Tragedies and The Little Things

 

September 11, 2001. December 14, 2012. April 15, 2013, April 19, 2013.

There are dates that define us, days we will never be able to erase. I was just 8 years old when the attacks on the World Trade Towers occurred. Mr. Huber was checking our math sheets over with his hand lying on the side of his hip and the intercom made the announcement. I rode the bus home without any idea of what I was about to see at the house. My parents in disbelief, on their knees in the living room, the water was boiling over the pot on the stove and every television had on CNN in each room with people crying on the streets of New York City. Those images are stained forever on my mind.

I had just turned in my final for a class on Blackboard and put on my Nautica Jeans fleece to go to my meeting with the Resident Director and then I got the text from Deanna. 27 people dead in Sandy Hook, including children. I ran back to my room immediately, my roommate jumped off of the couch at the same time after seeing it on his computer. The television went on and I fell to my knees. Mom told me about Anne the next day. I fell to my knees again. I guess now I understand how my parents felt when I saw them in the same position just 11 years earlier.

I had finished talking with my friend, Chris, he was pacing our other friend, Dan, in the Boston Marathon. He asked if I was ready, if I was coming. I hesitated to decide and ultimately, chose to let him go alone with him. I would cheer them on as they ran by. I watched many of my closest friends go by, in such joy and excitement to see the crowds cheering them on. It made you believe in the good in all of us when you saw it. I stood with my friend, Deirdre, as she waited for her sister and then she got a text. Explosions at the finish line. People ran, started crying, police yelling for us to get inside. My closest friends were there, passing that finish line. All I could do was get away.

They locked us in on that Friday morning, my roommates and I and the rest of the community were wondering how much more of this we could take. Scared was the only way you could describe the feelings that day. There was nothing more to do or feel, all we could do was wait.

Tragedies, people say, are always going to be a part of life. Whether you lose your grandmother, have your leg amputated, or are diagnosed with Cancer, tragedy can strike at the smallest and largest of magnitudes. The funny thing about tragedy is that we tend to remember so much more about it than the other events we experience each day. It is more defining; it consequently creates change in an individual, community, or nation that can never be undone. Because we understand that concept we are scared to imagine life after a tragedy. We can become feeble and believe that there is no way to operate and carry on beyond the scope of what has happened. Change can be good, yes, but in some cases in life, it can be unimaginable.

After recounting everything that has happened this week I am still wondering what it is that we take from all of it? Do we suck it up and embrace the change? Or do we hold on to the, “what could have been”? The only thing I have found solace in is that each of us who have endured tragedy remember all the little things prior to the incident and those immediately after it. I remember every word of my conversation with Chris when I was deciding to run or not. I watched sisters hold their composure to keep the other one stable as she was running. My roommate and I grabbed hands as we turned to each other the morning of April 19^th.

Yet, it is not good just to remember all of these little things and moments because you will continually associate them with the horror that you experienced on that day. What we have to do is make something of those little things that unites communities and people to their shared humanity. I want to remember so many new little moments at next year’s marathon. We’ll witness more parents cheering on the runners as they try to keep all their kids in line and not crying. Our law enforcement, our heroes will protect the streets more cautiously next year but nothing will stop them from cheering either. Friends will take more obnoxious pictures that will be laughed at in future years and runners will smile even bigger as they wave to their loved ones. Maybe I’ll run it next year, make a little thought into a larger reality.

The little things do indeed matter; we remember them in our greatest triumphs but also significantly, in our greatest times of loss and tragedy. But we can carry on; we owe those who lost their lives in such horrible tragedies at least that. Work as hard as you can because that is what everyone was doing in the World Trade Centers that day, learn as much as you can at school because that is what those children loved to do at Sandy Hook, and cheer as loud as you can for your friends and family always, that is what Martin, Lu, Krystle, and Sean did on Marathon Monday. Turn little things into resilient ones that honor both the past and acknowledge the present. In the end, the little things are actually the greatest. In the end, the little things will make for that better tomorrow. So, here’s to it.

-M

Questions and The Little Things

James Thurber once said that it was “always better to know some of the questions than to know all of the answers.” Yet, as humans we like to know all of the answers. I personally will attest to the fact that I get scared not having all of the answers or my life laid out right in front of me. Then again, I wonder what good would that be? Would life be worth living then? So just to get more complicated, all I did was answer my anxieties over not having the answers with even more questions. However, there is always beauty to be found in our inability to have all of the answers. One thing is for certain; if we can ask the questions we are inevitably amused and intrigued by the stories that come out of other people’s answers.

I know I have talked about Mema before and luckily for me, I got to spend some time with her over Easter holiday. While she shuffled the deck of her cards and started to lay them out to play solitaire, I looked at her and just started asking her questions. When did you and Papa get married? Do you remember the day I was born? What was your favorite childhood memory? The list went on but what I was noticing was that Mema did not have the answers either. Yet, this is not because she simply did not know but because her mind was getting weaker and her memory is beginning to fade. When she got frustrated with me asking her questions, something inside of me clicked.

We worry so much about not having the answers about our careers, our kids, or love and other things so much so that we forget the answers to questions we already do know. We can answer people about how many friends we have, how many camping trips we took, and that time when Dad cried watching Titanic (do not let him deny it). We are creatures of worry and constant insecurities about the answers to questions that we do not know. But, why is it so hard to find comfort in the life’s worth of answers to other questions that we already have?

Mema is now having trouble maintaining those old answers and hell, she still has questions herself too about old age and death. But, now she is finding herself with just questions and losing touch with all of her answers. It can be scary to see, especially as a grandchild. After talking with Mema, I took a longer drive home to go past the places where I found a lot of answers in life thus far. I visited my house on Cherokee Drive where I gained answers on adolescence, the high school where I found the answers in education, and I later hung out with my dog whose loyalty gives the reasoning to why our dogs are our best friends.

All I can say is that I definitely agree with Mr. Thurber, it is good to have some questions than to know all of the answers. Embrace the answers as they come, and know that eventually they will even if they are not in your favor. More importantly, when you do get the answers from experiences and memories, make sure you hold them close always. We may loose touch with them some day and then be left with nothing but questions as we age. Luckily, Mema knows the answers to some of my questions still; it just takes time to squeeze them out of her even if she claims she does not remember. Plus, she still knows how to give a good answer, with a lot of humor and frankness. I am glad we all learned that from her. Recognize that those questions do exist and let the answers to them come as they may but most significantly, share all the answers about your life that you already have. Your answers and stories may solve someone else’s questions. Treasure the little things and keep questioning. Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M

Smiles and The Little Things

            

The American Dream is an ideal many, if not all of us, try to achieve and maintain. Though, as time has gone on our perception of what the American Dream actually is has changed dramatically and is diverse in many opinions. One thing that many, even myself, have included in the equation is money—security. We fear failure of not achieving our goals or settling and sometimes even fear we won’t make as much money as the person next to us or in the Range Rover driving by us. I cannot exclude myself from the perception or the desire. A lot of the time, we can all get caught up in the idea of what we hope our life can be, especially when we think we see others living it right in front of us. What is most important to recognize is that sometimes people can admire you too.

Throughout the past few weeks I have made countless late night trips to the dining hall whether it is for a muffin or tea. No matter the circumstance, I am always greeted by one face in particular, Ana. She is a small, quiet, humble woman who works in the dining hall collecting and distributing silverware for the students. Many of us, including me for a while, take for granted those unique individuals who set our dining tables, make our food, and swipe our cards as we drunkenly spill all over the cash registers on weekends. From all of us, I would like to apologize for the moments when we made asses out of ourselves or annoyed you all to your inner core. But especially, I would like to acknowledge Ana who, for some particular reason, never loses her gentle smile, tenderness, and warm spirit, even when a lot of us will overlook her or knock the silverware everywhere. Today, when I saw you, Ana, I waved and said, “hello,” to which you quietly smiled back and said, “thank you.” Sure, it seems generic and a manner in which a lot of our casual conversations start but Ana is very different.

It is hard to explain why it is that some people have the capability to evoke your deepest emotions or warm our hearts but we can at least recognize that such things happen. Maybe they do not need explanations; instead, we can just relish those tender moments with the individuals and near-strangers that personify our shared humanity. More importantly, we can relish the individuals who act with humility and grace; qualities that are abundantly displayed on a daily basis. Our dining halls—actually, our lives would seem quite empty if you were to not be in them anymore, Ana. It is individuals like these who may have one of the most simple or complicated lives but never fail to operate and interact with a smile and generosity in their spirit.

Looking at Ana and her gentle smile everyday makes me, and hopefully others, reevaluate the narrow-mindedness we tend to approach our perceptions of life with. Like I said before, we may admire certain material things, money, or security but people like Ana may admire our qualities and lifestyles too. Perception and aspiration are two-way streets in our world, and maybe it is about time we recognize that. I find myself looking forward to seeing more individuals like Ana nowadays, seeing the people who embody the truest form of humility and grace. Sometimes it is not the glamour that completes us, the money, or even the comfortable bed. Rather, it is our shared connection that is the most rewarding of all. I value those little smiles and moments with you, Ana, and with all those small but significant people that make themselves present in my life. Those people, the hard-workers with the gentle souls, allow us to step out of the complexities of reality and our overwhelming desires and simply smile or start a conversation.

Take as many moments as you can to thank those individuals who seem insignificant because you never know whose day you may make. You may bring a tear to a small, older woman who places silverware, a laugh to the little boy working at a school where you volunteer, or a smile from the janitor who may not speak English but loves getting waves. Try something sincere to someone you admire and you may surprise yourself at the reactions you get back. Those are the greatest and most beautiful moments in life. Thanks Ana, I cannot help but see so many qualities of the closest people in my life emulated in you as well. You inspire me and I encourage all of you to embrace that humility too. Enjoy the little smiles and the little things. Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M 

Dogs and The Little Things

His name is, Bailey, and he is my best friend. Dogs, they are best friends to all of us, at least the majority of them. What I find most special about our friendly canines is that they are the best of friends because they never give you crap even for the poor choices you make. I can tell Bailey about something great that happened and he smiles and pants, then I can tell him something bad that happened and he still smiles and pants. They are the best listeners and not only do they attract our attention but we always capture their attention too.

When I got home this weekend I was immediately greeted by none other than my boy, Bailey. The most heartwarming part of my visit was getting to watch a movie with him and have him curl up at my side. He personifies the perfect protector, the loyal savior, and the gentle companion all in one furry mess.  It was not until I woke up at 2:33 in the morning to my legs numb and my dog spread wide across them had I realized that maybe we are a bit too comfortable with each other. Yet, the most eye-opening part of the week was walking into my living room this morning to see him eating the other half of my sandwich I had left on the table. What a guy.

As joyous as our moments are with them or no matter how pissed off they can make us, I can say that dogs are sometimes more human than we actually are. Think about it. They always seem to make us feel better about life, make us cry harder than The Notebook if they yelp, and annoy us the most when they grub at the edge of the dinner table. Dogs evoke our deepest emotions at the quickest rate and we can go from 0 to 100 just looking at their happy faces. Despite the feelings, I know that when I am in the company of my dog I am always intrigued and never want to leave his side. Bailey, you are truly a man’s best friend and I forgive you for eating my sandwich. Yet, I guess it makes sense considering I never give you scraps that often. I promise to work on it. Maybe all of us can work on it. What are a few crumbs any way? We treat ourselves enough, so treat your dog a little more too because they will still go for the sandwich anyway. Love your dogs always, because they will always love you back. Here is to a better tomorrow. 

-M

Letters and The Little Things

Think about all of the letters you have received and given in your life, that includes cards and notes too. The list is probably similar among all of us. All of the cards for birthdays and celebrations, notes from Mom and Dad in our lunchboxes, and all the letters from friends and family that express their love for us. Phyllis Theroux has been known for saying that “to send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart.” For some odd reason, letters have impactful significance, one that is really hard to pinpoint. Some people prefer letters above all the hugs and kisses for different reasons, maybe because physically having the letter is most touching or because you can keep it forever. Yet, for me, I admire them for the devotion it takes to write them. Time is captured in a letter, no matter how long or short it is, writing takes the most amount of time than any other form of expression like hugging or kissing (and even the more private stuff sometimes). Letters collect emotion and in some weird way, make you feel the presence of someone you care about more than any other way possible.

This past week I was cleaning some things up in my room and a pile of papers fell and as I picked them up I found a hand-written letter from none other than, Mema. The mother of the famous O’Keefe sisters, wife to the amazing Papa Jerry, and a grandmother to 13 diverse grandchildren, Mema is quite the matriarch. Without disposing all of the words she wrote me, she simply expressed how much she missed me and closed with, “Sorry, I don’t even have a dollar.” I could not help but smile at the letter which I received about a year ago today and recognize how much Mema was embodied simply through her gracious and blunt writing. Her letter is a small symbol of what our family is grounded in, frank and unconditional love that never wavers. That is the beauty of love, no matter the disease that affects our body or the aging that makes our mind and memory weaker, love remains timeless. It is in letters that we witness this love reach beyond the paper—the words seem to whimsically bring love to life. Thanks for that, Mema.

For that little moment, I was encouraged to write to someone else I cared about, like a domino effect of words. I sat and wrote a letter to a friend that I had not taken the time to write to in a while. It was simple and touching, experiencing a little moment and then creating another one to pass on. It is a fulfilling familiarity when we can take a moment to read about how others observe and care for us and to then take the time to devote your thoughts to someone else. The culmination of letters is representative of how much we mean to someone and that is the most comforting testament of all. Letters are timeless because they convey how much one’s presence in life, their influence, and their story is enduring to this day. We piss ourselves at old yearbook passages that bring to life the crudeness and hilarity of some of our greatest friends, tear up at old cards that smell of grandmother’s clothes, and reference letters we wrote ourselves in the event that we forget our own styles of writing and need to refresh our minds.

Words on paper are delicate and should always be handled with care. As I have said, they remind us how much certain people mean to us and how much we mean to them. Yet, underneath the surface, letters and notes are little reminders of who we are and how we have changed. I look back at old valentines I wrote in 4^th grade, letters of apology to Dad when I got him mad, and the letters I still write today to keep relationships thriving. One of the greatest pieces of advice I ever heard was that when you are feeling the lowest, read an old letter someone wrote you or that you wrote yourself. The emotions we convey in those letters stop us from doubting ourselves in those bad times, re-instill us with trinkets of joy, and show us our worth. For that reason, never think you need to replicate someone else’s life because, as seen in many of our personal letters, many people try to emulate you. We are our own exceptionally different people and letters put that special uniqueness on paper. Letters would be fairly boring if the same person wrote them. So, highlight your individualism in those letters you write and smile at other people’s recognition of it in their letters to you. Phyllis Theroux, yes, our hearts are moved in letters but we should always remember that the heart is never the same one. Our hearts, memories, and attitudes are left behind in those letters as things to remember us by, even when we’re gone.

I recommend we make sure to be as off-beat, kind, funny, and loving in those letters as we can be. Maybe I should write the young and colorful Mema back, give her a little piece of me while I am away. Except, I do not think I’ll have a dollar either. I mean hey, I am the one in college here so Mema better provide some good excuses. I hope you enjoy re-reading some of those special letters and if you find an old dollar, I take donations. Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M

            

Comfort and The Little Things

We hold hands, hug after years of not seeing each other, and camp out during our favorite movies. There is no greater feeling than being comforted whether in need of it or not, recognition and a bond with another person is always welcomed. Unfortunately, many of us take our comfort for granted whether it is because we fail to identify the blessings we have or because we always desire more. Either way, comfort is still relevant and present in our lives; it comes from the people who love us and from the material pieces of our lives that may seem meaningless to others. After a very colorful and snowy week, I recognized how much love is comforting (Happy V-Day right? No, Happy Singles Awareness Day), how food (chocolate) is comforting, and how our friends are comforting.

It seems that the Blizzard of 1978 re-lived this past weekend in what is now being known as his brother, the Blizzard of 2013, or as we college kids like to call it, One of the Best Weekends Ever. On Thursday night after participating in the cheering in Lower Dining Hall with a friend at the news of the snow day, I returned to spend some time with friends. We laughed, yelled, and danced (not fairly well if I do say so myself). Late in the night, one of my great friends asked if I wanted to go out and have a cigar in celebration with him for the forthcoming blizzard. Instantly, I pictured myself growing up when my father would ask me if I wanted to take a “small puff at the cigar” which consequently turned into a whooping cough attack. Therefore, I was a little hesitant because I am certainly no expert on smoking cigars considering the small amount of times I have done it but I figured, Hell, when will you ever get to enjoy a nice stogie on the eve of one of the greatest storms to hit New England? So I did it, I smoked a nice, classic cigar with my roommates under a starry night’s sky on the crisp eve of the Blizzard of 2013. Some of the coughs responsively came back during a few puffs but I like to believe it was still an improvement.

We have all heard it, “break your comfort zone.” Sometimes it is easier said than done and then in some unique cases, it’s done easier than said (hopefully that doesn’t happen too often). Either way, I see how painless it is to live a life of just comfort, simplicity, and routine. Yet, after smoking the celebratory cigar with my roommate, I realized that at one point I used to like smoking a cigar once in awhile despite whether or not I was good at it. We only discover what makes us comfortable by breaking our old standards of comfort. Normally, I probably would have had a nice dinner, studied, maybe had a cup of tea, and tried to get some sleep on a Thursday night. It was not until I went out at 2 in the morning, in the freezing cold, and smoked a cigar did I realize how much fun I could actually have. Hey, it makes for a fun story and a good memory. After the adventure outside, my friends and I came back to our apartment and simply talked—talked about life, family, anything really. It was an uncomfortable night to say the least; I stayed out despite my internal clock telling me otherwise, opened up about things, and had a nice cigar and conversation all in the midst of it.

 

Break your comfort zone, expand your horizons, and cherish the memories that it makes. We hear the greatest stories come from those put in the most uncomfortable, dire, and unappealing of situations. A woman who hit on her future husband’s friend forcefully gives into this short, Italian man who will not surrender until he gets a dance. A young boy tries his very first onion on a hamburger because his mother says the cook does not allow you to take the ingredient off. A college kid has a snowball fight with his friends even though he hates the cold. So what happens? A woman falls in love with her husband and the two start a family together, the young boy realizes he loves onions, and the college kid becomes amazed by snow. We break our comfort zones so as to form new zones of comfort and new zones of routine. Comfort changes and consequently so does our life’s path, our decisions, and our personalities. Staying comfortable may hurt you. Correction, it will hurt you. If we sit on one choice, one hardship, one lifestyle then life itself passes us by. Do not let it do so. So, I encourage you to be comfortable when you can but also be uncomfortable whenever you can too (as long as it is safe). You never know what the experience might bring you. However, there will still always be some universal forms of comfort that never change like hugs, kisses, and sleep. Do not devalue those. Comfort is a magical thing, it keeps us bonded through its’ warmth but also when it becomes disconnected. Welcome both sides to the argument and never fear trying new things that may seem uncomfortable. They become those little moments that people love to hear about at the dinner table. Like I said, you will still sleep comfortably at night but if that becomes an issue, try a new mattress. Hey, even that choice breaks the old mold. Stay comfortable and uncomfortable my friends. Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M

Women and The Little Things

Instead of getting to play basketball with brothers, I watched the Princess Diaries, rather than getting to play catch with my Dad, he and I had to learn how to cook, and instead of yelling I endured more crying. Women are unique, abstract, and difficult human beings, I can proudly say that I believe in that, considering my house is primarily dominated by women (Sorry, Dad but you know the feeling). As complex and crazy as they can be, women are very near and dear to my heart. I can gladly acknowledge the effects my mother, my sisters, my girlfriends, and even my Dad had on me in the mix of all of this. He and I have endured and prevailed as we would say, but in the end, I like to believe that we’re greater guys because of it. After all, Mark Twain wondered, “what would men be without women? Scarce, sir…mighty scarce.”

This past weekend, I was lucky enough to get a visit from my mother and one of my sisters. After leaving Tori on campus, I got to spend some much-needed time with the famous and frank KO’K. On Saturday morning while sitting outside of the hotel on a bench, minding our own business, both of us were interrupted by a young woman screaming at her husband outside of their car. She was running frantically around the car in circles and cried, “Damn it! You moron! I told you to grab the breast-pump off the chair. I knew it; I knew I left the breast-pump on that ugly beige chair in the corner of the room! And now, I got my sister calling me crying her head off.” And then moments later, “Oh wait, I got it, put it on the front seat. So, lets move it and get your ass in the car!” After they drove away, my mother and I could not help but look at each other—pause—and incessantly laugh. To all the other families walking by us to their cars--I apologize. To say that there were many characters that day in the parking lot would be an understatement.

Once the laughing had settled, I could not help but think about that woman and her husband simply because it reminded me of the dynamic of my own family. Karen yells at Skip, he huffs and puffs, kids are crying in the backseat, phones are going off and the list goes on. It was a moment that allowed old ones to come flooding back. In my last post I said that memories are like a diary that never stays closed. I second that. But most importantly, it made me turn my head toward my own mother as she laughed and her eyes watered, and recognize her for who she is. Of course, she is capable of succumbing to hysteria and anxiety, but KO’K is quite the woman--one that never ceases loving unconditionally nor change who she is at heart. She is her own perfectly complex person, and she does not give a damn what anyone else thinks of it.

I shared a small, funny moment of observation that soon turned into a little moment between a mother and her son. I can happily say that I have an interesting family dynamic. I was raised by and with compassionate, sensitive women and a simple, gracious father. Does it create chaos? Absolutely. Do I like the chaos? Even more so. My sisters, my friends, my aunts, my grandmothers, and my mother are beautiful people. After watching that woman and her husband in the parking lot, I recognized the impact women have on our lives. They cheer for us in stands, praise us if we do well on something, cry for us when times go bad, but love us no matter the circumstance. They don't stand behind us, but beside us. Women are mysterious creatures and we cannot know everything they do, especially when it comes to our mothers. But what we do know we can then at least find comfort in. Mom (KO’K), you are doing great, even more than great, and I love you every second for it. Mark Twain, I have no arguments for you. Rather, all I can do is think of what my Dad says, “women—can’t live with them, can’t live without them.” That is the truth. So the next time you see your sister or a friend, give her a hug. The next time you see a girl yelling, know it is out of love always, even if she makes you cry. Embrace all those little moments and embrace a woman's love, there is nothing like it. Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M