Struggling.

There. I said it.

Right up there in the headline. See it?

Yup. It’s official.

I’m struggling.

That’s part of the reason I haven’t been here in, oh, forever. Because, yeah, I was really looking forward to writing the “I succeeded at Forty by Forty” post. Not so much.

That’s just one of the ways I’ve let myself (and probably others) down.

There are more. Lots more.

And remember that lesson that this isn’t a space for you, it’s actually a space for me. Yup. It’s true. Especially now.

I’ve been wanting to come here for a while and didn’t know what to say. Still don’t, really. But figured I’d start with this. Gotta start somewhere, right?

Part of this hit me the other day when I saw a facebook status of two friends being together. One of them I’m in regular contact with. And the other, well, I should be — and I’m not. And it bothers me. To the point that I need to fix it. And to the point where the one I am in regular contact with texted me the following, “No matter what, you can’t lose sight of the people that have always been there.”

That stung. Hard. And it’s totally true. This person is someone I trust explicity, have shared so much with — and I’ve totally dropped the  ball. Why? I don’t know. I have a reason, but I’m not sure I’m even buying it — but now I need to correct my actions — and that’s just one area.

I had a major screw up at work last week. Well, hard to call it a screw up. Point is, I delivered on everything I was supposed to deliver — and well, I might add — but the recipient didn’t think the same way. And the person’s words attacked me at the core — questioning my ability and my decision making. Why did it hurt? Because I put my heart and soul into making this really good thing  happen. It’s still a really good thing. It just probably won’t happen again (when it had the chance to). And, so, yeah, I cried at work. Absolutely lost it. When your insides are challenged — as mine were — that’s one way to respond. Maybe not the most professional, but, yeah, I did it. Only one person saw it and handled the situation amazingly well, but now, yeah,  you all know it.

Oh, and I’m 40 now. Nice. Moving on.

Just questioning a lot of things. Re-examining a lot of things. Trying to figure out a lot of things.

Impossible? Might be. But have to try.

Because if I don’t, I’ll only struggle even more.

Another Aidanism

It’s been a while since I’ve posted.

And it’s been a while since I’ve had one of these.

So we’re driving to school this morning. We get there, and while we’re parking, I ask Aidan if the boy at the door waiting to get in is either Geno or Vinnie — because I can never remember.

His response, and this is a direct quote:

“Dad, that’s Vinnie. Geno’s bangs are much different than Vinnie’s.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, Dad.”

Good to know.

Finding Faith Isn’t Easy — The Church Edition

So I’ve written abou this before. But in that case, it wasn’t so much about religion as much as it was about cancer.

This time, it’s about religion.

Why?

It’s not just that we didn’t go to church Sunday (while it’s tough with kids, we are somewhat regular). It’s more that I didn’t miss going to church this Sunday. Or any other Sunday.

At all.

This is part of my self-diagnosed mid-life crisis. (Yup, I’m having one, by the way.)

I should miss it — shouldn’t I? Or, it’s not even so much that I miss it. It’s that when we do go, the only time I seem to walk out of mass with interest is when I know the Knights of Columbus are holding a pancake breakfast in the hall.

Something is missing.

I mean, I’ve told you this before. I was an altar boy. I’ve been a lector forever. A Eucharistic minster, too. Heck, I even ran the parish council for a few years. Throw in eight years of Catholic elementary school and I’m destined for saint hood. Or not.

I’ve told  you what I like about the Catholic church — the tradition and the mystery. I love the concept of the mass and how it’s structured. However, recently, I’m just not getting enough out of it — if anything.

And that bothers me.

Of course, take a look at a couple of the church’s big issues — capital punishment and abortion. Yup, I’m all for the death penalty. And, ladies, it’s your body. As far as I’m concerned, you get to choose what to do with it.

It’s not like those are some minor issues that I’m disagreeing with. Throw in my support for gay marriage and, well, send me to hell right now.

Because of my beliefs, some would say I have no business being in the church.

Can’t lie and say I’ve never thought of that. But the question that always comes up in my head — if not the Catholic church, where?

The other question is — why am I thinking about this now?

Well, can’t lie. Death (and cancer) certainly have a lot to do with this.

I’ve had enough happen in my life alone to question my faith — let alone what others I know have had to deal with.

And, I should say, questioning faith doesn’t mean I don’ t have any. I do. Or at least I want to  have it.

It’s a quest to find some sort of spiritual comfort. Where does it come from? How do I get it? And, then, if I do get it, what the hell do I do with it?

I believe in a higher power/authority. Ok, yeah, I believe in God.

Is God a he? A she? A what? Doesn’t matter. I believe that there is one — regardless of who or what it really is.

Where I have the problem is figuring out why God wants to mess with not just me, but with others.

OK, if there’s a lesson I’m supposed to learn because of Dad and Tim, could I just know it now? Hasn’t it been long enough? Yeah. It has.

The kids are baptized. Aidan goes to a Catholic school. Sure, my experience was a great one. But, honestly, one of the main reasons he goes is because they provide after-school care. Of course, part of my hope is that Aidan going to a parochial school will help his behavior and attention in church. We’ll see how that goes.

I say prayers with the kids every night. And, I also say my own prayers every day. Not always at the same time. Not always in the same place. But, bottom line is they get said.

Heck, I’m a godfather — three times! I do take that responsibility seriously. I mean, being selected by key friends and family — well, it’s simply an honor.

But, that doesn’t mean I’m without question — because I’m not.

And, yes, I’ve read The Shack. An amazing work. Read it if you haven’t. Did it change the way I think or look at things? Not really. But it has inspired conversation. And conversation is always good.

I have a lot of questions. A lot of issues.

To some extent, I don’t want to wait any more for the answers. I know I have to. I know I can’t get the answers to some of the questions now — and maybe not ever. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want them. Because I do.

I also, to some extent, believe in the power of prayer. Not so much that it can heal the sick, per se. But more so that it draws people closer — in a different way. And in that sense, it provides comfort.

When Dad and Tim died, I know people were praying for them — and for me. Did that do anything to help them? No. But it certainly did something to help me.

When Mom had her bypass in January, people were praying then, too. Did it help her physically? Maybe it helped her get through the surgery, but the complications persisted for quite some time, so hard to accept that.

But, again, what it did was bring comfort — to mom, my sister, my brother and me — at a very difficult time.

Again, it takes people with a shared experience/interest and brings them closer. I don’t care if it’s prayer or something else, any time that happens, it’s a good thing.

So where does this leave me?

Beats me.

Will I start getting more out of mass? Was I really ever getting anything out of mass? Honestly, I think the answer to both of those questions is I don’t know.

I love to argue — er, debate — religion. Always have. My Dad and I were famous for our ‘conversations.’

I would often take the opposite side of an issue just so I could disagree with him and argue points against him. It was that much fun. Kind of our thing.

I always promoted the notion of doing good things, of being a good neighbor, of going to church on a regular basis.

Dad was never for that. Nope. “Michael, always be careful with this one,” he’d say.

“Why’s that, Dad?” I’d respond.

“Because, Michael, no matter what you believe and what you think, one thing is very clear — religion is a very personal thing.”

I realize now, more than ever, how true that is.

Interesting Connections

I’ve known since the instant I started this blog how unique connections can develop.

I mean, how else could you explain my recent happiness for a woman I’ve never met in the midwest who just announced she’s pregnant. And, she’s an Indians fan. So how could I possibly really like her? But, I do. And I’m very happy for her.

How else can I explain my recent happiness for a blogger/facebook friend who recently got engaged. Because I haven’t read much, I actually don’t know if she still blogs, but we’re friends on the ‘book, so I know about it that way. She was a regular commenter here, as I was on her blog. Things change. I get that. But I can still be happy for her through the connection here.

How else can I explain my secret blog crush on someone down south? She doesn’t blog anymore either, but the rumor is she might be back soon. But, we’re ‘book friends, too. And, did I mention she has amazing taste in music and in baseball teams. She’s funny, witty and I don’t know if we could ever carry a conversation in real time, but that’s fine. We’ve got something in common here and it works — because of blogging.

How else can you explain someone sending homemade baked goods to your office — other than blogging? Actually, two people have done this.

How else can you explain getting to know people you work with on an even deeper level — sometimes without even talking about it. You just come here and share — and that leads to a deeper understanding of some friends. And, honestly, I like that.

I write a lot about stuff that has happened to me — and death is always a part of that. First, a lot about my dad and now my brother.

And it was through writing about Tim that two more great connections just happened.

First, a woman that I deal with through work sent me a personal email about shared experiences. I knew she lost her husband a few years ago, but didn’t know much more than that. How much do you bring up over business?

Well, she became a friend on the ‘book and therefore discovered my blog (which was fine). She read some of the stuff I wrote about Tim and my desire to try and do more with my nephew. She then wrote me a great email that started with something like, “I hope this is OK to write….” and then she shared some things that she’s dealt with since the loss of her husband that helped me by giving me a different perspective — not just of what can help me, but also, unbeknownst to her, of what things my sister-in-law is no doubt going through

So through work, that connection was established, and through the blog, it became even greater.

If you’ve read me, you know how I got started — thanks to Molly. Well, after having lunch with Molly the other day, she wrote about our experience and suggested that her readers come visit me.

Well, one reader did — and she sent me an email last night that I’ve read about 10 times already.

Turns out, eight years ago, she lost her brother due to a random act of violence. She wrote to me about she’s dealt with that a little bit and how she’s been able to have a stronger relationship with her older brother — much like I hope happens with me and Tom. It’s about making sure opportunities aren’t lost.

This person didn’t have to email me. But I’m glad she did. I wrote her back and said, hey, maybe we can share stuff from time to time. Having someone to talk to that understands is a great thing.

And what’s unique about our situations — anger. For her, at someone — a real person. For me, which is an entire other element of my frustration — God. Tim didn’t do this to himself. Nobody did it to him. So why was he taken? Yeah, I know. But it’s what I think — and more importantly — what I feel. And if there’s one thing I’ve actually accepted recently, you can’t change feelings — you can only respect them.

So, again, a link from one blog to another brought this person in my life. Whether she stays, I don’t know. But regardless of that, it was nice to connect with someone in a similar situation that can truly relate.

Not that others can’t, but, well, you can’t — not unless you’ve gone through this. And trust me, I’m not not wishing this on anyone.

So, to that person, thank you for following Molly’s link, thanks for reading and — more importantly — thanks for writing.

And, to all of my blogging friends, regular readers and casual visitors — you all have a connection here somehow. It’s what brought you here. And it’s what keeps you coming back.

And while this is about me — I appreciate that. And I appreciate you.

A lot.

I’m Not Quite the Energizer Bunny…

…but here it is three years later and I’m still going and going and, well, going.

Yup, this blog is three years old.

Not only that, this is my 300th post.

I’m actually surprised — I wouldn’t have figured that I’d average a post every three days or so. Despite my recent hiatus, I guess it does go to show that (at one point) I was writing fairly regularly (and I’m trying to build back up to that pace — honest).

For that (the writing regularly part), you can thank Molly.

In fact for all of this, you can thank Molly.

It’s as simple as this — without her encouragement, this blog never would have started.

And, quite frankly, without her encouragement, this blog wouldn’t have lasted.

It’s funny in a way. When she and I get together now, she mentions my writing and tells me not that I shouldn’t stop, but that I can’t stop.

So, here I am, reading her stuff tonight and she’s asking the same questions I’ve been asking lately. And my answer to her, it’s not that she shouldn’t stop. It’s that she can’t stop.

See, I was debating what the heck to write about for a three-year/300th entry…then tonight it hit me plain as day. Talk about the person that got you started here in the first place.

Of course, I went to her when I was looking for an idea for this entry and she might as well have used my line and said, “I got nothin’.”

She actually did have a great idea — it would just take me too long to do right now. And I need to get over this 300 hump.

What’s kind of funny is that while I’m writing less now, I’m even reading less. Only a few blogs are in regular reading rotation right now — Molly’s being one of them.

What could I possibly have in common with twenty-something blogger? Well, in her case, it’s a lot.

We’ve each written about each other before. I’ve called her my little sister. She’s called me her big brother. That’s just the relationship we have.

We had a great working relationship that turned into a fabulous friendship — even after she left for what was then greener pastures.

I don’t see her as much as I’d like, but it doesn’t matter. When we do connect — like today at lunch — it’s fabulous.

Our conversations cover it all — light, heavy and anything in between. Ususally over pizza and onion rings. But, today, we’ll do it over salads instead. And that’s ok.

True friends make a mark on your life — a mark that sets them above and beyond others.

Molly made a mark on my life two years ago — in a big way. I doubt that Molly and I will ever lose touch, but if we do for some reason, I’ll always be grateful to her.

And you should be, too. After all, without her encouragement, I wouldn’t be here.

Thank you, Molly.

Wouldn’t be here without you.

New Beginnings

Aidan started kindergarten today.

Take a look for yourself.

He's ready for the challenge. (We hope.)

Proud!

Ready to go!

Crossroads

The one thing I’m sure of?

That I’m not sure of a lot of things.

Some of it I’ve addressed here already. Some of it I’m not sure I ever will. Doesn’t mean I’m not dealing with it though.

Because I’m trying to.

Call it a midlife crisis. Call it what you want. I’m going with the fact that I’ve reached a crossroads in my life in so many different ways.

(And, ok, I’m secretly just a little excited that what I’m calling this is the name of a past Bon Jovi album.)

But, this isn’t about my man. This is about this man. Me.

I know you’ve heard me say that before. And, well,  you’ll hear me say it again.

Why?

Because it’s true.

What kind of steps am I taking? Little ones.

In a lot of areas.

I’ve had some pretty good conversations lately with people I respect dearly — not to mention admire and trust. Both are people very familiar with my work. Both know me very well.

And both have told me things that I’m not sure I would have believed even a year ago. And, honestly, I didn’t really believe it when the first person would tell me these things. Well, that’s not true. Maybe I believed it (a little), but I had a hard time understanding it (and still do).

However, when the second person, who doesn’t know me nearly as well as the first person, reiterated exactly what the first person has been saying for almost a year, well, it sank in — so much that I told the first person that it was finally sinking in — after all this time. That what the first person had been saying was, in fact, true — even though I didn’t want to believe it.

By no means was I knocking what the first person had been saying. In fact I told this person they were right. And that it was finally sinking in — the more I heard certain things.

It wasn’t a matter of person two validating person one. It was a matter of my own self image — something that hasn’t been particularly positive for a while, for a variety of reasons.

Yet, when you have not one, but two people you respect dearly saying the same thing, maybe it is true. Maybe it is time to listen to that — despite what image is in your own head.

So that’s what I’m trying to do. Listen. Because if I do believe what person one and two are saying is true, then some changes are going to happen. I’m just not exactly sure what that means yet.

Change can, afterall, mean so many things.

And, for me, right now, the biggest challenge is figuring out what those things actually are.

And then, once I do, the next challenge is addressing them.

One at a time.

Tommy O

I did it.

I pulled a fast one on my brother. And, I gotta tell you, the plan and implementation was flawless!

Here’s the (long) story.

Many moons ago, Tom was in a band. He had dreams of being a rock star. His band, Asylum, had some really good local success. But, no matter how hard they tried, they could never get over the hump. That’s OK though. They worked hard. They tried hard. They have no regets.

While in the band, Tom also taught guitar at the local guitar shop. He has taught countless of kids how to play guitar. And, like any teacher, Tom remembers one of his best students — Evan.

So much so that he followed Evan’s rise in a great band based in DC called Honor By August. Check them out here. You won’t be disappointed.

Tom keeps bugging me and bugging me to give this band a listen. Finally, I did. And now I can’t get enough. They are that good. And they are on their way. No question in my mind.

Then we find out the band is playing in Connecticut. So, we trek 90 minutes to go see them on a cold February night. They were awesome. I was hooked even more.

Fast forward to the point where I learn that Evan grew up right across the river from where I work. And, that his Dad has been active in my place of employment for more than 20 years. A small world keeps getting smaller.

So, while seeing the band for the first time, I mention to Evan that I want to bring them to where I work for an outdoor summer concert. He’s completely jazzed about the idea. And, turns out the band spends time near here every summer anyway to write songs. Things are just working out here for all the right reasons.

Then I take it upon myself to make it all happen. I get the concert idea supported and the band booked. Now we wait. And wait. And wait.

Meanwhile, I’m striking up a relationship with Evan as we discuss the show. Then, they come back to the same place I saw them the first time — now a month away from the show at my place.

Tom and I (along with his wife) go to the show and have a great time. The band rocks. And, they are excited about playing our show.

As we’re leaving for the night, I hang back for a bit and say to Evan, “Think you can teach the band an Asylum song?”

He smiles and says, “I hear you. Let’s get it done!”

See, each show Tom is at, the band dedicates a song to him and mentions that he taught Evan how to play.

That’s all well and good, but Evan knew I wanted to do more than that. He knew I wanted to have Tom on stage playing one of his old songs.

The plan was in place and things were coming together. I managed to get an mp3 file of an old song from Tom and get to Evan. The next challenge was getting Tom’s guitar there so he could play his own. Evan even referred to it as the “great white beauty” because he had fond memories of it as Tom would use that one to teach.

On the day of the show, Tom arrives early to hang with me and the band as they set up — chatting with Evan and catching up even more as only teacher and student good do.

Meanwhile, Tom’s wife was bringing his guitar to my work and leaving it in my car — but inside another case that I had borrowed from a co-worker who was in on it. This way, the guitar could get to the venue without Tom being suspicious because he wouldn’t see his own case. With the help of my wife and two super fans of the band, that was easily done.

Evan and the guys were psyched to pull this off. And I mean they were genuinely excited to be a part of it. And that’s what made this even better. I had said to Evan that Tom feels like he had a little something to do with Evan’s success.

Evan stopped me and said, “A little something to do with it? That’d be like saying the iceberg had a little something to do with the Titanic.”

So as the band starts the show, the ‘great white beauty’ was resting on the side of the stage — waiting for Tom to come up and play.

And then it happened, the singer, Michael, announced that there was a special guest here to play with them tonight. Tom had no idea until Michael said, “Tommy O (that’s what Evan always calls him), come on up, we’ve got a surprise for you.”

This was perfect! As he got on stage, Evan opened the case and Tom saw his guitar. He had no clue that we got the guitar there! So, he straps it on, plugged in to Evan’s rig and away he went.

What a moment to see teacher and student playing together.

More importantly, for me, what a moment to give my brother. We don’t talk a lot about stuff. We just don’t. We know how each other feels, and that’s enough.

Except on this night.

Tommy O deserved to be on that stage. He deserved the chance to play again for an audience. And he didn’t disappoint. The place loved the whole surprise element, and he played most of the song with a smile on his face — especially at the end of the song when the band bowed down in playful — yet meaningful — respect. And many of the people at the show gave him a standing O. It was a great moment.

I met him backstage and he was psyched and very thankful to me for pulling it off. Over the next couple of hours, he learned the entire back story (as you just have) and we shared a lot of great memories about it with the band.

He was all concerned about how it sounded (fabulous, by the way). And it didn’t even matter.

The fact is, Tom got to play. And he loved it.

Evan got to play with his mentor. And he loved it.

And I got to do something incredible for my brother.

Because I love him.

_____________________________________________

Here’s the proof!

Tommy O takes the stage!

Just like riding a bike...

Teacher and student together.

Paying homage to Tommy O!

The smile that made it all worth while.

Pictures 1-4 courtesy of Anna. Picture 5 courtesy of Meg.

Battle Buddies

It’s never easy watching a co-worker leave.

That’s what happened Tuesday. It’s someone I don’t really know all that well, but whenever we had interaction, it was a kick. A true match of wit and sarcasm — always trying to one up the other in that way. And, if you know me, you know I like that type of challenge.

I mean, she worked in Finance — and yet still had a sense of humor. That alone is an astounding fact in my book. Nevertheless, I’ll miss her wit. I know, just the fact of a witty finance person is almost impossible to comprehend. But, in this case, it was true.

Now she’s off to (much) greener pastures. And that’s a good thing. You always have to look out for number one. Always have to keep options open. She did that. And she’ll be fabulous where she’s going. A great addition to their team.

But, at the same time, it’s hard to see someone good that, well, ‘gets it,’ go.

Before today, I had two of those experiences in my current position – and, while it was the best move for each person, I can still remember their last days like they were yesterday.

When Molly left — it, well, hurt. A lot. Not because I was losing a great assistant (though she wasn’t really my assistant), it was because I was losing daily interaction of a great friend. Truly of the little sister I never had.

But,  here’s the thing. We are still in regular contact, and while we don’t see each other every day, we stay up on everything and when we do see each other, it’s fabulous.

When Sara left — it, well, hurt. A lot. (Sensing a theme here?) Sara and I were in different departments, so we didn’t have the constant contact like Molly and I had, but when we had contact, it was stellar. She gave me something when she left that nobody knows about — and I’m not telling, so don’t ask. It was so “us” and still is — that when I see it in my office, I crack up.

Sara and I have stayed in contact, but I wish that I was doing a better job at it. Her life is changing in a very good way and I couldn’t be prouder. And I’m planning to go visit her in a couple of weeks for what will no doubt be another stellar experience.

I have some amazing colleagues now. People that like Molly and Sara have gone beyond colleague status right to ‘friend’ status. People that aren’t in my life for a reason or a season. People that are in my life for a lifetime.

And to those battle buddies, please know I stand with you — regardless. I am in awe of you every day — for the work you do and, more importantly, the way you do it.

I am proud to be on your side.

And, more importantly, I’m proud to be your friend.

Missed Opportunity

The thing about losing a sibling?

It sucks. And when I say it sucks, I mean, really. It sucks.

Regular readers know that my brother Tim died two years ago — completely unexpected and literally within a week of the birth of my daughter. (If you’re new, there’s plenty to read on this…if you choose).

So, why am I still having a hard time with Tim’s death?

Because, honestly, I’m having a hard time. A really hard time, actually. Harder than I ever thought possible.

I’ve (basically) come to terms with my Dad’s death — which will be 10 years in January. But, Tim?

Yeah. Not so much.

There is, actually, a lot of good connected to my daughter because of Tim. I do truly believe that. I’ve found some comfort in the fact that I actually believe Tim didn’t get sick for a reason until after Erin was born. It was like he could leave now that there was a ‘replacement’ on the scene. Not a replacement, per se, but hopefully you know what I mean.

The connection of her birthday to his death will always have me remembering Tim at that time. And I will always try to have the  memories be positive ones. But that’s hard.

I loved my brother. And I know he loved me.

But we weren’t close.

We got along fine. We were family. We did family stuff. But by ‘close’ I mean that we didn’t have a ton in common and we didn’t really do a lot of ‘just hanging out’ and doing stuff of common interest. We did all the family stuff and that was, well, fine.

Until now.

See, and I know I can’t change this, but one of the things that bugs the shit out of me is knowing that I don’t have the opportunity now to change any of that. That’s where my loss comes in. Not things that were, but things that could have been.

Let me digress for a minute…I have four cousins — three men (two of which are twins) and a woman. One of the twins has essentially removed himself from the family completely. Nobody really knows why and I find it very sad, actually, but at one level, it is what it is.

In talking to two of my cousins they were basically talking about their brother like he didn’t exist.

This infuriated me.

I said, look, you may not agree with why he’s pulled back or what he’s done or whatever, but you know what? He’s still your brother. And, the fact is, if you wanted to talk to him about stuff, you can do that. Me? I don’t have that chance. I can’t change anything now. It’s too late. If I have a conversation with Tim now, it’s pretty one sided!

I actually don’t think they fully understood what I was saying. Not that I was trying to play peacemaker, just that if they want the chance to talk, they have it. I,  however, don’t.

So that’s one of the things that really gets me. I should have made an effort to know Tim better than I did. Not that I didn’t know him, but you know what I mean. I should have made an effort to more ‘brotherly’ things, rather than just family things.

My brother Tom and I, for example, have bonded a bit recently because of a band we are both fond of. I’ve probably talked to Tom more about this band than I have about a lot of other things. We’ve gone to see the band twice, and we’re both looking forward to seeing the band again next week.

I haven’t talked about this with Tom, but he probably isn’t seeing this the same way I am. Maybe he is. I’m not sure. But I’m seeing it as opportunity. Opportunity to spend time with my brother in a non family focused situation. And, you know what, it’s kind of a good thing.

So then I get frustrated again — that I didn’t find this with Tim. Or that my desire to do so is coming much to late.

But, there is something I can do — and it’s another thing I’ve struggled with.

Tim has a son who is about to turn 16. I’m not quite sure why I haven’t done more with him in the last two years. I’m  not real proud of that, because I should be doing things — taking him to a concert or a game or something. Instead, it’s been limited to family function stuff, that’s it.

If the situation was reversed, I know that Tim would take Aidan fishing or on a boat or to a game — anything. That’s what he would do. And it’s what I should do with his son.

I’m not sure why I hesitate — and that bugs me almost even more than the simple fact that I haven’t done anything like that.

I mean, I’m sitting here bitching about losing my brother and having these missed opportunities. At least I got 35 years (plus) with him. His son got 14. And now, at a time where he needs a male presence, where he needs a father, I’m nothing but a lame uncle with great ideas that doesn’t follow through.

At least that’s what it feels like.

It shouldn’t be this hard. That’s what I don’t understand. Why is it hard for me to take that first step? It’s a step Tim would have taken two years ago if the situation was reversed.

Time? There’s plenty of time. Just make it.

I honestly don’t know what it is. I can tell you here that I will do a better job for my nephew. I will work to get us to a football game. I will take him to a concert. I will take him to the movies. I will do whatever.

Saying that is the easy part. Doing it, for some reason, is the hard part.

I missed opportunities with Tim.

I’m working on not missing opportunities with Tom.

I need to do the same for my nephew.

Why?

Because I know Tim would never be writing a blog about this in terms of doing things for Aidan.

That alone should motivate me.

I hope it does.