Indeed. How well do we ever know the people we meet throughout our lives - our friends, our families, our colleagues, our neighbors, our acquaintances from church or chorus or book clubs, or even our spouses? I've been thinking about this a lot lately, since the death of my good friend, Tim Shannon.
I met Tim, Sean's technical theatre teacher, through the eyes of my son and his friends. After my son was killed in an accident during his senior year in high school, theatre teacher Tim could do no wrong in my mind. Tim let me come down to the high school often, buy pizza for his students during Hell Week, and really get to know what attracted my son to technical theatre in the first place, which had been Sean's passion in life. Technical theatre was what kept Sean from heading down a path of self-destruction in high school, providing a creative outlet for a bored teenager in the form of designing and building sets for high school plays.
And now, after knowing Tim only from the student perspective, I have had the chance to meet a few people from other parts of Tim's life. I have come to realize and understand that Tim was not the god-on-a-pedastal where I had placed him after my son died, but a human being, with faults. He had arguments with his wife, he had disagreements with his son, he probably left the toilet seat up. He mowed the lawn, took out the trash, and fed the dog. Mortal, as in vulnerable to the reach of the Grim Reaper's grasp. Mortal, just like the rest of us.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Where in the World?
Where in the world is Tim Shannon????
Whenever I would go down to the high school to visit Tim and his drama students, after my own techie son had died during his senior year, as I poked my head into Tim's office, which was always filled with theatre students, sitting everywhere, my question inevitably was, "Where's Tim?" Even if he knew precisely when I was coming down to see him, he was rarely in his office when I got there, usually popping in the door a few minutes later.
Initially, it bugged me. If I made an appointment to see him, I expected him to be there, waiting for me. But, eventually I just got used to it. Tim was inevitably a few minutes late. And when he did arrive, with this big, charming grin on his face, you just couldn't stay mad at him. It was just who he was.
It still does not seem real to me that he is no longer part of our earthly world. I pass by his house, a few blocks away from my own, and it seems the same, his old blue van and new green sedan parked behind one another in his driveway. I expect any minute for Tim to emerge from the house. His neighbors all talk about seeing Tim mowing his lawn, without his shirt on. It seems like he is just inside the house for a few minutes, perhaps getting a drink of water before finishing the lawn job.
But I know, when I go down to the high school next week to help out with the next drama production in any non-technical way that I can, that I will feel his absence. At first, it will be like it always was, because Tim could be in half a dozen places - his office, the classroom with the small stage which was attached to his office by an inner door, the auditorium, the mailroom, talking to the Assistant to the Principal a few doors down the hall, backstage, in the theatre department storage room, running out to Orchard Supply for a few minutes with his blue van to pick up supplies. Tim was usually in motion, someone who didn't sit still for long, although he loved sitting at his large, old oak desk, which he insisted on having moved into his new office after they renovated the building and gave him a bright, shiny, new space in which to sit and work.
Next week, as I sit in the auditorium watching the goings-on of the actors and crew, I think I might finally feel that his bodily presence is gone, the bodily presence that always greeted me with a big bear hug. I can pretend for a little while that he is just in another room of the school, gone for a lumber run, or out back in the theatre storage area. But eventually, even though I know that the auditorium is the place where I will most strongly feel his presence, alongside the presence of my son, eventually, I will feel the loss of his not being there. Not being there to greet me, and tease me about something. Not there to direct his students, who were constantly peppering him with questions. Just not there, not striding quickly down the auditorium aisle, or standing at the bottom of the stage, writing something on his ever-present "To Do" list.
When the students get back from Spring Break on Monday, they will feel his absence acutely as well. Some other drama teacher will be there to teach them, to run them through their paces, to make sure the musical comes together. But it won't Tim, our precious Tim, and that will finally make what has happened change from the surreal to the real. And we won't like it one bit.
Whenever I would go down to the high school to visit Tim and his drama students, after my own techie son had died during his senior year, as I poked my head into Tim's office, which was always filled with theatre students, sitting everywhere, my question inevitably was, "Where's Tim?" Even if he knew precisely when I was coming down to see him, he was rarely in his office when I got there, usually popping in the door a few minutes later.
Initially, it bugged me. If I made an appointment to see him, I expected him to be there, waiting for me. But, eventually I just got used to it. Tim was inevitably a few minutes late. And when he did arrive, with this big, charming grin on his face, you just couldn't stay mad at him. It was just who he was.
It still does not seem real to me that he is no longer part of our earthly world. I pass by his house, a few blocks away from my own, and it seems the same, his old blue van and new green sedan parked behind one another in his driveway. I expect any minute for Tim to emerge from the house. His neighbors all talk about seeing Tim mowing his lawn, without his shirt on. It seems like he is just inside the house for a few minutes, perhaps getting a drink of water before finishing the lawn job.
But I know, when I go down to the high school next week to help out with the next drama production in any non-technical way that I can, that I will feel his absence. At first, it will be like it always was, because Tim could be in half a dozen places - his office, the classroom with the small stage which was attached to his office by an inner door, the auditorium, the mailroom, talking to the Assistant to the Principal a few doors down the hall, backstage, in the theatre department storage room, running out to Orchard Supply for a few minutes with his blue van to pick up supplies. Tim was usually in motion, someone who didn't sit still for long, although he loved sitting at his large, old oak desk, which he insisted on having moved into his new office after they renovated the building and gave him a bright, shiny, new space in which to sit and work.
Next week, as I sit in the auditorium watching the goings-on of the actors and crew, I think I might finally feel that his bodily presence is gone, the bodily presence that always greeted me with a big bear hug. I can pretend for a little while that he is just in another room of the school, gone for a lumber run, or out back in the theatre storage area. But eventually, even though I know that the auditorium is the place where I will most strongly feel his presence, alongside the presence of my son, eventually, I will feel the loss of his not being there. Not being there to greet me, and tease me about something. Not there to direct his students, who were constantly peppering him with questions. Just not there, not striding quickly down the auditorium aisle, or standing at the bottom of the stage, writing something on his ever-present "To Do" list.
When the students get back from Spring Break on Monday, they will feel his absence acutely as well. Some other drama teacher will be there to teach them, to run them through their paces, to make sure the musical comes together. But it won't Tim, our precious Tim, and that will finally make what has happened change from the surreal to the real. And we won't like it one bit.
Tim's Chair
There is an old saying is that nothing is certain in life except Death and Taxes. I suppose this is a true statement. But during April 2010, this common old phrase became a grim reminder for me.
I am usually well prepared by April 15th, the one date of the year everyone over 18 knows means Tax Day. I have usually sent in my taxes well before the due date. But, not this year. This year, I barely filed my tax extension on time, never mind filing the actual return, late in the day on the 15th. I almost missed filing by the notorious date altogether, and I'm a licensed CPA. Thank god these days you can file electronically with the Feds, because in my still disorganized state, in part due to moving only a month earlier, without electronic filing, I would have missed the deadline altogether. I still have not ordered a printer to go with my new laptop, and I found out this past April 15th that they turn off the computers at the local branch library five minutes before closing time at 6pm, no exceptions. On top of that, life threw me a curve ball on April 6th, in the form of the Grim Reaper come down to snatch a good man before his time, and this event turned my world temporarily upside-down.
As I write this, I am sitting in what I have come to refer to over the past week as "Tim's Chair". Its an old fashioned armchair, with huge metal springs in the seat, which show through the thin, shiny, ripped black covering on the bottom of the seat, if you turn the chair up-side-down. The chair's upholstery has an ivory colored background, with a large teal blue and rose colored floral pattern. I know this description makes it sound quite ugly, but its actually very pretty. The chair fits me perfectly, as not all chairs do, (when I sit up straight, my feet actually touch the floor, from toe to heel) and yet the seat is large enough so that I can sit cross legged, barefoot, as I watch old re-runs of Star Trek (the Jean-Luc Picard version) on late night TV.
The day I bought this chair, from a Consignment Store a few blocks from my house, was the last time I saw my good friend Tim Shannon. I borrowed his van so I could run down the street and pick up the chair before the consignment shop closed at 5:30 pm on a Friday evening. The chair was a steal at $50 and I had to snag it before someone else saw it sitting in the store window with its most excellent price tag, calling out to passersby, "Buy Me". When I returned Tim's van after delivering my new chair safely to my own home a few blocks away, I saw my good friend Tim for the last time.
We had a nice conversation in his driveway, about a subject we so often talked about - a drama student he knew. Except that this particular drama student had dropped dead of a congential heart defect in his college dorm room, about a year ago, at the tender age of 19. Little did I know that the man I was speaking to in the driveway of his tidy grey house with the white trim, would drop dead of heart failure a few days later.
Although he never saw it, I will always think of Tim when I sit in my chair in front of my TV. To me, it will always be "Tim's Chair', and I when I sit in it, I will smile and think of my good friend, Tim, happily discussing a drama student he knew, as we so often did, in the driveway of his comfortable home, one spring evening in April, 2010.
I am usually well prepared by April 15th, the one date of the year everyone over 18 knows means Tax Day. I have usually sent in my taxes well before the due date. But, not this year. This year, I barely filed my tax extension on time, never mind filing the actual return, late in the day on the 15th. I almost missed filing by the notorious date altogether, and I'm a licensed CPA. Thank god these days you can file electronically with the Feds, because in my still disorganized state, in part due to moving only a month earlier, without electronic filing, I would have missed the deadline altogether. I still have not ordered a printer to go with my new laptop, and I found out this past April 15th that they turn off the computers at the local branch library five minutes before closing time at 6pm, no exceptions. On top of that, life threw me a curve ball on April 6th, in the form of the Grim Reaper come down to snatch a good man before his time, and this event turned my world temporarily upside-down.
As I write this, I am sitting in what I have come to refer to over the past week as "Tim's Chair". Its an old fashioned armchair, with huge metal springs in the seat, which show through the thin, shiny, ripped black covering on the bottom of the seat, if you turn the chair up-side-down. The chair's upholstery has an ivory colored background, with a large teal blue and rose colored floral pattern. I know this description makes it sound quite ugly, but its actually very pretty. The chair fits me perfectly, as not all chairs do, (when I sit up straight, my feet actually touch the floor, from toe to heel) and yet the seat is large enough so that I can sit cross legged, barefoot, as I watch old re-runs of Star Trek (the Jean-Luc Picard version) on late night TV.
The day I bought this chair, from a Consignment Store a few blocks from my house, was the last time I saw my good friend Tim Shannon. I borrowed his van so I could run down the street and pick up the chair before the consignment shop closed at 5:30 pm on a Friday evening. The chair was a steal at $50 and I had to snag it before someone else saw it sitting in the store window with its most excellent price tag, calling out to passersby, "Buy Me". When I returned Tim's van after delivering my new chair safely to my own home a few blocks away, I saw my good friend Tim for the last time.
We had a nice conversation in his driveway, about a subject we so often talked about - a drama student he knew. Except that this particular drama student had dropped dead of a congential heart defect in his college dorm room, about a year ago, at the tender age of 19. Little did I know that the man I was speaking to in the driveway of his tidy grey house with the white trim, would drop dead of heart failure a few days later.
Although he never saw it, I will always think of Tim when I sit in my chair in front of my TV. To me, it will always be "Tim's Chair', and I when I sit in it, I will smile and think of my good friend, Tim, happily discussing a drama student he knew, as we so often did, in the driveway of his comfortable home, one spring evening in April, 2010.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Latching on and Letting Go
"Latching on" evokes in me memories of having a baby at the breast, an experience that fathers will never be able to experience. "Letting go" happens much later, sometime after your child's 18th birthday.
I thought of these two phrases today while deadheading the yellow rose bush in front of Tim Shannon's tidy house in San Jose. Tim, my son's high school drama teacher, dropped dead last Tuesday, at home, at the young age of 49.
At certain points in our lives, we all latch on to something or someone. I latched on to Tim after my son was killed in an accident in his senior year in high school. I latched on to Tim and his high school drama students and never let go. Tim, and his high school drama students, were instrumental in helping me to cope with my son's untimely death.
We all have to let go of something or someone in our lives, whether it be letting our aged parents move on to the next life, or dealing with our children leaving the nest for the last time. I had to let go of my corporate accounting image after I lost my job as a Accounting Manager over a year ago; it took months before I was able to accept this change, and I went through a significant depression in the process. But, I have had a chance to heal, and have come out of the experience a better person.
So, now I have to let go of someone, my good friend, Tim Shannon, who listened to me and listened to me and listened to me when I was grieving the loss of my son. My good friend, Tim, who gave me gentle advice after I lost my job and became depressed. I am not quite ready to let go of Tim, this wonderful man who was mentor/role model/father figure and friend to so many young people who rolled through his classes at Fremont High School. But, I'm working on it.
I thought of these two phrases today while deadheading the yellow rose bush in front of Tim Shannon's tidy house in San Jose. Tim, my son's high school drama teacher, dropped dead last Tuesday, at home, at the young age of 49.
At certain points in our lives, we all latch on to something or someone. I latched on to Tim after my son was killed in an accident in his senior year in high school. I latched on to Tim and his high school drama students and never let go. Tim, and his high school drama students, were instrumental in helping me to cope with my son's untimely death.
We all have to let go of something or someone in our lives, whether it be letting our aged parents move on to the next life, or dealing with our children leaving the nest for the last time. I had to let go of my corporate accounting image after I lost my job as a Accounting Manager over a year ago; it took months before I was able to accept this change, and I went through a significant depression in the process. But, I have had a chance to heal, and have come out of the experience a better person.
So, now I have to let go of someone, my good friend, Tim Shannon, who listened to me and listened to me and listened to me when I was grieving the loss of my son. My good friend, Tim, who gave me gentle advice after I lost my job and became depressed. I am not quite ready to let go of Tim, this wonderful man who was mentor/role model/father figure and friend to so many young people who rolled through his classes at Fremont High School. But, I'm working on it.
Coming Out
I think its time, time for me to come out of the closet. No, I am not gay. I am a writer. There, I have said it, in print, for everyone to see. I was a closet blogger, having only told a few close friends, and now I'm not. Now I'm free to be who I really am, a writer.
I am putting the link to my blog on my Facebook page, regardless of things I have written in my blog in previous posts that might affend some of my family.
I am putting the link to my blog on my Facebook page, regardless of things I have written in my blog in previous posts that might affend some of my family.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
Greeting Cards
I found myself today at the CVS Pharmacy, where I had gone to buy cough drops for my never-ending cough-due-to-allergies. After I put the cough drops in the basket, I wandered over to the greeting card aisle. I am one of those people who, upon finding a great card or two (or three or four), buys several of each, even if its no one's birthday or holiday. Who knows when you will need a card at the drop of a hat, because you forgot a birthday, or remembered the day before Father's Day you never did get around to going to the pharmacy or bookstore to buy a card. The real reason I buy cards ahead of time is not because I'm organized. Its because I'm forever forgetful of dates. Doctor appointments, birthday parties, I even missed the Fourth of July one year. I have graduation cards, sympathy cards, birthday cards, Father's Day cards, Easter cards and Valentines, which I keep on hand, because...well, you never know when you'll need one. I hate going to buy a card the day before the event only to find that the only cards left are the "sucky" ones (an adjective a young friend recently used in a conversation with me).
And so, there I stood today, in front of the greeting card display. I had been here only the other day, a week ago in fact. I had just found out that a friend of mine had lost her 19 year old son a while back (I had just found out) so I was buying a card for my friend and stocking up on sympathy cards that I found and liked. I found a card that I really liked, so I bought three of them. Little did I know that the next day I would find out that Tim, one of my closest friends, had suddenly died, at the young age of 49. And so, I found myself back at the greeting card rack today, in the sympathy section once again. I needed at least four sympathy cards - one for Tim's parents, one for his son, and one for his siblings, plus the one for my friend. I found two very nice sympathy cards and I bought two of each. Because, you never know when you are going to need a really great card.
And so, there I stood today, in front of the greeting card display. I had been here only the other day, a week ago in fact. I had just found out that a friend of mine had lost her 19 year old son a while back (I had just found out) so I was buying a card for my friend and stocking up on sympathy cards that I found and liked. I found a card that I really liked, so I bought three of them. Little did I know that the next day I would find out that Tim, one of my closest friends, had suddenly died, at the young age of 49. And so, I found myself back at the greeting card rack today, in the sympathy section once again. I needed at least four sympathy cards - one for Tim's parents, one for his son, and one for his siblings, plus the one for my friend. I found two very nice sympathy cards and I bought two of each. Because, you never know when you are going to need a really great card.
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