It's time to move forward and blog about life's journeys, discoveries and my short stories I have always wrote.
I will always be Captain Imperefecto because I lead an imperfect life.
It was shrouded in the darkness by the forest I was standing in. My bare feet standing on the moist ground. I tilt my head back and gaze at the large, thick trunk as the tall tree extends upwards into the sky. Their branches reach out like octopus tentacles, intertwining with other tributary limbs from nearby trees that are standing in their own solitude.
The tree limbs are tightly woven together. Swallowing up the otherwise bright blue sky. I stare at the thick foliage, trying to glimpse the heavens, but I am denied such an exquisite view. With such a heavy canvas hovering over me, it will be impossible to find my way out. I am lost in a hopeless place where darkness seems to be commonplace.
Do I stay, or do I venture out?
The underbrush is just as thick, which perplexes me that such thickness can grow under such frondescence. I extend my arms to feel my way but am too afraid to move. I push back, digging my toes further into the dirt. Planting my feet like roots while I go back against the tree. As I try to brace myself against the tree trunk, my body begins to fall back. Moss that has attached itself to the side of the bark catches me as my body settles in, softening my landing like an air mattress.
It feels comfortable. I close my eyes to sleep within my sleep. The dirt I am standing in consumes my feet, planting me in my position. I don't have the energy to pull them out, so I allow nature to take its course. My legs stiffen like a board, and I rise upright. I don't fight it. It seems pleasant here under the tops of the heavy roof. I want to stay beneath the herbage and deal with my umbrage.
My body begins to grow. Could I be rising to the occasion? My legs thicken and gain strength as my roots extend downward into the terra firma. The land beneath me seems cool and refreshing. My torso elongates and expands, fortifying my exterior. As I sprout, the growth takes on more momentum. The rush of the wind whisks by me as I force myself upwards at a fast pace. The growth lessens as I reach the low ceiling of my domed enclosure.
My arms take on a life of their own.
They reach out through the thick vegetation that has darkened my hope. They crisscross among the other branches, breaking through and allowing small amounts of light to creep in. The sunlight quenches my thirst and nurtures my rise. I punch through the thick overgrowth and extend outwardly. I am full speed ahead. Nothing can stop me now as my body towers over the forest, allowing me to see beyond the darkness and smell the fresh air. I try to walk, but I am stuck. My feet cemented themselves under the soil.
I wake up.
I'm lying here on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. My feet are no longer on the ground; I get up and firmly place them on the wood floors of my living room. I wiggle my toes as I stare at them.
"What a weird dream."
I look at my kids. They're sound asleep.
"I better sneak outside to enjoy my peace while I can," I say to myself.
I walk to the kitchen and open the refrigerator. I grab one of two sugar-free Redbulls I have left and crack it open.
The air rushes in as I pop the top, making that unforgettable sound all canned soda makes. I go to the back room and open the rear door. It swings open, and the morning breeze hits my face.
I breathe in deep
The air rushes through my nose, and I push it out of my mouth. When I step out, I admire the deep blue sky and don't take the moment for granted. That and the peace that my sleeping kids are affording me. I take a sip of my Redbull.
"Ahhh," I say after I suck it back into the rear of my throat. I hold the can out and admire it. I look back at my boys sleeping together on the oversized couch.
"I hope they are having better dreams than me," I tell myself.
I walk outside and allow the sun's ultraviolet rays to hit my skin, providing me with vitamin D. I'll take all the vitamins this morning. I think about my dream and what it meant.
"Maybe it meant that I may be stuck in my situation, but there is light; I just have to break through." I wonder as I take another sip of my Redbull.
I'll take it as a good sign. My boys will make it better. They are my life now, and I will do what it takes to make their life successful. In the meantime, I'll enjoy this quiet while they sleep and the sunlight this day has brought. I won't take it for granted. My backyard is big and green, and the only trees here are large royal palms. They won't darken this day. Their branches need to be thicker.
I’m vulnerable. Being a sensitive guy can open up the most toughest of exteriors. Never more so then when I’m in the shower. Maybe its because that’s when all of us are the most vulnerable of all. It has to be the warm water crashing down on me from the shower head. Each drop of water being forced out at a high rate of speed striking the back of my neck as the droplets come together to form a cascading waterfall as it rolls down my posterior. It relaxes me, my mind is open.
Or maybe because its the one place I am truly alone. In the shower I am a way from all the distractions of life. Behind the closed doors I am completely naked. Both physically and spiritually. Susceptible to all my emotions.
Alone with my thoughts I am defenseless to my enemies that are sleep depriving me and attacking my mental state. But I do not care for I am truly free in this moment.
The hot water begins to stimulate my blood as my heart pumps it faster through my veins. The warmth of the water retracts my muscles as my blood vessels dilate allowing more blood to fill in the capillaries and blood vessels completely and utterly relaxing my muscle thus, relaxing me.
I tilt my head back and allow the spray of the water to collide with the top of the Parietal of my skull. The water quickly scatters reaching to all areas of my cranium utterly relaxing even the most thick of all bones in the human body. My hard headedness softening and quickly becoming more open minded and my thinking becoming more clearer.
I tilt my head back down and stare forward. I wipe the water from my eyes and then immediately stretch my arms up to the air. The water pools in the enclaves of my clavicle bone. I arch my back and stretch my torso. I cross my arms over my chest. I position my body back to the up right position. The water in the crevasses of my shoulders clavicle spills out. It runs down the sides of my body intermingling with the newer water that has been produced by the shower head. I look straight ahead at the shower caddy and encounter my point of frustration and the tool in which I’ll vent to, the fish.
“What the hell Mimie”, I say to the green and yellow stitched fish.
“I don’t understand what the fuck is going on damn it. Why? Why…would this happen to us”, I said not expecting the fish to talk but hoping Mimie may appear.
I hate to take it out on the shower caddy. After all it did nothing wrong. It actually does a great job of attaching itself to the towel bar. The blue plastic canvass hangs down towards the base of the porcelain tub. On the face of the canvass other then fish there are pockets. The pockets function as place holders for all the kids play things that they use in the shower.
Its sad that I will take my anger out on it considering all the hard work it has provided us over the years but its just at the wrong place at the wrong time.
“How do you expect me to do this alone God Damn it! Our plans are screwed. Thanks a fucking lot!” I stare intensely at the eye of the cartoon fish. My arms still crossed at my chest. The water flowing down my back rounding at my buttocks and streaming through my legs finding its way to the drain.
“How do I go on Mimie. They boys need their mother damn it. I’m there dad. Fuck!” I stare at the fish. My mind tells me to relax your acting crazy but my raw emotion tells my brain to shut the fuck up.
I point at the fish “The boys Mimie the boys did you not think about them. How do I do this. I’m so scared don’t you even care! I don’t give a shit that I’m capable of doing it. Its not the God damn point.”
Now I’m answering the fish even though the inanimate object is not speaking.
“No, I am so angry right now. You just don’t know. I am here I have always been here for you” my voice begins to elevate. “There are things that aren’t completed yet!”
The water begins to over relax me. My emotions are completely turned on and are outpouring as free as the avalanche of water spouting out.
“You didn’t have to go Mimie” the tears begin to flow, “ You didn’t have to leave us. Or more so the boys!” I point at the fish.
The taste of the salt in my tears flowing into my mouth drowning out the fresh water. I don’t wipe my eyes. I stare intensely at my object that I am directing my anger at.
“I don’t want to go at this alone Mimie. Can’t you see that. Didn’t you know damn it! Didn't you get the damn memo?!”, I lean my left shoulder against the wall. The hot water begins to turn warm because the free flow of it is draining the hot water heater. I reach back without looking and turn the knob all the way towards hot until I can’t turn it anymore.
The steam is billowing up and fogging the shower. Through the white color haze I can still see the lime green fish. He hasn’t moved. Its quite besides the sound of the water projecting out on everything in its unrelenting path.
My tears are still flowing, “Things were okay. Everyone has problems. Issues. What the fuck. Fuck!” I bite down on my teeth. My lips are partially spread showing small glimpses of my top and bottom teeth. I am clinching my teeth so hard they are impenetrable.
“I need you! The boys need you! I need you here for the boys! Don’t you understand that. Didn’t you understand that? Humans shouldn’t be made to suffer but if they do we should heal. How can we heal now!"
My shower begins to turn lukewarm. Intermingled with sporadic cold water. The shock starts to bring me back to reality.
“Haha”, I laugh “I am talking to a fish. Okay Chris you are too relaxed.”
I continue to stare at my fish tail. “Thanks for listening Mimie. Its been tough.”
I turn my back to the shower caddy and turn off the water. I step out to the floor. There is no bath mat so I use the clothes that have been piling up as my feet protectors from the cold tile. I grab the large blue towel from the towel rod that is affixed to the wall across from the toilet and begin to dry my body off. When I am done I replace the towel and get dressed. I head out the bathroom door and I look back towards the shower curtain.
“Did that just happen?” I think to myself, “Maybe this is one fish tale I should keep to myself."
I never thought I could grow a full beard. I would shave before work because I had no choice but to shave. We cannot grow facial hair on road patrol or in a specialized unit. Unless it rose above the upper lip. In law enforcement, the beard is equal to a dirty Sanchez.
I would shave the night before my scheduled work day, and that would be sufficient for me to go a whole week before I had to shave again. I always thought beards never worked for me, honestly. But only because I didn't know I could grow one at age thirty-eight.
The mustache would never reach the whiskers on my chin. So I thought. But I only grew it a little for this long to find out.
The hair follicles on my face would slowly grow out, leaving it rough like sandpaper.
Reminiscent of the five o'clock shadow look you'd find on old TV shows like Miami Vice. I always liked that look. Don't try to kiss your soft-skinned loved one with that stubble.
As the white skin on my face slowly dissolved into brown filament, it would never entirely cover the entire length of my face, leaving patches of skin like some kind of weird skin disease. The longer I have gone without shaving, the more it has filled in, leaving me with a bona fide beard.
My beard has attached to my face as the grief of Mimie's loss has attached itself to my soul. In my moments of sadness, I feel myself tugging at it like a madman controlling his sinister plot. When my kids lie in my arms, they reach back and rub their hands over it. It's the only caring, actual human contact and consoling I have had since March 15th.
The beard grows in sync with the length of the days I lost my wife. It's the only natural way I can measure the time of loss and despair for my boys and me.
I'm not ready to lose the beard. It feels like I will have moved past our loss when I do shave. If my kids could grow a beard, they would also.
My life has been altered like the beard alters people's view of me when they finally come around to see me again. It reminds them that the boys and I are here, and we are still grieving. It shows them we aren't getting better when they aren't around. The only thing they see is a beard that is still here, just as it was still there on my face a month ago when they last saw me… a month ago when they last saw me.
The beard is here, and it is accurate. The beard is as natural as the loss that we are experiencing. The beard is as weird to those who see it on my face as this situation is strange to us. The beard bothers those who see it as much as my situation bothers my boys and me.
The beard is natural. My situation is actual. The loss for my boys is real.
Fuck me. I can't sleep. I have been up since 4:30 AM. Why am I typing this now. I don't know, frustrated I suppose. I have to be up soon and I just wish I could sleep another hour. It's so quite here. THe only sound is a ticking clock that I tired to use to count the minutes away. It just became more depressing then helping me sleep.
My only distraction is this urge to pee but I'm too lazy to get up so I just deal with the urge for now. The dawn will start to creep in my windows soon and I dread a new day. Nico and Christopher are sound asleep beside me, It must be nice to sleep. I hope they are having wonderful dreams away from the nightmare of reality.
Nico is wrapped up in my right arm. I'm typing this with my left thumb. They're doing well oblivious to the reality of my concerns and fears. Probably the reason why I can't sleep right this second. Money is tight and child care search sucks. I question my ability to let them go and return to work. I miss them already thinking about not being a stay at home dad. But I know that's just not feasible. To think that I have to trust someone to help me raise them while I am away at work is nerve wracking. She will never be able to love them as much as I do or as much as my wife did. This nanny search blows.
There is so much to deal with I wish I could just get lost in time but time waits for no one and its hands press forward making me incapable of getting lost in its minutes and seconds. All I can do is count it down until I must face another day of uncertainty. I'm just rambling here.
My concerns weigh heavily on my mind. I need to organize myself. Get a plan going. Easier said then done. Bills need to be paid. Money conserved. Child care found. A modified work schedule established. Summer time is coming up. I need to call the bank. I have to complete an online course by today in order to continue teaching at the police academy. Can time slow down?
Well I'm not reading this nor checking for mistakes. It is what it is. I wanna try and at least rest for my last hour before I must get up. My time is running out.
When you were in high school, if, during career day, a man in a nice suit and tie asked you to become a part of his company, which has good pay and excellent benefits, you'd probably listen to what he had to say.
If the same gentleman told you, "That aside from the great benefits, there is little upside to the position I'm offering you. You'll probably have to work the night shift on weekends, holidays, and special occasions. Anniversaries and special events will probably come without you being with your loved ones. Your life expectancy is five years below the average American age of seventy-eight because the stress will cause health issues. Most people working in the field will self-medicate to help cope with things they see. And more than likely, you'll be a divorce statistic."
My guess is you'll tell that lovely-dressed gentleman to go "pound sand." And yet there are about 700,000 cops in America that listened.
There are other things you sacrifice in this job besides the possibility of losing your life and special events. You sacrifice your family life as well. I knew that. I never had anyone to tell me otherwise.
When I had to work the 7 P.M. night shift on my birthday, I didn't pout. There just wasn't any celebrating that night.
"There'd be other birthdays," I said to myself. Like every other time, I had to work on a special event.
The good thing is my birthday was only a partial washout. I took Mimie on a police ride along with me tonight. We'd spend time together answer some calls then have dinner together.
Our policy and procedure manual states that we have a lunch break during our twelve-hour shift, but that is not guaranteed. You are constantly subjected to recalls while you eat your meal. Most of the time, if it isn't a major disaster or violent crime, a fellow officer will step up for you and take whatever mundane call dispatch gave you so you wouldn't have to leave your meal.
The night was moving slowly, which was a surprise given Mimie's reputation as the "shit stirrer of crime" when she rides with me. It's summertime, and the heat in Florida tonight is sweltering.
The air is thick. It's so heavy that it languishes without much dissipation. The air is so wet it sticks to you like a Florida Beggarweed that sticks to your clothing when you walk through high grass. I guess it's so miserable that not even criminals want to play. So dinner was on without interruption.
We stopped in a now-defunct restaurant called Beefeaters.
The only decent place to eat for any kind of special occasion within my city at the time. The restaurant was nice inside. Brick arches as you walked in. Nice linen tablecloths. A roaring fire; Ithey didn't check the night's weather report. We enjoyed that night together. Good food and great conversation. Can you ask for anything more?
But the truth is Mimie and I could always talk for hours on end; we'd talk. That's what I miss about her most now. No matter what, we'd always talk. Whether we were getting along or not, she was my confidant. I truly miss our conversations now.
After dinner, we drove around the city looking for anything that "went bump in the night." But tonight was a wash.
The outside air immobilized anyone who dared to venture out in it. So at about 1 A.M., Mimie decided she wanted to go home. I drove her back to the police department so she could get her car. She got in and drove off. I decided to follow her car in my marked police car halfway to the condo we shared. It was a close distance away.
We did not get far from the police department when I noticed something unusual.
My city is like "Copland" for police officers. They like to reside here. Especially our own. My supervisor at the time was one of them. He bought his house from another cop who lived there, and it was passed down from generation to generation.
As Mimie turned her white Honda Civic down the main street. I followed close by in my black and white Crown Victorian police car. The road was dark. The street lights are not on.
The darkness cast itself on the houses like a blanket, hiding the face of a scared child. The pitch black made it hard to see through unlit streets and house lights. However, the shapes of cars and objects in the driveways were easy to make out.
I patrol these streets every night. The continuous repetition of driving up and down these roadways day in and day out gives me a tactical edge over the bad guy. I can figure out what should and shouldn't be there, especially at 1 A.M. in the morning.
When I saw a large dark SUV back into my boss's driveway, who was working with me that night. I was suspicious.
I divert my eyes to his driveway and think, "He has his boat hooked up? I guess he's going out on the boat as soon as he gets off this morning, but whose SUV is that, family?'
As I drive a little more past the house, I notice a large cover on the ground in between his house and his neighbor's home.
"Those are his twin motor engine covers for his boat.
I put a little more distance from the house and my police car, and I saw an object or person trying to use the thick of the night as cover and the trees as concealment. The object was all orange.
I knew it was orange because the orange spectrum seemed to glisten off the dampness of the air.
"Well, that's odd," I say.
The orange then disappears like being swallowed by a black hole. I grab the police radio microphone mounted to my car's dash interior.
"Delta 1(my radio identifier) Palm's West (dispatch),10-55 (contact other units), 118 (My supervisor)."
Palm's West:
"He's 10-12 (present with dispatch) Delta 1."
Delta 1:
"10-4 (message acknowledged) Palm's West. Does anyone have permission to take your boat?"
My eyes are fixated on the red tail lights of Mimie's car getting further into the darkness. The red ambient light is about to be swallowed by the creeping in of the blackened street.
Palms West:
"10-9 (repeat your last) Delta 1"
The dispatcher says with a giggle in her tone.
Delta 1:
"Did he allow anyone to take his boat, Palm's West?"
I said impatiently
Palms West:
"He said 10-54 (negative) Delta 1"
Delta 1:
"Well, tell him they're stealing his boat now Palm's West. I'll swing around."
With that last transmission, I approach a four-way intersection guarded by four stop signs. With a flash in my mind, I wonder.
"Did they know I saw them? Are they watching me to see if I saw them?'
"Fuck it, I'm turning around." I use the entire intersection to make a wide U-turn.
When my car was making its u-turn, my sergeant left his seat in dispatch so fast that the chair he was sitting in was still spinning on its ball-barring axis. He ran out the door and down the long corridor. From what I am told by a witness that day, his feet pounded so hard on the ground that it gave a rousing echo off the high ceilings, reverberating the windows and doors with each strike of his heavy Bates work boot.
Another officer said that before he could turn around from his desk and leave to rush to the potential 'boat caper,' his vision caught a blur. His body was a breeze from the unrecognizable object, followed by a slamming back door.
I completed my U-turn and decided to drive as fast as possible. I knew the bad guy or guys knew I had seen them.
I stomped on the gas pedal hard until the flat metal rectangular plate was flat on the car's floorboard. The front of the car raises as the engine revs. The rear-wheeled vehicle digs its tires into the pavement, pulling back everything in the car like a slingshot. As the tires gain traction, the car lunges forward. The G force kept me glued to the back of my seat. The car races down the street. I'm about 20 houses away. I know they see me now; there is no going back.
15 houses
My mind races to what I'll find when I get there. How many people are there? What will I encounter? Will they ambush me? If they run, how will I give chase?
11 houses
The large SUV came into my vision more clearly. I'm ready, I think. My adrenaline is pumping. My head feels lightheaded as all my blood rushes to my lower extremities, preparing for a foot chase or a shooting.
7 Houses out
Like clockwork, I grab my police radio and announce:
Delta 1:
"Palms West, I'm going 10-97" (on the scene)
I drop the mic with my right hand. With my left hand, I grab the handle of the giant spotlight mounted to the left side window. With my left top thumbnail, I flick the little lever that activates the light.
I light up the once-darkened street.
3 houses
Click off the seat belt with my right hand.
2 houses
Move my right hand from the base of the seat belt and grab the steering wheel.
1 house
Scan the area for the bad guys. Focusing the light on the front lawn of the house.
The light is very bright. It illuminates the whole area, and I see 3 potential suspects.
My eyes immediately trained on one suspect wearing all orange. The orange that foiled their plan. I begin to turn my car partially into my boss's driveway. The headlights add more light to the already chaotic scene. The three suspects begin to scatter like cockroaches startled by the kitchen light being turned on abruptly.
I placed my car in the park before it could stop by itself with the brakes applied. The transmission grinds, and the vehicle lightly skids. The car slides.
I take my left hand off the spotlight handle and grab the car door handle. I push the door open with my left foot and use the car's momentum to jump out of the vehicle. As my foot hit the concrete driveway, the car came to a complete stop. I pivot, drag out my right foot, and plant it solidly on the ground. I turn my body to the left and extract my 6-foot 2-inch frame from the car. I take 2 to 3 steps forward, my head and eyes stay turned toward the guy in orange. I do a semi-circle around my opened car door. At the same time, I reach down with my left and un-holster my handgun. My body clears the door and the safety of my car. MY gun clears the holster flawlessly, and I extend my gun forward at the bad guys.
"GET ON THE GROUND!" I shout with authority.
"GET THE FUCK ON THE GROUND!" I say in case they doubt my sincerity.
There is hesitation on their part. Their mind conflicted that maybe they could get away. But the cooler side of their thought process prevails, and they obey my order to get down.
All three suspects eat the dirt while my sergeant/homeowner drives up. His car was not yet in the park when he jumped out of the car and ran up to the suspects.
His gun drawn, he shouts, "YOU PICKED THE WRONG HOUSE, MOTHER FUCKERS!"
The cavalry arrived while he was telling the bad guys how he felt about them. Just about the whole team was there, and we secured the bad guys in handcuffs. We briefly stood around and gave each other high-fives for a job well done.
"Okay," I say to break up the awkwardness. "Hey, did anyone check the SUV to ensure there was nobody inside it?" I ask.
We all look at each other dumbfounded.
"No", one of the officers said as he shook his head.
We all turn around and light the truck's cab with our 24,000-candle-bright maglights.
In the rear of the SUV, a male was sitting quietly. He tried to use the driver's side seat as concealment with the hopes we'd never discover him.
"Shit", I said.
"Get on the ground, get out, get on the ground!" We all say in unison.
He complies with our demands and is handcuffed once he gets out of the car and lays on the ground.
"Oops," one of the officers said." Guess we should have checked the car."
Like that, a night of boredom for a birthday ends with a five-minute adrenaline rush. When we were on the scene, Mimie called me on my cell phone.
"Hey, just wanted to say thanks for a good night," she said, the tiredness in her voice. "Even though nothing really happened tonight, dinner was great."
"Yes", I said to Mimie.
"Usually, you're my shit-stirrer, but tonight, nothing really happened. Just another boring birthday. But hey, I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this job. Have a good night. I love you."
It's the Middle Ages, and I'm being drawn and quartered.
My limbs are stretched out as far as my muscles and ligaments will hold. I'm barely holding it together. I resist the urge to split at the seams with all my strength. But I'm tired. I'm grasping at straws, and I need a break. I need a moment to think. A moment to plan. A moment to see clearly. It's been a month and a half since she's gone. A month and a half has aged me tenfold. I'm weary.
I wouldn't want anyone to walk a mile in my shoes. If they did, they would find out the shoe's tread was worn down to form a flat rubber surface resembling Play-Doh. The rubber soles are so thin that oddly shaped holes are forming beneath my feet, exposing the bottom of my skin to the elements. I feel my flesh being scorched by the hot pavement. It's a long mile. The longest walk that seems to never end.
I see hope in front of me on this long, desolate road. An end could be possible. Should I start planning for a future?
I see myself getting beyond my fears and letting go of my anger. I'm providing good child care, so I returned to work. I walk closer to that winning vision, but I begin to limp. My bare feet are dragging along the ground, raking the floor. The friction of my skin is causing blisters. My nerve endings start to transmit pain to my brain as my dermis that surrounds the heal turns red and puffy. I feel like I can't continue.
I kick off my shoes.
My bare feet grind forward, acting on pure adrenaline my body and heart provide. It's the will to survive.
The pavement's heat rises from the ground, altering the clear landscape with the heat-induced wave that blurs beyond what I can see, obscuring the clarity of my vision. The once clear road was now hazed.
I press on to reach my final conclusion and begin my life again.
Will this mile ever end? I get closer, and I thirst for this hot, dry air. But I won't stop to drink, and there are no roses to stop and smell on this lonely baron road to my salvation.
Mimie was my first real relationship. She was my first girlfriend, my first love, and the one I made my wife. She's the mother of my children, and I'm marching forward because she'd want me to. I'm almost there, and my mile is nearly completed.
My journey came to its final dramatic conclusion, ending this nightmare.
And just like that, it was all a mirage.
My vision playing tricks on me. There is no happy ending. My mind succumbed to the defeat. The heartbreak is killing me. I fall to my knees and rest my buttocks on my bloodied heels. My arms dropped to my side. My shoulders shrugged forward, resigning myself to defeat. I just want to give up. But my eyes glance forward. I again see hope.
A resurrection of my life that I used to have. With all my strength, I pull my body up. I stand on the burnt flesh that was once healthy and strong. I take in a deep breath and begin to walk another mile. A walk to salvation on the road to perdition.
I see off in the distance, hope. Is it real this time, or is the heat playing tricks on me? I can only wish for hope.
My anxiety has been rolling over me like an angry oceans waves on the sandy shores' of a beach.
I've never had so much anxiety before in my life. I take deep breaths in trying to control it. When I close my eyes I get light headed and dizzy. The sensation travels from my head to my chest sending chills out to my hands and feet. My heart races. I breath in through my nose and out through my mouth.
"I have to gain control of my emotions" I think to myself. Not easy for a guy who wears his emotions on his sleeve.
I keep my eyes closed.
"Deep breath, deep breath" I calmly say.
I take in the oxygen provided to me by the air through my nose. It fills my nostrils and works its way inside my face finding the empty pockets of my bone structure. I purse my lips together and slowly push it out as I exhale. The oxygen slightly whistles through my lips as it leaves my body. My chest relaxes.
I'm trying to find my zen.
"You can do this, relax, relax", my thoughts race through my head.
My heart pounds. I use my left hand and place it up to the left side of my upper forehead. My palm just above my left eye brow. I slowly slide my hand up and back gliding my hand over the top of my skull reaching back to the base of my cerebellum.
I look to the right. My eyes closed. I deliberately push my head to the right, giving slight resistance to stretch my neck. I can feel my heartbeat. I can see my chest moving as if my diaphragm has extended upwards into my chest. It thumps fast sending my blood coursing through my veins like a NASCAR driver vying for pole position.
"Bump, bump, bump", my heart beats in steady succession.
My ears are throbbing. I place a pillow over my head and face. The pillow entombs my crown closing off all outside noise but my inner conscious speaks to me.
"Just find your peace, find your peace", My inner self says.
The sound of my kids laughter filters through the 500 thread count cotton pillow case.
The giggles works its way into the 20 inch x 26 inch polyester fiber pillow and into my inner ears over taking the sound of my beating heart and drowning out my conscious. I remove the pillow from my head.
The sunlight piercing through my thin skinned eye lids. The sun lights ultraviolet rays penetrating through them causing a spasm. My eyes open. My blurry sight gives way to a more focused room. I'm still light headed as I stare at the ceiling.
I lift my heavy torso from my couch. My legs are extended outward. I push my feet forward like I'm pushing a gas pedal. I retract them , I feel my calf's stretch. I feel so tired. Exhausted. I gotta get up. Gotta see what my kids are laughing about.
I don't have time to feel down. I can't get sick. My boys need me.
I can't get cancer. My children need me around.
I can't allow a bad guy to shoot me while I work on the job for the sake of my boys.
I'm not allowed to die in plane, train, or car crash my kids need me to survive.
I'm their dad and their mom. The last of their parents. No one can ever love my boys as much as me. I can't let anxiety defeat me this day. It wants to but my kids are laughing and it's drowning out everything else. So I'll overcome it this day. I'll win and spend the rest of the days with my boys. There will be no anxiety today.
It's Sunday. No, Monday, whatever. My days are combining like sugar with water. Although I'm not making lemonade with lemons, life just handed me them. I don't enjoy this. Sitting on my ass. The only benefit I'm receiving from being home daily is being a stay-at-home dad. I wish to do this full-time, but eventually, I have to try and get back to work. Unless I win the Lotto, which I've been playing more than ever, I have yet to check a single ticket to see if I'm a winner. Right now, my motivation sucks, and my mind ison my kid's well-being. My sons seem to be okay.
Nico asks for Mama every time my cell phone rings. I keep it on vibrate as much as possible. I'm on a childcare hunt, yet I can't seem to find anyone. I need a break. I have to do something. I want to get away. I was thinking about taking my boys to Disney World, but I'm worried about doing it alone with a two-year-old and a four-year-old. All I can think of is that it will be a disaster. Their fits, the tantrums, attempting to control them in long lines just to get on a magical Disney ride. But I wanna try. I gotta try.
My days collide like the sun's rays punching through the night sky, beginning the dawn of a new day. On this new day, I'm gonna do it. Just going to pack up a bunch of clothes and head out the door.
I am traveling north on the highway towards the "mouse house," Walt Disney World, two hundred and twenty miles from where I want to be. I felt relieved as I got some distance from my own house. I was traveling blindly towards Orlando. But traveling blindly is nothing new. It's how I've been traveling through my life since March when Mimie passed away.
I had no hotel booked. No theme park tickets; quite frankly, I didn't know what the hell I was doing. I wanted to leave town, so I rushed out of my house. Not intentionally, though. My sister-in-law provided me with a maid service, which arrived sooner than the 2pm arrival time, I was told. And not just one cleaning lady but three were at my door.
"Jeez, I don't live in filth," I thought.
It's a grand gesture from Mimie's sister to hire a cleaning company. My house is a fucking wreck, and I hated for people to pop over without notice to see what has become of me by my appearance and my house's appearance. I'd rather stay safe behind my text from my iPhone 4S and let everyone assume I'm okay.
My motivation has died, and my house was a direct result of the lack there, and the cleanliness was suffering from it. I tried to at least straighten up my domicile before the housekeeper arrived. Still, I needed to be more successful in those efforts figures.
So now the cleaners see how sloppy I lived lately before I could cover up the mess. My house gives away my life of solitude. I didn't want to be there while they cleaned my rooms, judging me and my mess.
I asked them, "Could you please wait outside until I get my things together."
"You aren't one of those, are you?" the blonde cleaning lady of the three said with a smirk.
"One of those?" I said, clenching my teeth.
"Well, yes. You aren't cleaning before we clean, are you?" she said.
"Kinda, and especially now that there's three of you here.", I said with a bit of despair.
"There are three of us because we do a thorough cleaning as a start-up. It's customary, so no worries. Okay? After this, only one of us will show up," she said politely.
I said, "I'm gonna leave the house, so I'm not over your shoulder as you do your job."
As the ladies stood by outside, I frantically ran around the house, trying to gather my things to pack for my impromptu trip to Orlando.
I scooped up Nico and ran out the door towards the mini-van.
"Sorry, ladies", I said as I carried Nico to his car seat, "I didn't expect you all here so soon. I'm hurrying."
"Oh, it's okay; you're our last stop," the blonde said with a smile.
"I'm sorry for how the house looks. I'm kind of embarrassed, but I, like I said, tried to clean it before you got here.", I said, trying to mitigate being a pig.
All three women were kind. They had an idea as to what was going on in my life, with my loss. I returned to the house, opened up baby Christopher, and brought him to the van," I'm almost done, really. So sorry", I said as I walked past them.
I have never said sorry so much before in my life as I have the past month.
"Take your time, take your time." the same blonde lady of the three said. She made herself the official spokeswoman of the group.
I grabbed a suitcase and started throwing clothes in it. Shirts, shorts, socks. If it looked clean and smelled decent, it was packed for the ride. I walked out with the suitcase and announced, "All yours. Thanks for your patience. Again, I am sorry for the mess and making you wait." Ugh, stop saying sorry, I thought.
They seemed happy to see me leave, and I was glad to see them through my car's review mirror.
Finally, I was off. Of course, I didn't leave officially. I returned to my house thrice because of something I forgot. I just want to get on the road.
So far, the boys have been good on this two-and-a-half-hour trip. They were caught up in their Disney movie, which was playing on the dual portable DVD players strapped to the headrests of the driver and passenger seats. I was focused on the road and the task at hand, getting out of the area, but I was deeply thinking about what I would do with my life.
I don't have the luxury to hit rock bottom. I know I need to keep my head above water. I'm doing the dog paddle, but it's like I'm swimming in place. It's sad to think that the only thing sure at this point as I drive down this highway is that if I continue to go straight, I'll make it to Orlando eventually. I wish things were that certain at this present time of my life. The bends in my roads were mended in my 20s. I'm not prepared for this, and it's so late in my 30s. My career was at full speed. I have beautiful kids. I think of so many excuses as to why I can't help myself recover.
"Only if my kids were older. If my police job had better family hours. If I could be a full-time dad." I must stop feeling sorry for myself, but I can't. The heaviness that weighs on me.
I have no control of it when, in fact, I have all the power. "Just pull it together, Chris. Pull it together", I say to myself out loud.
I glance in my rearview mirror. My boys are so into the movie they have no idea that their dad is talking to himself. I then glance at the empty passenger seat next to me and shake my head, "Damn it, Mimie. Damn it." I say under my breath.
I place my left hand on my forehead and rest my elbow on the inside molding of the car door. Tears stream down my face.
I was going to turn around and head home. I was sad and scared of the daunting task of taking on Disney alone. It made me worry, but before I knew it, I was getting off at the Osceola Parkway, the exit leading me to Disney.
It was late afternoon, and I wanted to check into a Disney Resort property. I can only reserve a room. I had recently bought leashes for my kids. Yes, the very thing my wife and I scoffed at every time we saw some kid in it. But I have no choice. I can't manage them alone when they want out of the stroller.
"Okay, boys, we're here!" I shout. "Disney World!"
Pulling the van into the guest-only check-in parking spot, I pressed the three buttons that automatically opened all three van doors. The driver and passenger slider doors and the rear hatch. The boys let out a collective, "Yay!" "Mimie would have loved that," I think to myself.
As I walk to the van's rear, I grab the leashes. They are little monkey backpacks, and their tail is the lead you hold as they walk. I grab Nico out of his seat. He is used to his school backpack, so he allows me to slide the straps over his shoulders without a fight. The monkey has 2 snaps in the front for a snug fit.
I snap the first one that covers the top of his chest. "Click."
Then the second strap that goes on his lower chest "click."
I then lead Nico to baby Christopher's side of the van. I place my foot on Nico's leash. I then hold baby Christopher between my knees and snap on the same monkey.
"click."
I joke, "Someone, please get this monkey off my back."
We work our way to the entrance of the hotel. The familiar Disney music from one of their movies is already piped over the loudspeakers.
"Hakuna Matata! What a wonderful phrase, Hakuna Matata! Ain't no passing craze."
I walk up to the customer service desk to a smiling Disney face. Baby starts to act up and decides he doesn't want to stand around. I try to hold him tight by pulling the leash like a horse's rein. He yelps, trying to evade me, but he's not going too far because I have tightened my grasp.
"Hakuna Matata! It means no worries for the rest of your days; it's our problem-free philosophy."
I ask the Cast Member (what Disney employees like to be called), "For a two-night stay." she smiles and says," That's doable."
Nico happily sits on the edge of the counter, taking everything in. Still, Christopher had other ideas as I let go of the grip of the leash and let him roam the near-empty lobby.
"Hakuna Matata! Those two words will solve all your problems."
She puts the packet of Disney fun together. The package will have a map of the hotel, park hours, and Disney magic fun. I glance away from the Cast Member.
"Baby, baby," I yell, "Come over here!"
"Hakuna Matata! Yeah. It's our motto! "What's a motto?" the music continues to blare.
"It's okay," the Cast Member says. "We're almost done."
She gave me the room key, which was a credit card. I grab all the paperwork. I slide Nico into my left arm, pick him up from the table, and hunt down baby Christopher.
"He's by the doors," a friendly tourist says.
I look by the double automatic doors, and there he is, monkey backpack and all, staring in awe as the automatic doors open and close with the arriving and leaving of guests.
I bend down and grab the leash. "Ready to go to the hotel room?" I say happily
Baby looks at me and runs away, "ahhhhhh," he shouts all the way down the hallway as I give chase, trying to pick up the end of the leash. It's gonna be a fun couple of days. Two hundred and twenty miles of fun.
"Hakuna Matata! It means no worries for the rest of your days."
I always knew Mimie wanted to be buried in the same cemetery where our twin daughters were buried. On many occasions, when we visited our girls, one of us would bring it up. We both wanted to be buried near them when we did meet our maker. I never imagined that one of us would be buried there so soon.
I can't begin to explain to you how to plan a funeral. I am not an expert at it.
When the twins died, I had no idea what happened concerning how their funeral arrangements were done. Through all the heavy emotions that week when the girls were lost, my friend John coordinated the funeral for us. Through his hard work, he got the word out in the community, where I swore to "serve and protect" the neighborhood and came through with financial and emotional support.
In law enforcement, you try your best to do what's right.
It may not be the most popular decision you have to make sometimes but damn it, you do what you feel is in the best interest of everyone involved at the moment, and as long as you are sincere in those interests, then at the end of the day, you can go home knowing you kept your honor and integrity.
When people within the community found out about our loss of the twins, the outpouring of support was overwhelming. Mimie and I paid no money out of pocket for their burial. It demonstrated to me that I was doing good as a cop. But now, as a man, a husband, I am forced to bury my wife.
When I think of burying Mimie, the mother of all my children, at the same cemetery as the twins at the age of 39, it seems so unreal to me.
It makes me so angry. I wonder what did I do to deserve this, to deserve such pain over the last six years. Why is my wife gone? Her pain ended, but my pain will endure long after I bury her. Hopefully, I can honor her wishes and bury her close to the girls.
Our twins Sophia and Gabriella are buried in "Babyland."
I wanted to respect Mimie's wishes and place her as close to the girls as possible. The funeral director showed me several plots on a map in areas she would later take me to on a golf cart.
I think to myself, "Driving me around on a golf cart like Bob fucking Hope." I shake my head out of disgust as I view the map.
I need to get an idea of what I'm looking at in relation to the map.
Their map is sketchy at best. I've seen better children's menu placemats than this. It's just your standard sheet of paper. It has boxes strewn about it. The vacant boxes are highlighted in yellow to indicate they were vacant. I'll be riding shotgun in the golf cart, so I'll have a visual idea of where her soul will rest for eternity.
After looking at the map, I decided on two areas.
The first one is an enclosed mausoleum. It wasn't this vast enclosed crypt that I thought about when I heard the word mausoleum, such as a vault that stores the deceased. This mausoleum is in a large outdoor building, and it is about 2 stories tall. The caskets fit into tiny slots like honeycombs in a Langstroth hive with top open moveable frames stacked 6 high and about 10 across. The facade is all polished granite, cut in squares to house loved ones crossing over to the other side. Once the granite square is removed, the casket is placed inside, and then the maintenance crew will replace the cover and seal it forever, entombing the body of the dearly departed.
I liked the mausoleum right away. It seemed a clean way to be buried. Mimie's burial site would be on the mausoleum's highest level and the building's corner, like a condo end unit. The only drawback is that I would have to look at her to see her bronze marker. Still, the location was perfect because it looked over "Babyland" as if standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon, admiring nature's beauty as you look down into the canyon.
I told the Director of the funeral home that my only problem was "how high her final resting place was."
She said, "People tell me that all the time, Chris, and do you know what I say?"
"No, not really," I said, holding my breath as I gazed towards the granite wall and the sky.
"I simply tell them it's closer to heaven."
A small smile crept onto my face as I continued to gaze upwards. I nodded and slowly diverted my stare toward her, "Is that what you say?"
"Yes," she said as she looked at me through her dark sunglasses.
I liked the way it sounded.
I gazed back up to the sky in deep thought. I knew that was going to be Mimie's spot. It was perfect. She was high off the ground, and she was overlooking her babies. However, I decided to look for second place. The traditional burying place was 6 feet under but closer to "Babyland."
We arrived in the general area of spot number two.
As we approached the little car, I dragged my right foot on the ground and listened to the tip of my shoe "thud" across the pavement. The funeral director was talking to me, but I zoned out. I just wanted to listen to the "thud" as my foot skipped over the top of the asphalt. It was the perfect metaphor for how I was feeling.
When the golf cart stopped, the Director and I both got out and walked around the sea of headstones and open fields, looking for the plot of land where Mimie could be buried.
The Director had the map in her hand, and we wandered aimlessly as if we were on a scavenger hunt.
Sensing we were close to it, she pointed and said," It's right around this general area," taking her left hand and making a wide swirling motion.
I wander around the broad area she alluded to in her swirling motion, ensuring I do not stand on the rectangular burial markers of other buried people.
The markers were granite, bronze, and relatively large, 4' by 3'. As I looked around, I couldn't help but notice some of the deceased's dates. Each marker's letter in their name and the number of their year of birth and death is embossed, giving it a slight raise from the flat service. Like braille, you could run your fingers across the top and read who lies beneath your fingertips.
The bronze markers were old, with thick layers of patina glazed over them, giving them a green look instead of a shiny copper penny appeal. I was not impressed in the least. That particular burial area looked old. The grass had a lot of weeds. The ground was uneven, causing some of the markers to tilt. Ant piles were formed around the edges of some burial markers. I didn't get a good vibe from it.
I didn't like it as I stood in the "general area" of where her final resting place would be. The proximity was closer to the girls than the mausoleum, but it didn't feel right. From where I stood, I could see the high-standing buildings and catacombs. I envisioned standing by my girl's grave and looking up at Mimie as she watched over us. I knew more than ever that I was taking the condo with the view.
I just wanted to let her family know so they could feel like a part of her final journey. Her family was 2,200 miles away in her home state of Colorado. They couldn't be here to assist in choosing the location, but I sent some pictures to Mimie's sister from my camera phone. As far as they were concerned, though, Colorado should be the final resting place. I understood their wishes, but no one knew our inner workings better than I did.
I knew the turmoil and pain of losing those girls tormented Mimie. I was determined to do my best to make her final resting place with her daughters. Knowing she'd rest easier being nearby also brought me a little inner peace. I had to make it happen regardless of money.
My emotions were running high just after her death, and I had a lot of pressure on me to figure out her burial.
Her family kept asking me when they should fly out. I hadn't even decided on a funeral home for services. Whenever something was presented to me about her, I said yes.
"Have you found a funeral home?"
"Yes". Lie.
"Do you know when she will be released?"
"Yes." Lie.
"Have you settled on a date for her service?"
"Yes." Lie.
I wasn't in the right frame of mind. I just thought about my kids without having their mother. I was hoping this would all go away.
When I think of Mimie, I get a rush of emotion that overwhelms my physical body. I become lightheaded and hyperventilate. The anxiety takes my breath away. But the fact of life is she is gone. I stand alone with our two children, trying to figure out where to begin. Where is the starting line? Is it as simple as placing one foot in front of the other? I struggle more mentally when I think about having to explain to my kids who their mother is and convey her love to them through me.
Burying their mother close by the girls was imperative to me and my boys, which no one understood. I struggled and fought with other family members because they just didn't understand that.
I was told to "think about the children and care for the living."
I understood that statement, but what kind of man would I be to ignore her wishes? I needed to take care of her to demonstrate to my boys that men care for their loved ones in life and death. In the end, I chose the mausoleum and got what I wanted. I got Mimie a spot closer to heaven with a view of her girls.
I showed my boys that their mother mattered and that taking care of your own mattered more.
