Thinking of Mom

It's been since the 16th of September in 2015. Mom's been gone for that long. Her death happened unexpectedly, and suddenly. Her heart broke – physically and irreparably, early one morning; the morning of July 8th, 2015.

At that time, I lived with Mom. I had moved in with her from my apartment in New Philadelphia, and after working and living in Cleveland before then. When Mom got sick, I was still living there.

Gene, her husband, had passed in October of 2000. But, she was doing well living by herself. Since she lived alone, it made sense for someone to stay with her and provide whatever help and sense of protection we could. I visited often before I stayed at her home. Her two other sons visited, too. Her sisters and brothers would visit her a lot.

Since Mom lived alone, I thought I might be able to help her, even if I struggled with my own injuries. She surely helped me when I needed assistance after I was a passenger in a single car accident in late January of 1983. I hoped I could help her, just as she and Gene had helped me. And she would keep on helping me for many years afterward. That is just the way she was. I am proud to call her my mother.

Financially, she seemed to be making it. The house was paid for, but she had a second mortgage for another reason – her own reason. I never questioned nor asked about it. It was none of my business. Sometimes she would be a little short on cash and I would help, if and when I could. I receive Social Security Disability Income since I have been unable to work after my car accident. So, my income had become limited.

On that Wednesday morning of July 8th in 2015, while I was still in my upstairs bed, I heard her talking on the telephone. Shortly after she hung the phone up and set it aside on the kitchen table, I heard her call out to my brother to call an ambulance. Her heart was broken. Neither me nor my brother knew what had happened. Eugene called the ambulance and I came downstairs to find out what to do.

The ambulance came to get her. We followed her to the hospital. After admitting her and doing what the hospital does, the process of sorting through everything and searching for the proper records would be mandatory. Of course, we called the rest of the family. None of us were sure of what happened. Mom appeared to be very well before that incident.

After a few awkward conversations, Mom was transported to the Canton Mercy Hospital. They had worked on her heart in 2003, surgically performing a quadruple bypass. So, many of her health records were at that hospital. That was the logical choice, to send her to Mercy hospital.

My Youngest Days

In my youngest days, as an infant and beyond, I must have been pretty agreeable. Mom told me I was always content to play outside in the dirt or the grass, and even in the mud. Sure, I had some toys and games. But no, I didn't need anything really special.

We lived above the Edgefield Tavern. Mom worked, so a Sid, babysitter would watch over me. Sid didn't always pay really close attention. It rained and became wet and muddy outside. In the alley beside the upstairs apartment, a lot of standing water had gathered. I was still young, maybe three or four years old. Sid did not watch me closely. I spent a lot of time playing in the water puddles, becoming wet and muddy. When Mom came home from working, that was the very last time she used Sid as a babysitter.

When we lived on East Street, on the west side of Uhrichsville, I could have fun just riding my small peddle-powered metal car outside by myself. I could peddle on the sidewalk and into the Grandison neighbor's driveway. My father bought that car for me. It is one of the only things I ever received from him. Mom gave me his first two names. He kept his last name. I didn't get it. We never met except when I was very young. I don't remember it.

Uncle Frank had bought a new Thunderbird. When he drove the car to Mom's apartment on East Street, I got really excited and ran out the glass-pane front door to see his bright new car. I somehow forgot to open the door as I ran through it. My white tee-shirt was covered with red blood; my red blood. It got all over his interior when he drove us to the hospital. I received one butterfly self-adhesive stitch near my jugular vein. But I bled very thoroughly.

When I got older and stayed with Mom's parents, on a farm, I loved to play with simple green army men, right out of a bag. Mom got those from Barney Gagner's Western Auto store in downtown Uhrichsville. Building forts and special areas from the rocky dirt and twigs and leaves laying around a Maple tree on their farm was a favorite pastime. It allowed me to figure things out, like solving a puzzle. Those skills would follow me for a long time into the future.

A friend and I would often scamper into the wooded areas to play and to run, to ride a sled in the snow, to explore the brown, leafy autumn hillsides with flowing, bubbling streams. Uncle Jim owned the fifty-two acre farm. He built some ponds with rocky and mossy waterfalls on the property. There were tall, large brown electrical poles with darker oily stains stationed right down the center of a hillside. We rode a sled down the cut-a-way paths between the poles. One time, Alan and I steered the sled smack-dab into a pole. But we were young, Nothing bothered us at that age. I was in third grade and Alan was in fourth.

Everything Happens A Certain Way

Throughout history, everything happens a certain way. Not the same way every time. Not even the expected way. Just a certain way that creates the situation for specific results to occur. Why?

Maybe there is a force, or some overall prevailing condition that allows those events to be as they are. As they may become. To develop into a prescribed set of arbitrary actions.

Frustrations ruminate and try to evolve. The evolution of these newly considered feelings and influences begin their existence as an amorphous living structure, sprouting and growing in a vine-like manner. Pressing against the nearest structured edifice, while staying out of the brilliant sunlight or frigid atmosphere. All-the-while, retaining the acquired form of that initial seed of inspiration. But, the frustrations continue to be. Continual change discovers an infinite array of potential sequels, inviting variation to develop into more highly-diversified results.

The so-called “invisible hand” described by Adam Smith in his book The Wealth of Nations is a non-observable force that controls the law of supply and demand to become a market equilibrium. Yet, in modern times, this equilibrium has been conditionally less than achievable. Instead, all manner of human conditions have saturated and fractured the lifestyles and existence of so many as to become irregular and cancerous to our normal society.

This is just one uniquely pertinent point of view. It is derived from personal conditions and experiences. Absolutely no other person or entity can or may ever have these precise circumstances of that lone context. That reality exists one time only. As it happens; it also dissipates into the ether. It came and it went away.

That is now my dilemma. What was can never be. What was once being developed to create one non-variable line of existence is no more. I am who, and what, is left over.

My deepest thoughts have been clutched and annexed away, deep into some God-forsaken mental underworld of my mind that I did not know even existed. Perhaps those thoughts were disjointed enough to create a symptomatic form of cognitive derision. My recovery from the severe brain trauma may have become a sort of intellectual dissonance, haunting my existence for the rest of my eternity.

I did not recover fully. A large chunk of my existence ceased to exist. That is why I am merely a left over portion of what may have been, what could have been, what can never be again. I am me.

As I struggle and strive to express myself using common language, the words I may have used in my former life elude me. I have tried to replenish my own vocabulary in order to state my personal feelings and thoughts with learned words, using a concise and economical discourse. I unashamedly use literary tools to help create my thoughts on paper, or on my computer screen. Many times I can and I will stray from my preconceived subject. Adam Smith may not be so proud of me and my not so prudent literary discourse.

The Two-Toned Suitcase

A Story by Jim V

A person's similar and parallel lives both before and after opening a suitcase that exposes him to the good and the bad of using money in society.

“Papa, c'mon. It's time for breakfast at the eating place.” Lisa giggles as she splashes some water onto my sleeping eyes. She is my love and my joy.

"OK little Lisa" I retorted as I smiled, rubbing the cool, wet water and some night-time sand from those same groggy, dark-brown eyes.

I pull myself up from the thick, cushioned blanket on the dirt floor where I sleep. 

“Let's get ready to go, baby. Maybe we can help clean up the eating place after our meal today.”

We always like to help out.

“Oh, dad, I'm not a baby anymore” Lisa whimsically snickers at me. She nearly sings the words. My little baby girl is growing up so quickly.

Lisa turned four years old last November. Next September, I will be twenty-five.

Time to have breakfast at the eating place with everyone else.

It is informal. We come and go as we please. Some of us get there early to help cook the meals. Others stay late and clean up. Many times, I'll just have a cup of coffee, or maybe I'll take a snack with me.

Little Lisa's mother would often cook at the eating place. Karen was very special that way. She loved helping out.

Me, I could only clean up after everyone had finished their meal. Except for a few other simple maintenance jobs around the village, that is all I can do. My injuries after the fall take their toll on me. My aggravation and my pain go unnoticed by most people around me. I hide it well. I just hold my head up and keep doing what I can.

After I bathe in the bathhouse, I still wonder when I will ever need to shave. Some people must shave their whiskers, but, so far, I didn't have many whiskers. So, I don't shave. Maybe I will never shave. Many of the men don't. They just trim the hair on their faces.

Lisa plays. She draws in the dirt. Young Lisa becomes anxious when they visit the bathhouse. I step out of the soap room, wearing my dark-brown robe. The two taller gentleman with shiny, hairless heads are talking to each other. We don't understand what they say. They speak in a different tongue.

Their skin is pale. They aren't from around here. I smile and shout towards them, “Good morning, gentlemen.” Lisa is still playing and laughing, running to and fro. She is such a joy to have around.

The tall strangers tower over the rest of us in the bathhouse. Myself, I am tall, too. Maybe the strangers are seven-and-a-half feet tall. I can't tell for sure, but they are huge. The look on their faces isn't as cheerful as ours. Who are they?

We have nothing to be unhappy about here in the village. We eat, we sleep, we take care of where we live, and we cook. Other times, we clean up, we wash our clothes, we make things to use around our homes, and we do other chores. Of course, we have our family. That is all that life is for us. We feel blessed.

The strangers look differently than all the other people in our village. They are taller, and they have funny skin on their faces. Neither visitor has a beard, or any hair on their heads. That looks strange to me. It is something that I notice right away. It gets all of our attention. But, let's welcome them just like everyone should be welcome here.

The tallest fellow brings his tan suitcase to me. I don't know why he picked me out of the crowd; maybe because I am tall. His left hand tightly grips the narrow, pale handle of the suitcase. There is a golden-brown brassy-colored zipper etching a path straight across a slightly curved, long, brown side-panel. He places the cold, hard handle against my right palm. I grab it instinctively. Now, the suitcase is in my hand.

The room is uncommonly quiet and strangely peaceful; at least it seems that way to me. He speaks to me in a distinctly low, deep, and humble voice; “Please accept this.” His words and their meaning are understood by me, but, by no one else. I look at the suitcase in my hand. He then places his right hand into his dark-colored shirt-pocket and pulls out a small metallic key. A single, thick banded golden ring sparkles around his middle finger. The ring has a large mounting on it. For what?

The key must be to unlock the suitcase. I would find out later.

I could see the funny skin on his face move around. That doesn't seem normal. But, we don't know anything about the strangers. They may have different ways. His light-blue eyes are set deep within each eye socket, carved into his face just behind his long, straight nose. His broadly spaced eyes blink very quickly. I have never seen anything like that before.

Then he speaks:

“The receptacle I have placed on your grip is an astonishing courier."

"What it carries is far more than the boundless sum of its contents.”

By this time, I no longer notice the others in the bathhouse. I can feel Lisa near me, but I am unable to look at her. Maybe it is a hypnotic trance.

He speaks again:

“We will leave this receptacle with you - you and your people. You alone have been selected as the guardian of the receptacle. You have been chosen to determine its value and the fate of the suitcase.”

When he said that, I was unsure of what he really meant by those words, value and fate.

Then he utters:

“In return, the contents may well determine your fate and your value. If and when you open the suitcase, we hope you will take great care and understand that it might never be closed again. You all will decide.”

He continued to say:

“Please take extreme care. Many things have changed because of the suitcase. Some changes can never be revoked. Study this receptacle long and hard before deciding whether to open it for eternity, or to forever leave it closed.”

The two men left. They walked out as they had first arrived. Then they were gone.

My mind was filled with many possibilities about why this one suitcase might cause so many changes for me and for all of us, both good changes and evil. But, just as the tall men have forewarned us, we must study the receptacle before making a final decision.

My thoughts spun round and round inside my head. After meeting and talking with the two tall men, everything became surreal. Who are they? Where do they come from? Where are they going?

Now that the tall ones are no-longer around, my feelings of angst disappear. My apprehension can finally dissolve. Even little Lisa's nervousness is soon gone. Everything slowly becomes more normal to me, to all of us.

What could be so perilous, so capable of dramatic change, that by just looking inside this one suitcase, my whole worldview, all my thoughts and my perceptions, and even my outlook of life and death will change forever.

The two-toned tan suitcase stayed with me for many, many weeks before I thought about opening it and viewing its contents. Both strange tall men with hairless, shiny heads left us. They never came back. So I finally opened the two-toned suitcase.

Early the next morning, I awoke to the sound of my alarm clock.

“Well, it's time to get ready for work.”

I didn't remember going to bed last night.

As I shave, I notice more wrinkles on my face from worrying about my bills. It looks like funny skin to me.

I think to myself:

“I better get Lisa ready and take her to the day-care center. She doesn't mind going anymore.”

Then I realize we still have time for breakfast at the Eating Place on the third-floor of our high-rise before we go to the center. She likes the food there and it doesn't cost me too much money. Lisa will always like the meals Karen made much better. Karen would often cook breakfast for us all. She was very talented that way.

I sometimes think back to opening the suitcase and how I found all the money in it. It seems that before that happened, being alive was very different. That way-of-life has gone away; as if it was taken from me. I can hardly remember it now. Life was very different before I opened that money suitcase. I only wish I could remember better. But, life and work and Lisa consume me day and night.

My injuries from the car wreck still affect me daily. My aggravation and my pain go unnoticed by most around me. I hide it well. Barely visible, unless you knew me before. Even that was always changing.

Lisa turned four years old last November. Next September, I will be twenty-five.

© 2014 Jim V

From an older post, by me on WritersCafe.org

All About the Money

Wow! I've often thought about how money is destroying our lives, our way of living, our comfort zone, and so much more.

Bob, from the Dover coffee shop, never took those sentiments as believable. He may have thought I am kooky since I have become disabled. I can no longer work to earn good pay as an Engineer. But, I never got to realize that work and income anyhow. I started out poor and I have never gotten away from being poor.

I had just left the US Air Force as a well trained and highly competent Avionics Technician. I suffered a severe brain trauma as a passenger in a single car accident a year later - one year after leaving my enlistment in the Air Force. My life changed tremendously and  instantly.

As a first year university student and taking some second year classes, having a full-time / part-time job at a local K-Mart, continuing to exercise in Karate, a lovely girlfriend, practicing to play guitar in a band, and thoroughly enjoying myself, my life was beginning to take a less amorphous shape. It was all coming together.

My age was only 24 years. You can do anything when you are just 24 years old. Becoming a student at Kent State, I hoped to further my engineering training so I could design and create new electronic devices. I had my dreams and my plans. Those were finally coming together.

That was before taking a ride that one cool, dark, and lonely wintry night in late January. I never came back from that ride; someone else did. I still struggle to understand who this person is. We know each other; closer now than before. There is still much to learn.

I think that person liked money. He had many, many things he could do with money. His dreams were my dreams. But, his dreams were taken away from him. I got what was left over, but not even all of them. I have some of what I believe he had extra. I can never know now.

Money makes the world go around. And that is true - in our world as it is currently constructed. Why does it need to be that way? We can exist without work and money. Surely we can if we want. But, this is our lot in life. We are not strong enough to walk away from that ever present idealism of wealth. That makes too many of us happy and willing. As people, we do what we can to survive. As human beings, we may be less than we could be - less than we should be. But, here we are.

All The Trees

Bright, blue expanses illuminate the brisk sky above. Fluffy pockets of pale vapor float over our heads, beneath that blueness. Our golden sun emits rays of warmth and a bright radiance of early morning light. Swooshes of a cool morning breeze puff a stern draft toward our covered arms.

“We're getting close to the top of the hill,” I said. “It's hard to see over the hilltop because all the trees are in the way. And that murky, cloudy fog at the bottom of the gorge is everywhere.”

Just like that age-old idiom states - We can't see the forest because of all the trees. Our small group couldn't see over the hill because of those trees. But, many of us made it to the top of the hill despite the trees. We peered over the edge at what was in the ravine below, on the other side. Yet, it was still too foggy at the bottom of that huge gorge, even with the morning sun shining so brightly, glistening off the moist dew. Like anyone else might do, we began to guess at what was down there.

The sun shone very brightly. The sky was Carolina blue. There were a few puffy wisps of gentle, fluid, blue and white popcorn-like clouds. Our field of view was excellent. We could all see very clearly.

Some people saw foreigners from far-off, unknown nations. Others saw spirits and devils. A few even saw monsters. Each person had their own vision of what they saw below. But we all saw the same thing. Each of us saw exactly what we wanted to see.

As the fog cleared, we saw more and more of what really was in the ravine below us. People still had their preconceived ideas of what they actually saw. The fog had not lifted yet. Our vision was just a mirage of what may be in the valley.

Climbing to the top of that steep hill was quite an accomplishment. Over many years and lifetimes, few people had ever gotten close to the apex of this one, large mound. Other nearby hills and mounds led even the most attentive person astray. There are too many distractions and diversions. It was a riddle just to get started. To finally get to the top was an enigma. So many different ideas about how to get to the top. The number of unique pathways seemed uncountable.

That is only part of the whole riddle. Now that our group has reached the summit, many things start to change. The laws of physics break down as we approach the peak, even if those laws are immutable. It makes you wonder how those rules could change that way, so quickly and suddenly. And, we still can not see the beings at the bottom very well.

Our scientists and philosophers have studied, experimented, and developed our physical laws of nature. That seems to be how we learn. We amass information after years of trying to understand the universe around us. We try things, then we record the results. It's all trial and error. If it works and can be repeated, then it may become a law of nature, a law of human nature.

This happens over a horrendously long period of our time. Longer than we have records for. We still do not believe we have exhausted all the canon's of natural law in our physical universe. We are still searching and looking for unexplained differences and alterations of the rules that maintain life as we know it. That is more trial and error.

Well known scientists, like Newton, Einstein, and Oppenheimer; philosophers such as Plato, Aristotle, and Descartes; all had to start by using the old rote learning method. We each must memorize so much at first. That is life as a human, here on planet Earth. We are all human beings. We don't know anything until we first memorize facts.

Of course, some have the ability to understand and expand upon the natural laws. They develop new theories based on those previously learned concepts. There are many who can stretch the current paradigm to explain their theoretical concepts. Those persons are just human beings, as limited as you and I are.

The unknown beings at the bottom of the hill are intellectually greater than we are. They create and produce abstract and wildly complex devices and concepts. It seems so simple for them. We can't do that as easily. We can't do that at all. We are only Human beings?