Love and Meaning in 2013

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Left to right: Nico and Christopher celebrating Christmas at a Disney World Resort

December 31st, 2012 / January 01, 2013 Happy New Year


"Let them have cake!" Okay Marie Antoinette, the Queen of France, I am not.  But for some reason I am thinking about that statement while enjoying this strawberry fruit covered cheesecake. It is written that she would use that line when she was informed that the,"peasants have no bread."  

I'm sitting on a chair in my Walt Disney World Resort hotel room, staring at the 4 foot Christmas tree that I bought specifically for our Christmas week stay here. The lights are vibrant, thanks to the creation of LED. The golf ball size glass ornaments are glimmering from the twinkling lights of the tree that cast a spectrum of color off the four walls of my room.  

My body is so sore from a busy 2 days of preparations for this trip that included working, and activity with my sons, Nico and Christopher. 

Damn I'm getting old- I think to myself.

My neck is stiff, so stiff in fact, that I can't even turn it 180 degrees to see my boys who are asleep in their beds directly behind me. But due to their heavy breathing I know that they're sleeping soundly.

With each bite of my cheesecake I sink deeper into my thought process and into the cushion of my comfortable red velvet chair. Am I a fool? Am I trying to fill the loss of Mimie with Mickey Mouse? Wait, that may be a forum for my shrink, not here in my blog. 

The smooth cream cheese flavor tantalizes my thoughts and my conscience reminds me how desperately I want to make this holiday a special occasion for my children. I knew the void they have with the loss of their mom could widen without her here with us on this special holiday, so I hope that the joy that this place seems to have will rub off on us, so that this week can truly be a Merry Christmas.

The one thing I have noticed since Mimie's death in March, is that time moves fast, whether you participate in life, or not. It just seems that time doubles in speed when you block out the months in your mind that your memory wants you to forget, because the thought of death makes you sick to your stomach.

I find that it's easier to think about the present then to worry about a future without your loved one in your life, because you can handle the day by day events better then future events. And the thought of the future without them, my friends, can overwhelm you. 

So in desperation, I try to fill those days with anything that allows me to move on to the next day, more easily. Assuming though, that things will just get better on it's own in the near future. That's what people say anyhow, things will get better with time.

I write this now in front of this Christmas tree. The heat from the air conditioner is lightly blowing on my face bringing warmth to my body. I close my eyes searching for peace within me, and I realize that I'm shaking my head. I am shaking my head because I'm still in disbelief that I am doing this alone. When will time heal? It doesn't matter how much cheesecake I shove down my throat tonight, this comfort food won't fill my own voids. It doesn't matter that I have written over 150,000 words on this blog. Those words can not replace the pieces that were cut out during the year of 2012. Things just do not get better magically because when I stare at my boys I see how tragic the loss of their mom truly is. And that emotional pain still hurts and at this moment the thought of time healing isn't convincing.

Mimie and I had a lot of stress towards the end of her life. There was a lot of turmoil that was still boiling from the loss of our twin girls Sophia and Gabriella. There are regrets on both sides of the table and yet I feel like I'm the one left standing after the music has stopped. Not that I want sympathy, but selfishly, I wanted the opportunity to make things right with us. To recognize and accept the loss of our girls, together. To exorcise my own demons and heal us, so that we could become a closer family by filling OUR voids with l-o-v-e.

Now that sounds good in a fairy tale world, but in reality, it's hard to focus and right life back on the tracks and move forward, towards the future, when nothing has been resolved from the past. Especially when death leaves you feeling empty.

You never get over the loss of a child or a loved one. Whether its in the early stages of a babies life, such as conception, your child as an adult, a loved one dying of disease, a horrific incident or just natural causes, you are never ready for death and once you are faced with it, you never fully overcome it.

And now I'm facing a new year, all alone, and terrified of any loss that lies there, within a new year. The stretch of good times that may come my way in the future seems fragile, like a cease fire that is on the brink of war as if I were on the Demilitarized Zone. And the sad fact is, I will never be comfortable, because I will always be afraid that the happiness  will come to an end when the cloak of death smothers my joy. Where is there happiness with worry like that?

From 2006 through 2012, I have evolved and yet, I do not know where this evolution is taking me, heading into 2013. I always envisioned the start of the new year like how one would see a calendar. It's the twelve pages filled with 52 weeks that you flip from one month to the next. Season to season, events to events, holidays to holidays and any other day as you search for the day that brings meaning to your heart.

But in life, all good things do come to an end, like the last remaining bite of this cheesecake. Cheesecake, that made me think about where I am and where I'm going. I guess Cheesecake is my Tree of Life tonight. As my calender begins to start anewI hope to find the day that is hidden somewhere in those pages of 2013 that will bring my heart meaning again.

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The Adventures of Captain Imperfecto/Born Again by Christopher P. Fusaro is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at christopherfusaro.blogspot.com.

The Adventures of Captain Imperfecto ©  is also a Registered Copyright with the Office of the Registers, United States of America, TX 7-611-138

Just the Lyrics

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Mimie Marquez Fusaro

December 27th, 2012

In honor of Mimie's fortieth birthday, I am posting this as is. No written blog, no promotion, just the lyrics to one of our songs that I dedicated to her in the begining of our relationship, that just happened to follow us throughout our life. 

Happy birthday Mimie Jo Fusaro - 12/27/1972...  

BRIAN MCKNIGHT - BACK AT ONE 
Written by Brian McKnight

It's undeniable 
That we should be together 
It's unbelievable 
How I used to say 
That I'd fall never 
The basis is need to know 
If you don't know 
Just how I feel 
Then let me show you now 
That I'm for real 
If all things in time 
Time will reveal 

[Chorus]
One 
You're like a dream come true 
Two 
Just want to be with you 
Three 
Girl, it's plain to see 
That you're the only one for me 
And four 
Repeat steps one through three 
Five 
Make you fall in love with me 
If ever I believe my work is done 
Then I'll start back at one 

It's so incredible 
The way things work themselves out 
And all emotional 
Once you know what it's all about, hey 
And undesirable 
For us to be apart 
I never would have made it very far 
'Cause you know you've got the keys to my heart 

[Chorus]

Say farewell to the dark of night 
I see the coming of the sun 
I feel like a little child 
Whose life has just begun 
You came and breathed new life 
Into this lonely heart of mine 
You threw out of the lifeline 
Just in the nick of time 

[Chorus]

One 
You're like a dream come true 
Two 
Just want to be with you 
Three 
Girl, it's plain to see 
That you're the only one for me 
And four 
Repeat steps one through three 
Five 
Make you fall in love with me 
If ever I believe my work is done 
Then I'll start back at one 

Goodnight, Santa

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Left to right: Nico and Christopher playing in a mall Christmas display

December 24/25, 2012

For my boys,

Christmas Eve's upon us and its almost Christmas Day.  I'm standing in an open field hoping to see Santa's sleigh. I want to catch a glimpse of him passing his Christmas cheer, and brag to everyone I know, about seeing his eight flying reindeer.

The clouds cover the earths heavenly dome, bringing the clear night sky into obscurity. Its haze brought a thick wall of snow, that has been falling hard, upon this meadow all night long. If the overcast, doesn't recede into the abyss of night, then I fear my standing here tonight, could cause me to end up on Santa's naughty list.

The heavy snow continues on and the white flurries are going to make it impossible to see, St. Nick's magical flight. I guess it's just not meant to be. I close my eyes and make a wish, hoping that the thick veil of buttermilk will quickly, cease to exist. With my eyes shut tight, I stick out my tongue, and feel the snowflakes land, one by one.

I inhale the cool air with all my might, and blow it towards the clouds. I hope I can push them away, clearing a path that will reveal Father Christmases sleigh, as it passes over my holiday garden, that's littered with twinkling lights. Where all the trees have ornaments and the gingerbread houses bring the children so much delight. 

And what do you know? As I push and I blow. The clouds start to move away, allowing me to see the millions of stars, that are currently out, and at play. They're streaking across the sky, like their running from Santa's fast moving sleigh. Maybe he still has yet to pass this way?

The fresh, new, fallen snow surrounds my feet, as I continue to look up and stare towards the heavens, for any kind of hint of Kris Kringle and thirty-two flying hooves kicking through the sky. I get so giddy when I think that he could still travel by.

But so far there’s no connotation of his approach. No early warnings of jingle bells chiming or singing by any of his elves. No falling candy canes or sparks from his sleigh, that would light up the midnight sky as Santa dashes by. 

No, it appears that Santa Claus has come and gone, during tonights winter snow fall.

The nights so cold and its time to go. I need a goodnights rest to enjoy  the Christmas’s day festivities. So I turn and walk away through the icy covered path, over the hill and past Gods mast. When suddenly I hear a sound as it pierces through the air. It’s whistling noise brings me to tears.

I look over my shoulder and what do I see? It’s not a jet or a bird, but Santa sleigh, and it’s about to pass right over me. I run towards the hill top, to get the best look. Santa Claus is near and I have waited all year to wave and cheer and announce out loud, "Way to go, Santa Claus!"

I run up the incline waving my arms feverishly and yell from the top of my lungs, " Hi Kris Kringle, way to go, Santa Claus!" It's my way to greet him with Good Will and Christmas Cheer to celebrate the spirit of Christmas this year. I follow the curve and as I arrive to the top, I can only hope that he'll see me, and possibly, even stop, as his sleigh rides high above me.

He didn’t say, “Merry Christmas to all” or “Ho, ho, ho,” he didn't say much, if anything at all.

He was sitting snuggly, in his sleigh, I saw him look down and begin to look my way, as he began to extend his arm, he didn’t whimper or make a noise.

He didn’t make a peep.  

He pointed down and looked directly at me as he finally began to speak, "You, young man, should be a sleep."

Goodnight, Santa.

                                                  Merry Christmas to all and Peace to Mankind

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The Adventures of Captain Imperfecto/Born Again by Christopher P. Fusaro is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at christopherfusaro.blogspot.com.

Game On Aisle 12

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Left to right: Christopher and Nico at Pro Bass Shops

December 19th, 2012

I get so angry at times, about my life when I take the time to sit back and contemplate about my losses. I mean these losses aren't like a sports team that loses a Super Bowl or World Series game where you have to wait an entire off season to redeem yourself. There is no next year when you experience tragedies in your life. I just can't revamp my life and turn it into championship season the following year. No, when that buzzer goes off and life ceases to go on, it is truly a finale.


My feeling of anger surfaces in the weirdest places too.

For instance, I’m in a grocery store and my anger lies somewhere in-between aisle 6 and 7: The frozen dessert section. I think this overwhelming feeling occurs because I see food Mimie (my wife) and I shared together. The feeling of loss manifests itself from deep in my stomach, and it’s not a tummy ache caused by the excess of ice cream.. The pain of loss causes my brain to reminisce about the happiness ice cream brought her. And boy I get upset. I can only shake my head and wish for a better out come, but I realize my reality, and I know I can’t revamp this team.

When you’re with someone for a long time their food, becomes your food, and vice versa. So, when I see the Rigatoni in the pasta aisle 4 of our local grocery store, my inner voice begins to laugh hard. I think about how we had just talked about the lack of rigatoni in my life. The thick square pasta, hollowed in middle, is delicious. It just makes me so damn mad I don't have an interest at looking at it anymore. Where is there a time-out when you need one. I wish a scientist could invent a pause button for a real life situation.

I work my way to the potato chip section, aisle 12. I was never a person who picked at chips because of boredom, but Mimie on the other hand, loved the salty chip as a late night snack. I use to brag that I could "only eat just one." I wasn't the type who craved the thinly sliced .007 inch chip. I didn't crave the potato that was deep fried in oil at approximately 375 to 400 degree Fahrenheit. I didn't notice the lightly brown salted rough surface, as being any type of delicacy. Not that I would know much about chip making.

I shake my head when I look at the plethora of chips before me resting on these grocery shelves and I fondly remember her telling me, "There is nothing like a chip from a freshly opened bag. Of course I'll grab a bag of Lays and I will savor the first bite, while riding the bench by resting on my couch. I'm not a couch potato, one that’s subjected to eating chips while watching a big game, I just want to find some comfort.

I push the shopping cart to the cereal section, aisle 6. I quickly take notice of the Special K with Red Berries. I recall how I didn't like the cereal when she first bought it. I thought the freeze dried strawberries were a little too sour for my taste buds. But now I am gravitating to the box with the large K on it. I enjoy it so much, with a packet of Splenda sprinkled on it. Mimie enjoyed it while she shared a bowl with my youngest son, Christopher. I think it's time to have a super big bowl with my sons.

I mosey on over to the meat section and bypass all the red beef while heading to the boneless chicken breasts section. We ate mostly chicken, but every now and again she would surprise me with a large steak. She would always cut it in half and give me the large portion while she would nibble on a small portion of her own. I wasn’t too picky about the type of meat she served and she always had it ready to eat when I got home, like a hurry up offense of a football team.

I then move over to the frozen food on isle 14. I want to choose pre-made pasta in a bag. The thing we loved about this type of frozen meal is that all you have to do is place the contents of the bag into a skillet and the food cooks up real quick. I think it’s better and faster then any thing Rachel Ray cooks up in her 30 minutes.

I look through the different flavors and take notice of the ones we both liked when I realize the bag reads, “dinner for two.”  I know my sons (Nico the oldest at 4 and Christopher, the youngest at 3) won't eat any of these, so I call an audible, or change of play, and I just move past this section all together.

I go to aisle 5 and pick out some diet soda. I pick the Coke Zero. I laugh when I see the Dr. Pepper. I fondly remember how I always thought that only girls drank Dr. Pepper. My wife loved it and she would stash it in the house so she could get her fix when she desired it. I never understood why she put it out of sight. She never had to worry about me sneaking a can or two. I think I'll buy the 6 pack for tonight. I’ll place one soda in the batters box so it will be ready to drink when I want to wash down my chips.

Shopping in the grocery store is just one little reminder for me of what I lost. And how life can change in an instant. I walk down these food aisle and fondly remember that we shared more then just are lives together but common interests as well. And now, the food just doesn’t taste the same.

I could rebuild this team but I am missing my key ingredient. I would do anything to learn from the seasons that have past and correct the mishaps that occurred that lead to a losing season. But I can’t. The only time-outs afforded in life have already played out and now I can only learn from replay in my mind. Unfortunately, a grocery store isn't in the field of play and now I am only left to try and clean up the mess behind me.

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The Adventures of Captain Imperfecto/Born Again by Christopher P. Fusaro is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at christopherfusaro.blogspot.com.

Finding Peace with Loss Somehow

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Left to right: Nico and Christopher knocked out after a long day

December 17th, 2012

I just got through a long weekend stretch of working. It feels like I was on a 3-day bender. In 72 hours (Friday through Sunday), I crammed in 40 hours of work, mingled that with tending to my boys at night when I got home, and somewhere in there, I found some sleep for my weary body.

For the first time since I lost my wife, I wept for something else unrelated to my situation. I cried for those children and adults lost in Newtown, Connecticut, at the hands of a killer, a downright coward. I cried because I could see those children's innocence through my kids' eyes. May God console those parents and their children rest in the Kingdom of God. 

Their lively, busybodies, full of curiosity in all that life offers them, were cut short before it started. And now, I place myself in the shoes of the murdered children's parents by thinking of my own boys meeting such a horrible fate of a meaningless, senseless crime. I break down and cry, cry, cry. 

When I first became a police officer, it was hard to envision any kind of heartache that a parent was going through when they called me to the scene of their nightmare, especially at a young age. Their frantic search for their drug addict son or daughter who is lost somewhere in the mean streets of the underworld. A seedy part of life that society has spent generation after generation ignoring. 

I'd cut them loose, and they'll learn - I'd think to myself.

But now, I understand a parent's plight. Because, as a society, if we still thought the world was flat, I would travel to the edge of the world, knowing I would fall off until I found my own kids.

As a young adult, leaving my teens and heading into my twenties, I had just gone through the phase of bucking the system and fighting the authority that was my parents. I still lacked the maturity to understand what a worried parent goes through when a mom or dad loses their child to death or loss in the mean streets of society.

Now that I have matured physically and mentally, my clear thinking has allowed me to see the big picture of life and everything contained within it. I know the world outside the five-mile safety zone where I live and breathe. 

When I arrive at a scene and deal with a parent who has an unruly child, a kid that is missing, a toddler that is hurt, an infant that has died, or any kind of circumstance that is related to their child, I refer to them as "mom" or "dad." 

"Mom," I say as I place my arm around her, "they will be fine. We will find them."

"Dad," I say, looking into his eyes, "she will always be your little girl."

I want them to find comfort in the fact that I understand what they are going through. That I know the pain that is in their heart. They should know that I understand the tears of grief coming through their eyes, and I feel the pain that has rocked them to their inner core.

It's been a long weekend. My body is tired as I fight back the hours of lack of sleep the last three days. The minutes I wasted by remaining up beg me to let them back into my body so that I may find some rest tonight. But I don't want to sleep. Not now, not at this moment. I am watching my children sleep just a few feet away. 

The house is dark except for the Christmas tree lights blinking on and off. The light illuminates from the far room, and the brightness works its way through the darkness of the house. The multi-color lighting breaks through the darkness that surrounds my children, and light reflects off their faces. I hear them breathing, and I find comfort in the fact that they are resting. I imagine they are playing in a happy world somewhere in their dreams. 

I place myself in the parents who lost their children as I think of my own loss of my twin girls, Sophia and Gabriella. I have to believe that our children are sleeping well tonight. Their bed is in a celestial place where they find comfort and peace. 

Our children are in a place that knows no evil, where pain has no place, and where rest is a heavenly place to be. May peace come to us all. Not just today but in our lifetime.

769 words

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The Adventures of Captain Imperfecto/Born Again by Christopher P. Fusaro is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at christopherfusaro.blogspot.com.

When in Rome, A Short Story

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Left to right: Christopher and Nico at Animal Kingdom Walt Disney

December 12th, 2012

Everyone has a story to tell when they return from vacation. Like,"I caught a fish this big..." I knew I would have something to write for my Adventures of Captain Imperfecto blog to share with you, my reader. So sit back, relax and let me tell you about this walk in the downtown area of San Francisco... 

My dad kept telling me since I arrived in California, "you have to go on the Trolley car, it's a must do in San Francisco. When in Rome son, When in Rome!" 

"But dad, you've never been to San Francisco or Rome."

"That doesn't matter!" his voice shouting through my cell phone.

After days of wandering throughout the city streets of San Francisco I thought I knew how to get around. I was becoming one with the city folk regulars until I found my self lost while I was trying to find a local movie theater. I was on a mission to see Sky Fall, but James Bond I am not so I failed this particular mission.

I was tired and hungry and my feet hurt when I found myself face to face at the Trolley-turn-about, near Market Street. My dads voice rang in my head, like a whisper over your shoulder, "do it," his voice said.

So I ponied up the 6 dollars (one way) and took the ride on the Rice-a-Roni street car named, Desire. 

I jumped on-board among the other tourists, who burst through the heavy chain dividers, by leaping over them with all the grace of a track star in training for the hurdle event in the Olympics. They ran with vigor towards the old fashioned metal trolley car.

My ride definitely had a classic appeal to it. It looked like an old train caboose with outside seating. The benches were a mustard yellow. Parallel to them were while poles affixed to the side so riders, mostly tourists, can hang on to them with dear life and do their best impression of a trash man. The mostly red color allowed the trolley to stand out from the rest of the public transportation. 

I was able to work my way up front where I was gripping the white coated steal made bar tightly, waiting to hang off the edge of a perfectly well insulated moving vehicle. Ordinarily, I would have better judgement but hell, I was on vacation so when in Rome, right? Although, this wasn't Rome. 

The gripping pole was cold because the night air was a chilly 40 degrees. I wasn't wearing gloves because I live in Florida and I obviously don't own any. So, I toughed out the weather because I wanted to make my dad proud. I gripped tightly as the driver of the Trolley car rang the bell twice.

"Ding, ding."

The car begin to roll upwards on the track towards the main corridor. The metal track that the wheels ride on is embedded into a cobble stone ground. We made our way towards Union Square. The main area where people congregate and enjoy the Time's Square impression this city has to offer. The night was beautiful. The crowds were full of life. The streets spoke as we rolled on through the glitz of the lighted signs and through the thickness of the voices that rang out from the hoards of people. The only thing more loud was the friction from the metal on metal as we made our way through this crowded area.

My dad was right. It was worth hanging on to this trolley car. My feet were firmly planted on the 1 foot ledge that was welded to the side of the frame. I loosened my arms and allowed my torso to move into the outside space. I jammed my head out in the wind enjoying the crisp air as it passed around my 6 foot 2 inch frame. Now I see why dogs love this kind of freedom. I sprang on my knees like a baseball player in the batters box. I was having fun.

The driver of the car was in the middle of the trolley working the ride with a large brake handle that was in the center of the trolley. He would use this brake to slow the cart down or stop on an "x" situated on the roads asphalt. It was the launching point every time we had to start forward again.

As we moved away from the city the car began to thin out as people got off at stops along the way. With an empty seat in front of me I decided to shift my hips and take a seat with much relief to my knees. I still had a great view from where I was sitting. The night was going so well.

The trip rolled on and we began to pick up more passengers throughout this golden city. 

People clamored for better seating but most people jockeyed for the white poles and their chance to hang out of the San Francisco Cable Car. And why not? Its all about the experience. And who doesn't want the experience. Hell, my dad is 3,000 miles away and wants the experience.

As we rolled on to the next scheduled stop a short man, about 5’ 6”, worked his way to where I was sitting and the white pole that was mounted right in front of me. 

His hair was trapped in a 50’s time warp. He was still sporting a flat top or buzz cut. His thick framed glasses reminded me of something the singer Buddy Holly would wear. He was in his late 30's and he was true to his coolness, wearing only a t-shirt and jeans. His port belly was protruding from the bottom of his shirt and his hairy flesh was exposed and practically sitting in my lap. I know now what it is like to be pregnant. 

“Yahoo!” he shouts as the trolley moves forward, "yeah!"

The conductor rings the trolley bell again as we move to the next stop. My port belly friend still squealing with delight as the wind bounced off his flat hair.

“Come on trolley yeah!” he announces out loud, while he bounces his heavy torso on his knees, grooving to the sound of the steel wheels rolling down the track. 

“Yeah baby!”

The trolley made a stop in the club district. Scantily dressed women are moving about and through the traffic causing delays of all the cars.

“Hey baby, yea, that’s what I’m talking about,” the trolley rider yells, tilting his head and peering his eyes over the top of his thick lenses double black framed glasses.

“Yea, I’m right here,” he says. In case the women overlooked him.“I’m a winner, lovely thangs,” he announced with all the confidence of an Adonis

In his excitement, his belly would flop off my lap, at least I was hoping it was his belly. He could hardly contain his excitement at it began to boil up from the bowels of his huge stomach. I sat in my seat trapped. Every time I would try and get up the bulging bowling ball would push my back down. Then my phone rang.

“Chris!”

“Yea, dad, whats up?” I asked.

As my dad spoke my fat Buddy Holly clone shrieked for joy! “What the hell was that?” my dad said sounding concerned.

“A gladiator dad, a gladiator. You know how it is, when in Rome.”

"Ding, ding."

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The Adventures of Captain Imperfecto/Born Again by Christopher P. Fusaro is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at christopherfusaro.blogspot.com.

Swim to Survive

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Left to right: Christopher and Nico dry docked 

* minor cursing

December 10th, 2012

I always found pleasure in my underwater paradise. To swim beneath the surface of the sea and play among the life inside her wet wonderland has always gratified my need to relieve my stress from a long hectic day. The beauty of the ocean is as majestic as the sun that cast a glare of light off her vast canvass. Life down here is beautiful and can be considered in its own right, Nirvana.

The sea creatures are equally beautiful in the water in which surrounds them, encompassing them like a cocoon. Finding such beauty under the blanket of blue liquid is not rare. But if you heed the old saying, "stop and smell the roses," every now and again, you can marvel at how beautiful Mother Nature can create these sea life animals. Every part of their anatomy somehow flows with the basic needs that a species needs to survive here, that Nature herself has intricately placed the survival needs right where they belong so that they can survive in their environment.

If you don't believe me, you'll just have to come under the sea, to see heaven for yourself.

The live coral builds itself up from the seabed’s sandy foundation, like the Rocky Mountains that rise from the ground of the western United States, up towards earth’s hemisphere. But unlike those mountains of grey and brown rock, these coral are colorful like a rainbow. The rock like formation grows and forms into its odd shapes, as the edges of the reef reach up towards the glaring ultra violet rays produced from up above by the burst of sunshine sent down to them from the sun, as the light penetrates the oceans deep blue surroundings like sharp daggers and touching the corals rough surface as it fuels their growth.

The rocks form caverns so all sea forms can find safety and shelter from their predators. Or so they call lie in wait for their pray. But life perseveres. Life here goes on.

But I am far from their predator. I love to play in these rocks. My scuba gear allowing me to swim around in their watery playground, beyond my lung capacity, so I may watch the colorful fish play a game of peek-a-boo with me, because they are scared of my large presence. When actually, I'm in their way and I just really want to watch them play.

The only fish I can’t see are the ones that Mother Nature blessed with such color, to coordinate with the corals vibrant color, where they can hide right in front of my eyes. Like life, seeing is believing and if you can’t see them, are they there?

Their camouflage protects them from creatures that want to eat them. It's such a cruel world, in this water world of paradise, much like the land mass that I come from, where a predator can come along and change things in an instant. But despite the fact of a possible death, the fish continue to do what fish do, because well, life goes on.

Funny, I can find such beauty down here in their harsh environment, knowing that one of these fish, that bring me such joy, can meet a horrible end at any time and yet I use their beauty to escape the atrocities from my own world just a few feet above. Down here, in this water land it is truly, beauty and the beast. And up there, where I’m from, in another unforgiving world, life is truly a dog eat, dog world.

No matter where I am in my travels or how hard I try to lose myself in my scuba gear, I cannot hide from my fate or the past. It doesn’t matter how deep I dive in this sea or into the darkness of the ocean because the problems I have been trying to avoid are there waiting for me at the surface.

I decided to try and maintain a depth that a snorkel will allow me to see life from up above and hope that the clear blue water will show me the bigger picture of life with HD clarity and leave the tanks of air on the boat and forget diving into the past.

I figure I can stay in the shallow end of the lagoon and forget about the dangers of the ocean, because the less depth I have to deal with the better. And hopefully this area will allow me some sort of balance in my life with greater control that this shallow area has to offer.

Life can take over you and control how you function, like a current’s under toe pulling you in the direction it wants you to flow, and if you allow it to pull you in that direction it will dictate how you’re supposed to feel. And it’s so unfair when you feel like shit all the time because of the events that unfolded in your life. Those events are out of your control. Like the vast ocean, it’s hard to find cover from the evil that lurks out there in the beds of the coral reefs. Although I try to avoid life’s confrontations utilizing whatever camouflage that’s available at times it’s not enough.

Life is too short for bullshit.

The good thing is that I am a strong swimmer and life still seems to find me. Even though it wreaks havoc on me mentally and physically, like the surf that pounds a coast line and erodes the sandy beaches, I push on, towards the horizon and hopefully good things that are waiting for me.

But I swim damn it. I swim in my slice of ocean that has been carved out just for me through life’s lessons, time and age. I try to avoid the bad by leaving the worst moments behind me in my wake. But the task of leaving things behind can be daunting and I find myself where I left off because I allow it to drag me back to sea. In the thoughts of playing in the coral reefs is just a dream that I try to relive over and over but still, it’s just a dream.

You have to swim to survive. You have to swim to succeed. You have to swim to your dreams or risk being left behind. Ride the wave of life and leave the depths of the ocean for the fishes. Life up above is waiting.

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The Adventures of Captain Imperfecto/Born Again by Christopher P. Fusaro is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at christopherfusaro.blogspot.com.