Dad in the Marines

The Years and the Tears

Quite a few years ago now, my parents took us to Cooperstown to see the Hall of Fame induction ceremonies for Mickey Mantle and Whitey Ford. There were others that were elected that year, but I really was only concerned about Mickey Mantle. I had never seen him play, but I had heard a lot about him. My mother is a great New York Yankee fan and she made sure that I was aware of them, too.

After getting myself separated from my parents during the ceremony on the Hall of Fame Library's lawn, I made a beeline for the temporary wooden fence that served as a barrier between the throngs of admirers and the inductees. I don't really remember much about their speeches, but I was fascinated by the whole process.

Later, Tam and I were able to roam the grounds and the lobby of the Otesaga Hotel in search of autographs of people that I had never heard of. Of course, our mom and dad knew of them all. We encountered Bob Feller checking it at the front desk, Satchel Paige out on the back patio, Ernie Banks heading upstairs to his room, and Whitey Ford holding a drink out on the porch. There were others like Eddie Matthews signing his autograph on a Hall of Fame Game scorecard that I had all while he held it firmly on my head. Unfortunately, he signed the message to Tammie and I didn't take that too well. There were just numerous similar encounters with these greats and it truly was a memorable experience for me. This all happened almost forty years ago and I still remember it very well.

Also during that trip,  my parents purchased the book, The Greatest in Baseball by Mac Davis and gave it to me to read. I don't know if I really have a favorite book, but there is no doubt that in 1974 that this was it. There were stories of Ruth, Gehrig, Mathewson, Robinson and Mantle among others. I devoured those stories throughout our ride back home to Camillus and my love for baseball was cemented right then and there.

In addition to reading about baseball (and other sports!), I loved to practice stances, pitching motions, fielding fundamentals and situational hitting. Not on my own, but with a cast of many imaginary but very formidable associates. Although I was never a very good ballplayer, my love for the game continued throughout my life.

When Tam was sick and in hospice, my nephew, Sean wrote a very touching story about watching a New York Yankees game for the last time with his mom. Tammie was also a big fan and enjoyed all of the same 1970's World Series games that I did. I am most sure that she would have loved to have known that her Yankees were returning once again to the series in 2009. A World Series that they would ultimately win and a championship that they haven't won since.

The night that Tammie died the Yankees were playing in the American League Championship Series against the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim (why aren't they still the California Angels?). I received a call from my mother and when I saw her number come up on the caller id., I knew what she was going to tell me. Despite realizing that Tam's death was inevitable, the news was stunning. I thought back to all those wonderful memories of our youth and retreated to my bedroom and turned on the television set.

For years, I haven't really been able to watch a game from start to finish of any of the teams that I root for. Odd, but I am so superstitious and adverse to stress that I just can't stand to look until the ending is no longer in doubt. As the game came on the screen, the score was 5-2 in favor of New York and the incredible, Mariano Rivera was on the mound. Essentially, this series was over and I decided to watch.

I realized as Rivera smoothly toss the ball towards home plate that this game that I had placed so much importance on was not actually important to me at all. This was not life and death and it really was just a game. In between the tears, I focused on the crowd, the swirling paper debris around home plate and my memories of very great sister. Baseball and sports had in large part lost their appeal to me and I have focused on other things.

Journeys

In the early days, our family always visited my grandparents, Mimi and Nonne, on Easter. I can remember looking forward to those trips for months, before we finally arrived in Wellsville. There was something about spring and seeing the buds on the trees, the robins in the lawn and all those familiar faces (many of whom are gone now). After coming through the long cold winter, those times signified for me, a new beginning.

In my mind, every life is a journey. As we celebrated Easter, I thought of the journey that Jesus took that eventually led to the cross and his resurrection. Everyone is on their own personal journey in life and searching for meaning and answers to the questions that arise and hopefully a new beginning.

This last winter, I was on my way back from work and it was snowing so hard that I didn't feel comfortable on the expressway (highway?). To alleviate my fears, I got off and decided to drive through some city back streets until I made my way back to suburbia. Syracuse didn't do such a good job taking care of their streets this year, nor the sidewalks for that matter. As I meandered my way through, I encountered several people who were walking down the middle of the road out of necessity. I looked out in the dark and the falling snow at these characters and wondered what their stories were. Where were they headed on such a night? home? to the neighborhood store? to rescue a friend or love one? and what memories would they develop during these adventures? I thought of all of my favorite holiday films and how there was always some character who was searching for something and meeting up with the strangest people along the way. These were people (or spirits) that you might not normally associate with (e.g. Christmas Carol, The Walton's Homecoming and It's a Wonderful Life), but come to rely on in a moment of need. In the end, the main character always found personal salvation of some sort and a new beginning in life.

I have been thinking of the idea of journeys for some time. Currently, I am reading a book entitled,  the Goodbye Quilt by Susan Wiggs and it has a similar theme. In it, a mother and daughter take a road trip from their home out West to a college in the Northeast. The daughter, Molly, drives while her mother sews a quilt comprised of special fabric mementos from Molly's many achievements over her short life. The mom is reminiscing while the daughter is becoming more and more apprehensive about her new stage in life. The quilt really ends up being the story of the mom's life and the new beginning that she discovers at the end of their trip.

When Tammie was dying, I thought of the past and how our lives had changed so since we were small. I could see that she was entering a new chapter and that death was not the end but in a sense a new beginning for her. At the time, this was difficult for me to contemplate until a friend pointed it out, but the concept makes perfect sense to me now. This Sunday, I am going to "celebrate" Tam's birthday by running my 7th Mountain Goat Run in Syracuse. Although, not nearly in shape, I decided that this 10 mile journey through Downtown Syracuse, Onondaga Street, Strathmore, the South Side, the University Section, and back Downtown would be dedicated to her memory and hoping that I discover a "new beginning" for me.

Fun with Sean

Today was a very cold day, but Sean was up and I took him to see Tam's bench. During the day, we shared some thoughts and stories about her and I am still having trouble processing what happened.

Life will never seem the same without her.

Last year, I made a post about our trips to the Camillus Ski Association hill that was practically in our back yard. We did this for a few years, but neither Tam or I became outstanding skiers. Last week, Tammie's son, Derek was up visiting and I took him to the old ski hill for a moment, before we headed for Green Lakes State Park in Manlius, NY.

Derek and I also went to a skating rink in Downtown Syracuse. Neither of us had any interest in skating, but it got me to thinking of skating in the past with my family. We used to skate at a park in Camillus, but a couple of years, my parents created a skating rink in our backyard. My dad brought out these old skates that he probably borrowed from Hans Brinker and stormed across the ice with all of his 200 plus pounds. Fortunately for us, he remained on his feet. I can't tell you how much that Tam and I enjoyed skating over the bumpy ice with my parents. I look out over that yard now, and realize how many wonderful moments I had growing up and how much my sister was an integral part of that.

This was the ski hill where we first learned about snowplowing and how to get up from a terrible fall. We had a lot of those.

The best part of these trips for me was warming up with some hot chocolate after the falling had stopped.

Covered in Snow

In My Heart

One year ago, we received a call from my Mother who told us that my incredible sister had passed away.  Despite realizing that the inevitable was going to happen, I was beyond stunned. After I hung up the phone, I tried to process what I had just heard.

That night, the New York Yankees were on their way to another American League Championship and had Mariano Rivera on the mound. Rivera is perhaps the greatest relief pitcher of all time and when he comes in to pitch, the ball game is usually on it's way to being over. I retreated to my bedroom to watch the final outs and my mind drifted back to all the times that I spent alone and how baseball and sports had always been a personal refuge. Today, they couldn't help me hide the pain, however, so instead I just watched as this tremendous pitcher methodicaly closed out yet another big game. He is the one the Yankees turn to when they are in trouble and he almost always comes through. Tammie was that kind of person for me.

As a kid, she was my protector and was seemingly always there when I needed prodding or was afraid. She gave me strength in difficult social situations and helpful encouragement when I needed confidence. There have been so many times over the past year, when I have wished that I could talk to her about something funny that has happened or heard her laugh. Unfortunately, I won't be able to experience any of that, ever again.

Over the weekend, I finished a book entitled Cape Ann by Faith Sullivan.  The book is about a young girl named Lark, who is growing up during the Depression in Minnesota and documents the struggles endured by her and her family. During all the heartbreak and sorrow,  a very close friend commits suicide and Lark cannot make sense or overcome the terrible tragedy.  At one point, the young man's mother tells Lark that she is considering moving across the country and away from her son's grave. In her explanation, his mother says, "Hillyard is gone, Lark."  "What is left of him on this earth is in my heart and in yours."  I know that there is nothing or no one that can bring my sister back to me, but my memories of her and the influence that she has had on me will reside in me forever.

I love you, Tam.