting. But going to movies, playing video games. Going back and forth to countless Mets games. We graduated from brothers and enrolled in friends.

Many times I put myself in his shoes. Would I be a “good” older brother? Would I have the effect on someone my brother had on me? My personally opinion would be no. I hardly am good at anything I do. But yes, someone could be named a brother just by having a younger sibling. In my opinion though, the “brother” tag needs to earned. It isn’t something someone just is because. The merits for that badge includes: Faithfulness, strong, caring, trusting, reliable, role model. Mike DiLeo has all these plus more.

Today, I love my brother very much. He is very important to me for selfish reasons and unselfish alike, but nonetheless important. I appreciate all he has done for me in my life whether I know it all or not. And I’m sure I don’t. We now live across the country from each other and I could earnestly say we have never been closer. Thanks Mike, for being the best big brother anyone could have.

Deep Thoughts, Family, Life, Memories of Nonni

Picking Pasta

My nonni had a way of making people feel important. In many ways, a special gift she possessed. As a young boy, I remember thinking she was the sole person who actually listened to me. When your young that means a bunch, especially if your looking for a lending ear. When you grow and begin maturing, it means substantially more. She taught me and in many ways still is, that listening is vastly more important than talking. While my famous sunday evening memories are engulfed with very talkative conversation, the most fluid and influential are unsurprisingly calm and quiet vignettes that stand the test of time.

7PM was the appointed meeting time at nonni’s home. Every Sunday, all year. Two other very special people came, and we formed in many ways a bond that will never be broken. A past memory we were fortunate enough to be around for. If we were ignorant in the beginning to just how special this time would be, it became more apparent as sundays went. The event gave me something to look forward to you. It gave me hope that in a rough week, nonni’s was around the corner. Once in a while I would “accidentally” arrive early. Not too early, but a mere 20 or so minutes prior to the next. Those 20 minutes were simply me talking and nonni listening. She taught and told me without uttering a single syllable, listening is what matters.

It never failed, once the clock hit 7 and the three of us were assembled around the table, she would inevitably give the command. In a seemingly random order, one of us would be summoned to pick the pasta. Surely, a mundane action to anyone especially us, considering it happened every single Sunday. But to her, an important reminder for us that we were important. The command signified a pause in life. As soon as the order was given, it was ok to settle in. In many ways, it was her saying sit down and relax. It was a subtle phrase that suddenly meant the world to me. Much like nonni’s, the emotion changed from mundane to admiration.

Conversations were picked and plucked from many different worlds at nonni’s table. Her participation varied and nearing the end of her life, she was reserved to just listening for the most part. I wouldn’t be so ignorant to think this wasn’t purposeful though. She was as much of the conversation quiet as she was vocal. She loved to just sit there and let us talk, mostly about subjects she had admittedly, absolute zero interest in. But even in the moment I assumed something deeper was happening.

It occurred to me after the fact that Nonni in many ways was an enabler. An enabler of this event for starts. It was in fact her who first invited us over, only to let us talk and converse about things she didn’t care about, yet endured the conversations. You see she didn’t care about the subjects of topic, or type of pasta we picked or anything for that matter. All she truly cared about was that we were there. And she did everything in her humble ways to make us feel welcome and significant. From varying bowl sizes according to appropriately sized eaters, to simply just listening about things she didn’t necessarily care about but knew we did. She was all about us, all of time.

I think nonni’s impact was so influential on me simply because she never flaunted her motives. She never needed credit for doing anything and she certainly wasn’t looking for it. She was more invested in spending time with us, then projecting life lessons. But the beautiful revelation of Sundays at nonni’s, came to me after the fact. Like a great painting, being too close to something blurs the intended meaning. Nonni’s was always about life lessons and they were so effective because they were genuinely distributed.

You see Nonni always wanted to make one of us feel special, she always gave us all the time we needed. To talk amongst each other or simply listen to us individually, unconditionally. Not impending judgement, just lending an ear with input if we so desired. She taught me, there’s a place for that in life. There’s a place called meekness that lives only when you realize a direct way to someones life is through their heart, not their head. Something Nonni did so well, just listen and invest in those you love. A great life lesson she distributed to me. Something I am forever grateful for and an area I continually try to improve in.

Towards the end of nonni’s life I came to find out something very interesting. It turned out, nonni always knew who’s turn it was to pick the pasta. As weeks went by, she kept a record of it. It wasn’t a guess on her part. It was important to her; remembering the little details about loved ones in her life. But I cant help but wonder that she knew, one day we would understand and comprehend. Understand her quietness around the table. Comprehend that listening is the best gift you can give someone. I cant help but think she knew as we grew older, that the purpose for coming to Nonni’s wasn’t at all to keep her company as we all thought. But for us to learn. Learn how to one day, let someone else pick the pasta.

Family, Life, Short Stories

Room 0925

In a world where people are cold, dark and harsh; I found love. I found warmth. Most importantly, I found innocence. I found all of these things in a little girl. The bravest, most robust human being couldn’t measure up to what this gentle angel was.

She died on Christmas Eve. I remember thinking nothing could be more suitable; a gift to God would be an understatement. I had the grandest pleasure of witnessing her final days. Seeing her strength and love for her family was foreign to me. I grew up an orphan, was lucky enough to find parents. But having parents is different than having someone you called a mother and a father. They did their 18 years of duty and please don’t get me wrong, I appreciated every inch of it. But this little girl had it different. There was genuine care and love. Not from her parents, but from her. It can almost be explained as if she was conducting an orchestra, no one fighting her, just playing along in unison. But it was clear she was the conductor.

Maybe this was all due to her condition. You see, I’m a janitor in a hospital. So my visions of this little girl are only similar to vignettes of my passing by. She had no hair, she should of looked weak, and she should have looked frail and pale. She didn’t. You have never seen someone more vibrant in your life.

She had leukemia. She was in her final stages. This was evident. What wasn’t evident was that she would teach me more in a week than I would learn my entire life. It took me a couple days to figure out something special was occurring in room 0925. Day after day I did my rounds, saw Doctors in and out of the room. Balloons and gifts engulfed her surroundings. But one gift changed my life. One gift.

Before I got to my rounds on her floor on day 5, she was gone. The room was grey and ordinary. Nothing special. Nothing vibrant. Nothing innocent. It made me think how quickly things can change. It made me sad that I never met her. I went in to mop and sanitize room 0925 on day 5 sad, but working here, you get used to people leaving. This was different. The happiness on that little girl’s face sparked my life with light. It didn’t seem fair that she was gone. It didn’t seem fair that we never spoke. But sometimes that’s how life is. It just leaves you with unanswered questions. Working in a hospital for a while, I should have known better. But the energy that little girl gave off was so rich and pure. It was a breath of fresh air I couldn’t resist.

Not all was lost. While cleaning her room I found something of significance. Something I would have passed by any other day, in any other room. A business card lay peacefully behind a chair. Sure enough the address was richly printed on the front.

My decision to go the address was a simple one. Up until the moment I first saw her, my entire life was idle without being conscious of it. I had to go to this address. Call it selfish, call it what you like.

When I arrived at the address, I was shocked it was a private home. I don’t really know what I was expecting, but there was a moment that happened to me in that driveway. I like to call it a moment of clarity. I guess when something special occurs in anyone’s life, theres always a pinch me moment. You always must take a step back from it. Let your feet hit the ground. I mean that’s life. That’s reality. So here it was. Do I let life put another stop sign in front of me to obey? Or do I leave my own path in the woods? I was too tired of stop signs.

The reason I am writing you isn’t because I put my car in reverse. I walked up those steps and knocked on that door. Each knock was a sound of optimism. I waited and waited, studied the door and waited more. There was no answer. For a moment that door seemed like my life. It stood as still as static. Waiting for something to occur was all too familiar in my life.

Ironically, the door was unlocked. Letting myself in was a simple enough choice. Pictures of the little girl surrounded the house. The environment was calm, dim and peaceful. Silence echoed and soothed the air. I was wondering where everyone was, there were so many cars in the driveway?

Suddenly, a knock on the door intruded my silence. I looked back quickly. I was in shock to see the little girl standing in the doorway. She smiled at me gently and continued to slowly walk up to me. I felt a urge of rush accompanied with infinite questions. How is she OK? Is she healthy? All these obvious questions seemed so irrelevant. So fake, compared to the reality of her footsteps.

She handed me a letter, it read as follows:

“This is a private letter to you. A letter from me to you. It’s not important who I am or Where I live. I could be your grandmother. I could be your son. I could live across the street or on the other side of the world. But maybe just maybe I caught you at a time in your life where the magic has left. Maybe you needed to hear about optimism and innocence. Maybe this letter was specifically written for you. On the other hand, maybe you have already written this letter to someone and have grown weary of life. Maybe you need to be encouraged. You need to believe that the world around you doesn’t define you. Maybe you just need to hear, no matter who you are, that life is beautiful. That life has treasures. That life has miracles. And most importantly, and so vital for you to understand, life is what you make it.“

I put the letter down and looked for her. It was no coincidence she was gone. She didn’t need to stay. Her purpose was fulfilled. Whatever it was, it was complete. I took one last look at the interior of that house. So calm, so peaceful. I exited softly and drove my car pondering what I just experienced.

The next day at the hospital, I started to notice a difference in myself. I was more open to people. More open to help, more available to talk, more apt to listen. I started valuing people instead of evaluating them. I started living life with my arms open. A change had struck. A real change.

Years have gone by, but not a day passed I didn’t put that letter in my pocket. I assume it’s only suitable that you know the truth. Today I am in a hospital, but not for work. My time isn’t long here. I lived a long life. Some good, some bad. But it seemed a unison belief my time was limited.

When the nurse asked me what instructions I had regarding my death. I only requested one thing. I handed her the letter and told her softly “read it and pass it to a stranger.” She smiled and accepted.

Family, Life

Boston, a good day for the soul

Exploring cities has always been interesting to me and while admittedly, i’m more the quiet type of walking and observing fame, i find my thoughts and words brimming over the top to recap such a great day. From the New England Aquarium all the way to the depths of the T, me and my family had a special day in Boston.

The history that Boston has spawned is immense, vast and simply remarkable. The minute you begin to grasp just how much content has been born there is the minute you feel overwhelmed to learn every last drop of it. As a native new englander, i’ve been to Boston many times and while my appreciation increases with each visit, it never fails to amaze me how much i actually don’t know about the city. The conversion of the Liberty Hotel from a jailhouse to 5 star suites, the manipulating maneuvers of the Charles River due to rain in the forecasts and Ben Franklin’s favorite park area are just a few small examples of fascinating facts that would be passed by on any other day.

First stop was the New England Aquarium. A great way to start the day for sure. Construction was going on throughout the building and while some people were clearly taken back by the visuals of the work, we simply swayed around it and enjoyed the wet world of fish. The highlight was undoubtly touching starfish and crabs. In a weird moment of me feeling proud, my son had no fears to touch these fish. My only thought was thinking of myself 20 years ago and how the idea of touching crabs (or anything under the sea for that matter) was a strict no go. Great job Liam, another area you’ve surpassed daddy. When walking became Liam’s main attraction instead of sea lions and sting rays, we knew it was probably time to go. Exit aquarium.

Enter Quincy Market. A nice enough place to shop, a better venue to eat. While the food isn’t the best Boston has to offer, you get a good sense of bostonian grub and a good variety to choose from at that. Bacon wrapped chicken it was and while it was good, the clear winner of this trip was a sugar cookie the size of a frisbee. Not kidding. An added bonus of spending time at Faneuil Hall is to simply drop in on a strangers convos and experience a bahston accent first hand.

Duck tours sound corny. If you have ever seen one, you would agree they look it too. Added to that fact that forced “quacks” will inevitably be echoing in your ears for hours to come. With that said, anytime a car drives into a river and stays a float wins as default as the coolest thing in the world. My son was asleep for most of the trip but me and Linds took it all in. Our tour guide, MC History (not joking) was super informative and as we learned, very passionate about Boston and it’s history. I could tell Linds was really appreciating the history of Boston and how could you not. It’s like the romance section of America’s video store. With one final quack the duck ride was over, as was Liam’s Nap.

It was great to see my son(2 years young) walk around Boston freely. Sure there were times when hands were held, but for the most part, he was free to roam (under strict supervision of course :) ) This means significantly more, considering the cowardly acts that occurred on 04/15/2013. My wife Linds made a statement in the neighborhood of “America’s greatness rests in it’s strength.” I couldn’t help but agree. Say what you will, but there was something empowering about walking in that very location where those bombs went off and seeing people observing, respecting yet continuing. Continuing on, visitors and locals alike. I’ll be the first to admit America has more than it’s share of problem, but frankly, strength of the common people isn’t one of them. Visiting Boylston St. was one of those moments in life where time stood still. All of life’s worries and issues seemingly were small standing on that battle ground. Priorities took the forefront and you measure up whats really important and more importantly what’s not.

A word on Visuals. The unison of old and new is one aspect of Boston that has routinely stuck out at me. I don’t personally feel that Boston is an esthetically pleasing portrait to view in a whole, but in many ways it’s the polar opposite of the “painting effect” put in practice. The closer you look into Boston the more appealing things become. The details shine. The buildings that have been thoughtfully and carefully added on to preserve the original integrity yet adding a glimpse of contemporary flair. The perfectly kept cobblestone roadways that seamlessly blends into the main roads of Boston. Keep in mind, all this attention to detail can be lost with a simple pass by, but the observant eye is king in Boston. Moreover, Boston deserves the observant eye.

With the help of warm sunshine and good directions, we had a fantastic time. I live a very busy life and this retreat reminded me just how important it is to take time off. From your job yes, but from your everyday thoughts. It was refreshing to be on streets i’ve never walked before. It was exhilarating to be a part of history by simply engaging with it. It was captivating and humbling to learn facts i wouldn’t push myself to learn otherwise. Most importantly and paramount, it was joy unspeakable to experience this great day of learning and laughing with great people in my life. I recommend such a day. Good medicine for the mind. Even better for the soul.