In his memory, yesterday, JW's mom gave to his dad an "Irish Chain Quilt" made, in part, from articles of JW's clothing. As with the earlier quilt for JW's niece, Ariana, this quilt will keep JW's dad and generations to come both physically and spiritually warm.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Another Gift of Love
In his memory, yesterday, JW's mom gave to his dad an "Irish Chain Quilt" made, in part, from articles of JW's clothing. As with the earlier quilt for JW's niece, Ariana, this quilt will keep JW's dad and generations to come both physically and spiritually warm.
Memories of John
John being the cyber geek he was, this blog has long been considered a fitting memorial for JW -- providing for all, not just family, the opportunity to keep memories of John alive in cyberspace. Alas, the cyber world is still ephemeral, it's 1's and 0's subject to being zapped or becoming unreadable at any given time. (Does anyone still have any 5 1/4-inch floppy disks on hand)?
In that regard, good old-fashion paper and ink can still be depended upon to last through the ages. In that regard, this April 7th, in memory of JW, his Mom, brother and sister were each given a copy of the first 2 bound volumes of this blog in book form.
Once again, all are encouraged to contribute to what is hoped will be a long-lasting memorial to JW, one way or the other -- one that can be experienced by generations yet to come who will know so well that JW not only lived but that he loved and was loved.
In that regard, good old-fashion paper and ink can still be depended upon to last through the ages. In that regard, this April 7th, in memory of JW, his Mom, brother and sister were each given a copy of the first 2 bound volumes of this blog in book form.
Once again, all are encouraged to contribute to what is hoped will be a long-lasting memorial to JW, one way or the other -- one that can be experienced by generations yet to come who will know so well that JW not only lived but that he loved and was loved.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
A New April 7th
JW's Mom & Dad got to spend most of the day with someone who experienced her first-ever April 7th today. May JW's niece, Ariana, have many, many, many, many more April 7ths to come and continue to share the joy as she so readily did today. (Click on the picture below to be taken to the gallery which includes Ariana weeding her parents' front lawn).
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| A New April 7th |
Sunrise with JW
I've felt compelled to come here for four years but have yet to do so until now. It's dark and cold, with the ink black waters of the Potomac River flowing by. It's not, however, as terribly cold as that prior April 7th when four inches of snow had fallen in Southern Maryland.
Although dawn is an hour away, off in the distance are the crew teams methodically propelling their racing shells through the frigid river waters. Some of the rowers are the same age that JW was when they were born.
On the other side of the river is the faint outline of the skyline of Rosslyn, the place where JW lived before moving to the District. Unlike that earlier April 7th which was a Saturday, headlights dance all around as the earliest of commuters head off to work, to include those on the Roosevelt Bridge -- the same route JW
For us, however, the Watergate holds a much greater significance. Traveling painstakingly slow through the snow and following the ambulance that was transporting JW from a hospital in Southern Maryland to one in the District on that April 7th morning, it was at that point shortly before dawn that we saw the ambulance's emergency lights come on. Right then and there we knew that something was dreadfully wrong but even then we did not know how wrong. For it was at that moment -- at that place -- that JW experienced irreversible brain stem compression -- it was at that place and time that our first child, our oldest son, died.
So here I was, four years later, a bouquet of flowers in hand, compelled to come back. At first, I was uncertain as to why but slowly I came to understand. Although on that fateful snowy April day we were no more than 25 feet away following the ambulance in our own car - the fact remains that our son died alone -- surrounded by strangers. Coming back, even four years later, was the closest I could come to entering the back of that ambulance when my son needed me the most - to hold his hand - to stroke his head - to kiss him goodbye.
But as I stood on those steps, watching the dawn break in overcast skies over the Lincoln Memorial, I also knew that whereas JW may have died alone physically -- he knew in no uncertain terms and at the most fundamental level that he was surrounded by and enveloped in the love of his family up to the very end of his life. And as the sky lightened, as the rowers came into clearer focus, as the commuting traffic increased and as more and more airplanes were taking off, and as the skyline of Rosslyn began to reflect the early sun - I knew that I was standing at what has become for me the center of the universe because the world and the life of so many people in it are so very different for the better solely because JW lived -- and most importantly of all, because of the manner in which he lived. And although the foot of those steps may be the place that he died, it is not the place where he ceased to make a difference in the world today. Like ripples in a pond, because he loved and was loved by so many, JW continues today, and for generations to come, to be a positive force in the lives of so many others. His spirit lives on, not only in heaven but here on earth as well.
Posted by John's Dad
used when he became an against-the-flow commuter -- heading from the nation's capital to the suburbs of Northern Virginia. Overhead, planes bank -- closely hewing to the path of the Potomac as they take off from National Airport for places unknown, to include destinations JW most assuredly travelled to himself be it for business or pleasure.
I am standing at the Watergate -- not the complex of apartments, offices and hotels made famous by the Nixon-era break-in -- but rather the terraced steps west of the Lincoln Memorial from which the Watergate complex derives it's name. The steps were originally planned as the official reception area for dignitaries arriving at Washington, DC via barge, but it was never used for that purpose.
For us, however, the Watergate holds a much greater significance. Traveling painstakingly slow through the snow and following the ambulance that was transporting JW from a hospital in Southern Maryland to one in the District on that April 7th morning, it was at that point shortly before dawn that we saw the ambulance's emergency lights come on. Right then and there we knew that something was dreadfully wrong but even then we did not know how wrong. For it was at that moment -- at that place -- that JW experienced irreversible brain stem compression -- it was at that place and time that our first child, our oldest son, died.
So here I was, four years later, a bouquet of flowers in hand, compelled to come back. At first, I was uncertain as to why but slowly I came to understand. Although on that fateful snowy April day we were no more than 25 feet away following the ambulance in our own car - the fact remains that our son died alone -- surrounded by strangers. Coming back, even four years later, was the closest I could come to entering the back of that ambulance when my son needed me the most - to hold his hand - to stroke his head - to kiss him goodbye.
But as I stood on those steps, watching the dawn break in overcast skies over the Lincoln Memorial, I also knew that whereas JW may have died alone physically -- he knew in no uncertain terms and at the most fundamental level that he was surrounded by and enveloped in the love of his family up to the very end of his life. And as the sky lightened, as the rowers came into clearer focus, as the commuting traffic increased and as more and more airplanes were taking off, and as the skyline of Rosslyn began to reflect the early sun - I knew that I was standing at what has become for me the center of the universe because the world and the life of so many people in it are so very different for the better solely because JW lived -- and most importantly of all, because of the manner in which he lived. And although the foot of those steps may be the place that he died, it is not the place where he ceased to make a difference in the world today. Like ripples in a pond, because he loved and was loved by so many, JW continues today, and for generations to come, to be a positive force in the lives of so many others. His spirit lives on, not only in heaven but here on earth as well.
And by the way, I went by those steps a couple of hours later and the flowers were gone. I seriously doubt that the Park Service would be that quick in picking the flowers up. As such, I'm certain that right now they are giving someone somewhere the pleasure of a bouquet of fresh cut flowers. Somehow, JW just keeps on giving.
April 7th
"...(y)ou know our life -- the outside of it as others do -- and the inside of it -- which they do not. You have seen our whole voyage. You have seen us go to sea, a cloud of sail -- and flag at the peak; and you see us now, chartless, adrift -- derelicts; battered, water-logged, our sails a ruck of rags, our pride gone. For it is gone. And there is nothing in its place. The vanity of life was all we had, and there is no more vanity left in us. We are even ashamed of that we had; ashamed that we trusted the promises of life and builded high -- to come to this!
"I did know that (he) was part of us; I did not know that (he) could go away; I did not know that (he) could go away, and take our lives with (him), yet leave our dull bodies behind. To me (he) was but treasure in the bank; the amount known, the need to look at it daily, handle it, weigh it, count it, realize it, not necessary; and now that I would do it, it is too late; they tell me it is not there, has vanished away in a night, the bank is broken, my fortune is gone, I am a pauper. How am I to comprehend this? How am I to have it? Why am I robbed, and who is benefited"?
Mark Twain [Samuel Clemens] (1835-1910), in a letter to a close friend after his daughter Susy, aged 24, died of meningitis while her parents were abroad.
"I did know that (he) was part of us; I did not know that (he) could go away; I did not know that (he) could go away, and take our lives with (him), yet leave our dull bodies behind. To me (he) was but treasure in the bank; the amount known, the need to look at it daily, handle it, weigh it, count it, realize it, not necessary; and now that I would do it, it is too late; they tell me it is not there, has vanished away in a night, the bank is broken, my fortune is gone, I am a pauper. How am I to comprehend this? How am I to have it? Why am I robbed, and who is benefited"?
Mark Twain [Samuel Clemens] (1835-1910), in a letter to a close friend after his daughter Susy, aged 24, died of meningitis while her parents were abroad.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Walking in the footsteps of John
It’s been four years since I’ve spoken to my brother John. I’ve “talked” to him since then but nothing can replace the two-way communication of a conversation, no matter what the topic. Recently, on my trip to Peru with my family, I hiked the Inca Trail with my brother Mike and our friend Sean, and I found a new connection. The Inca trail is hiked by thousands of tourists and everyone starts from the same starting point, Kilometer 82 towards Machu Picchu. The trail is comfortable enough for one hiker and her bag; it’s a walkway that at times is only surrounded by the mountain on one side and the edge of a cliff on the other. An amazing thought occurred to me on my journey. In the midst of the natural beauty of the Peruvian Andes, I thought that although it’s been five years since he hiked the historical trail, the circumstances of the hike guarantees that I just walked in the same footsteps as John did. There’s a mystical connection in knowing that we shared a unique experience, despite the confines of time. The path was laid out and all I had to do was follow and experience it. I feel blessed that I was able to share this experience with the rest of my family. Not only did I enjoy the amazing experience of the Inca Trail, I also experienced a new connection- a connection that cannot replace the loss of my big brother, but a connection that can in a small way refill the void nonetheless.
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