Angels

One Last Wish

batch — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 20:23:08 -0500

Three o'clock in the morning and I still couldn't get to sleep. My mind, exhausted and frazzled, reeled with images of Floyd. Strong and tall. A runner and cyclist. My husband of 10 years. Gone from me forever.

Just the day before I'd picked up his ashes from the funeral home. It didn't seem real. Floyd—muscular, vigorous Floyd—in that small wooden box with the gold veneer. He ran marathons. He was training for a 200-mile bicycle race, for heaven's sake, when he had the heart attack. How could he be dead? At 62? He had so much life left to live.

ReNew Orleans

batch — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 20:23:05 -0500

I've seen some tough living conditions working with Global Outreach, a Fordham University program that sends students to the poorest areas in this country and abroad to build homes and help raise the standard of living.

I've built houses in Guatemala and picked oranges with migrant workers in Florida. But nothing prepared me for what I saw in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina.

Our task in May—nine full months after the storm had hit—was to gut four water-damaged houses in the Lower Ninth Ward.

Mom's Garden Angels

batch — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 20:23:04 -0500

Yard sales have always been a major event in my family. We had them every other year, rain or shine on the designated day.

Our customers came from all over the county in response to newspaper ads and billboards we put up along the highway. Last year, however, we just couldn't seem to get started. Mom had canceled the sale we'd planned for May. "It's not the right time," was all she'd tell us.

Missions of Mercy

batch — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 20:23:04 -0500

Ten years ago, when my father was dying of cancer, my aunt Anna gave Mom a porcelain angel kneeling in prayer. The angel was called Iris, the Rainbow's End.

My mother's name is Iris, and on the many weekends I flew to New Orleans to be with my father I saw how the angel helped her stay strong.

Forever Songs

batch — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 20:23:00 -0500

In October 2003 my son, Lance, lost his battle with neuroblastoma, a pediatric cancer. He was 13 years old.

Family, friends and a support group all helped me deal with my grief, but sometimes the pain was just too much. The fall Lance had been dead two years, I was beyond solace. For days I fought back tears. One afternoon the house was so quiet I couldn't bear it. My sadness was heavy and suffocating. I felt like I was sinking in quicksand.

All Things Are Possible

batch — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 20:22:54 -0500

The effects of Hurricane Katrina hit close to home. Thousands of evacuees were bused into Texas. When Houston shelters couldn't handle any more, busloads arrived here in San Antonio.

Like everyone who watched the disaster on TV, my heart broke for the victims. Some of them had not only lost their homes and all of their possessions. They'd lost track of friends and family, even children. It is unbearable to be separated from your child, even for that fleeting moment until you find him in the next grocery aisle or underneath a rack of clothes at the mall.

Saved from Suicide

mcherkezian — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 09:43:42 -0600

The year was 1975. She was 33 years old and the mother of four children. Her marriage was on the rocks and she had been in a deep depression for about a year.

She got up one morning after the children had left for school and her husband for work. The house was quiet. She laid out her Valium, poured herself a glass of vodka.

How Sweet the Sound

batch — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 20:20:43 -0500

After the funeral that cold winter morning, my sons supported me as we walked back to the car, past the grave and the seemingly endless line of familiar faces.

My husband’s dead, I thought over and over, as though I couldn’t quite believe it was true. Behind me, a bagpiper we’d hired started to play. I suppose he’d been playing all through the service, but only at this moment was I aware of the song, “Amazing Grace.” The eerie, mournful sound of the bagpipes playing the hymn Red and I had both loved filled me with sadness.

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Viva! Big Elvis

jbloustein — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 13:57:54 -0600

Parade floats filled my TV screen.

“There you are!” said my manager, Lucille, who was watching with me. The float I’d ridden earlier in the day at Las Vegas’ Centennial Helldorado Parade slid into view.

There I was, dressed in full Elvis regalia, belting out “Teddy Bear.” But instead of feeling proud of the career I’d built as Big Elvis, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Is that me? I thought. Is that what I look like?

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A Family Affair

jbloustein — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 13:44:23 -0600

Nothing was out of place in my son Jonathan’s room, but I straightened up anyway.

I didn’t know what else to do with myself.

Since Jonathan’s death I’d felt like I was drowning in sadness, unable to find anything solid to hold on to. Even my family seemed to be drifting apart. Although my husband, Kurt, and our two sons all lived in the house with me, they felt miles away.

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