Happy Birthday to my wonderful son Cade, who's just turned ten today. Cade, Mommy loves you soooooo much. May your day be extra special!
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Allen Cont'd
Allen was tremendously ambitious as far as the sport of baseball was concerned. He was talented at the sport and soon became a favorite on the field. His initial playing position on the team was as short stop, at which he excelled. Many were the times that I can remember that his team would come up short, and lose the game. But they didn’t take it to heart; after all, it’s only a game…isn’t it? Not to Allen. This child would sit and cry and wail and curse the fates, his teammates, the weather, you name it. Such was his love of the game that it seemed to be a matter of life or death. There were times when, even though the team had defeated their opponents that he would go over each and every play repetitively, lamenting even the smallest of errors.
His love for the game, to this day, still confuses me. I cannot understand his captivation and obsession with the sport. I cannot imagine being consumed so entirely by anything. I think in the end, that baseball was the one influence in my brother’s life that was in essence his “raison d’etre”. I think that his heart would not have lasted as long as it did, were it not for his passionate involvement in the sport.
I fondly remember the many times when the game was over, that all the other players would walk off the playing field with their uniforms streaked with dirt, grass stains and all the normal wear and tear of having played ball. But my brother would walk off the field with his uniform almost in tatters. He reminded me of that kid in the Charlie Brown comic strips (I think his name was Linus). He seemed to feel that baseball was his fated path in life, and he embraced his destiny with unconditional abandon.
I sat in front of the computer screen with MS Word open, the blank page, taunting me. For you see, I did not really want to write the conclusion to the story of Allen. As long as the paper remained blank, I could, to a certain extent pretend that the history had in fact not occurred. It’s difficult for me to put into words the full gamut of the emotions that at times are capable of consuming me, body and soul, while at other times seem but a vague memory.
It’s strange, is it not, the way the mind can be overwhelmed or ignore, what is in effect the same event? Sometimes it seems like a mountain so massive that the simple thought of climbing it causes one to fall to their knees, destroyed by the immense weight of a seemingly insurmountable challenge. A grief so profound and all consuming that simple words cannot describe or translate.
It is thus that I sit today, embarrassed by my deficiency of proper words that could mayhap relate my feelings to you. This story is about my brother, Allen, but it is also a story about me. For he can no longer speak for himself and the only way that his story can be told is through my memories. I should not have waited until today to write the conclusion of this story, for today Allen would have been celebrating his 36th birthday. It has now been almost ten years since he left our lives, so abruptly.
Happy birthday my brother…wherever you are.
His love for the game, to this day, still confuses me. I cannot understand his captivation and obsession with the sport. I cannot imagine being consumed so entirely by anything. I think in the end, that baseball was the one influence in my brother’s life that was in essence his “raison d’etre”. I think that his heart would not have lasted as long as it did, were it not for his passionate involvement in the sport.
I fondly remember the many times when the game was over, that all the other players would walk off the playing field with their uniforms streaked with dirt, grass stains and all the normal wear and tear of having played ball. But my brother would walk off the field with his uniform almost in tatters. He reminded me of that kid in the Charlie Brown comic strips (I think his name was Linus). He seemed to feel that baseball was his fated path in life, and he embraced his destiny with unconditional abandon.
I sat in front of the computer screen with MS Word open, the blank page, taunting me. For you see, I did not really want to write the conclusion to the story of Allen. As long as the paper remained blank, I could, to a certain extent pretend that the history had in fact not occurred. It’s difficult for me to put into words the full gamut of the emotions that at times are capable of consuming me, body and soul, while at other times seem but a vague memory.
It’s strange, is it not, the way the mind can be overwhelmed or ignore, what is in effect the same event? Sometimes it seems like a mountain so massive that the simple thought of climbing it causes one to fall to their knees, destroyed by the immense weight of a seemingly insurmountable challenge. A grief so profound and all consuming that simple words cannot describe or translate.
It is thus that I sit today, embarrassed by my deficiency of proper words that could mayhap relate my feelings to you. This story is about my brother, Allen, but it is also a story about me. For he can no longer speak for himself and the only way that his story can be told is through my memories. I should not have waited until today to write the conclusion of this story, for today Allen would have been celebrating his 36th birthday. It has now been almost ten years since he left our lives, so abruptly.
Happy birthday my brother…wherever you are.
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