Laugh because it's funny....Cry because it's true!

I live in the mental health capital of Connecticut! Look at all the choices I have for grief counseling. Note the "zero" offerings next to all the towns. And people wonder why I'm so fucked up and cynical?

An Irish Funeral Prayer

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no sorrow in your tone.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting, when we meet again.

Musical Interlude....

Hide and Seek

At work today I watched a group of pre-schoolers playing hide and seek in the school yard. Their joy was beyond purity. There were other kids off doing their singular play-time things in the sand box, on the slide and in the play house. There was this one boy, the "it" kid who was running and laughing as he discovered his hiding little friends. Everybody got along. It was at that precise moment that I realized that nothing in life can compare to the security a much loved child feels. Nothing. Their world is solely that. Theirs. They should never know sadness or pain during that precious time when mommy and daddy can fix anything and worry only extends to finding a lost toy or putting a band aid on a boo-boo. Tears should always be easily dried and happy play resumed with that magic kiss that makes it all better.

I mention this today as I grapple with understanding my brother's brutal murder on September 8th. He had two sons - age 2 and 5 - who now have to deal with a loss that will change them forever. Their sense of safety, their understanding of how the world works - annihilated by a psycho's steel blade.

My brother was a big guy. Around 6'4" and 270 pounds. He was soft like a teddy bear. Every night, for the first five years of his life, his son was lulled to sleep as he lay on his father's massive warm chest listening to him breathe, safe in the knowledge that tomorrow would bring new adventures for him and his daddy. 

My brother was a stay at home father and was with his boys through all of their child crises and joys. He was their teacher, playmate and best friend. Their biggest fan. In short, their world. Now their world is gone. How does anyone make sense of that?

Jay Bennett - RIP

I just read the unbelievable news that Jay Bennett, former guitar/keyboard player for my favorite band, Wilco, and all around awesome musician died in his sleep. Jay was the guy who pushed the band to the limit and subsequently produced the best Wilco music to date. He was innovative, creative and obnoxious all at the same time. A true artist, really. The official statement from Jeff Tweedy is as follows:

We are all deeply saddened by this tragedy. We will miss Jay as we remember him -- as a truly unique and gifted human being and one who made welcome and significant contributions to the band's songs and evolution. Our thoughts go out to his family and friends in this very difficult time.

Grief.com

As a communications director I can assure you I’ve had some real dooseys when it comes to cyber experiences over the years but nothing even comes close to what I was witness to a few weeks ago.

I was invited to attend a wake through my Facebook page. You read that right. Facebook has now become the new medium to express sorrow and grief.

Perhaps it has something to do with the departed. Tragically, he was only 23 years old. The magnitude of the devastation many members of my own family had to endure at the horrible news of his demise was heartbreaking. I should know, as many were constantly updating their profile “what are you doing right now” fields practically every hour on the hour with some of the most profoundly sad expressions of loss that I’ve ever read outside of a Russian novel.

I’m not saying it’s wrong. I’m saying it’s weird.

I would be lying if I didn’t admit feeling overwhelmingly uncomfortable as I hit the “will attend” button right next to ads for Oprah’s Acai Berry Diet and Colon Cleansing. The tackiness aside, it was as if I were replying to an invitation to happy hour after work or an acquaintance’s upcoming baby shower. Still stranger were the photos of all the Facebook friends right up there on the page, those planning to attend, not to or still thinking about it, the plethora of images - each one vying to be most unique or funny in a sea of everyone else attempting the same - each with their own individual perspective that when taken as a whole is exactly like the next and the next and still the next.

Our tireless efforts at nonconformity are the cruelest joke of all when it comes to the 2.0 phenomenon. We all look the same to the advertising jackals. The minor tweaks that need to be executed to customize our collective consumer experience are laughable. The consequences, however, may very possibly be catastrophic.

Have we as a society become so immune to advertising that we’ve accepted it as a part of our deepest moments of despair and elation? Have we fallen victim to its audacity and intrusion so completely that its offense is suddenly palatable? Perhaps through generations of conditioning our racing minds have learned to acknowledge an image with the tag line, “Tired of Waxing?” for a nano-second, store it and return to experiencing real human emotion.

Maybe my status as a cyber immigrant has something to do with my unease at this latest trend in grieving. The sympathy card has been replaced with a poorly written text message complete with misspellings and painfully free of grammatical punctuation. What’s next? Starbucks gift certificates in place of the Mass card?

The younger generations, the cyber natives as I like to call them, those born into the computer technology age, in many ways are the biggest dupes of all. Although Facebook is an excellent means of communication and has become absolutely essential to so many of us who rely on it to stay in touch with friends and family, the degree of personal information people willingly offer to virtually anyone is profoundly disturbing. And worse still is the inconceivable gullibility of the age.

Then again, Scarlett Johansson recently put her snot filled Kleenex on EBay. It was a top entertainment headline. Bids topped $2,025 by 9:00 a.m. the next morning. The lunatics are now running the asylum.

More therapy......

Musical Interlude

As you well know, the Beatles are number one bar none in my book. Not only is this particular song my favorite, but it pretty much sums up exactly how I'm feeling today. So for therapeutic purposes, here's Hide Your Love Away....

Jesus is coming...look busy

I haven't got the words. It was one of those mornings where everything goes wrong and then I read that the legendary George Carlin has died. He'll be remembered as the funniest stand up comic in history, in my not so humble opinion. A few have managed to bat in his league as far as wit and observation, however no one has even come close to hitting a Carlin grand slam. He was the iconoclast's iconoclast. The guy who made it okay to not only question everything, but to offer blunt and necessary answers when things start getting too stupid for complacency.

What is going on? Bo Diddley, Tim Russert and now George Carlin - we're losing the good guys at an alarming rate - which sucks harder than Chinese algebra whether the excuse is random or divine.

RIP Mr. Carlin. Hope you got some answers at last.

So Long Bo Diddley….

Bo Diddley died today at the age of 79. I've been a great admirer of his music since childhood. My mother, having grown up in the 1950s, always had a special place in her heart for her three idols – Elvis, Chuck Berry and of course, Bo Diddley - and she was sure to impart this love of music to her children.

His innovative sound and unmistakable riffs have cemented him into the pantheon of rock and roll, yet I’ve always thought of Bo Diddley as a blues man. His recordings with Muddy Waters, Little Walter and Howlin Wolf are a testament to just how good the blues can be. Songs like Who Do You Love?, I’m a Man, and my personal favorite, Roadrunner are not mere songs, but full blown masculine exclamations that reverberate in your gut and shake you to your soul, soaring far above any pop standards that may have been born out of the subdued and tamed elements wrangled out of these masterpieces.

I was fortunate to have seen Bo Diddley perform some years ago at the Mohegan Sun casino. It was a free show, and the old man and I waited in line for a very long time to get in – all the while wondering if Bo would be too old or out of it to really perform. But how could we doubt the sheer power of this man? The minute he took the stage we knew that he was in fine form and that everything was gonna be all right!

His guitar was this strange box of a thing that produced a sound unlike anything I had ever heard. It was as if he crafted this instrument with his own two hands and only he had the skill and knowledge to play it. And play he did – loud, strong and at times hilariously – and the crowd ate it whole. It’s always the old blues men who are able to consistently “bring it” when they perform for one simple reason: they don’t try to change their music to fit the times. The times invariably fit the music.

So thank you Bo Diddley, for sharing your tremendous talent with all of us. You are loved and missed.