But it’s your choice?

Still here? Good.

You might learn a little more about me tonight. Why?

Well, for some reason, I’m feeling ridiculously sentimental tonight.

That’s OK, right? Wait. Why am I asking you? Of course it is. Remember, my words.

(But I am glad that you are reading them.)

(Really.)

So, this sentimental thing. I’ll try to explain.

Maybe it’s because we took the kids trick-or-treating tonight in my old stomping grounds. We’ve done it for the last few years, but something was different about tonight. Not sure what it was. It’s great to go there because my sister and her daughter join us. Or, we join them since they live in the neighborhood now. And I think that’s part of it. That we’re giving the kids a memory they’ll look back on in the years to come. Lord knows I’m looking back on it. I remember going to each house in the neighborhood. Who gave out the best candy. Who pulled pranks. Who kept the lights off. I did this year after year with Steve, Steve, Gary, Tim, Pete and Tim. Just great memories. The neighborhood was alive tonight. And what was even cooler about it? Coming home, signing on to Facebook and seeing other people comment about how great it was there tonight, too.

And, in terms of making connections there between now and then. Well, it happened at two houses. One is still owned by the family that I’ve know there forever. Though instead of the parents handing out the candy, it was the kids. And by kids, I mean, they were my age. And one of the two works where I work now, so that connection continued. And then another house, next to the house I played at the most growing up…well, the people that live there now? One of them works with me now, too. So it’s kind of like the old and new coming together. Only I didn’t know she lived there until tonight. Makes our next conversation an easy one. Good times tonight. Great memories.

Why else am I feeling sentimental? Maybe it’s because both my mom and my nephew have hard incredibly hard months medically — yet both are home. Where they belong. Neither are 100 percent, but each is getting stronger by the day. And, well, that alone is a good thing. I’m done asking for good vibes. For now. I’m just thankful to all who shared them. And, well, I’m just thankful they are both home. We’re the closest non-closest family you’ll ever know. And what I just wrote right here, well, that means a lot. Good times tonight. Great memories to come.

Hmmm….still want another reason? Well, I just read a friend’s blog tonight for the first time in a long time. This is a blog I used to read every day. Heck, this is the blog that made me start a blog. I miss this friend. She and I don’t talk as much as I wish we still would, but I think she knows that we’re always connected. I’m hoping we have the chance to get together for dinner some time soon. Because I want to hear more of her stories in person — and not just in a blog or a vlog. I think I have the connection with this person that it really doesn’t matter how long we don’t talk — because when we are together, it’s always easy to talk. Simply put, she’s the little sister I never had. Ready for dinner when you are.

More? Of course there’s more. I mean, when I get sentimental, I get sentimental. It’s all in, so to speak.

Well, I’m going to see two of my closest friends this weekend with a trip back to Marist. I’m wishing another friend could be there, but alas, that won’t work out this time. What I really wish — at times — is that another person could be there. But I’m not sure that’ll ever happen again. I don’t think about that person much, but when I do, well, it’s just a sad situation. What I’m most glad about is that I have some amazing friends and I’m looking forward to walking campus, going back to check out the places we lived, admiring how much the place has changed and realizing how much we really haven’t changed that much since we first got to know each other back in (gulp) 1988.

What else? Well, I’m digging my new job. Totally digging it. Of course, it’s not really new anymore. Not after having been there for more than a year. But I’m really enjoying it and starting to make my mark a bit — or so it seems. At the same time, there’s one part of my old job that I really miss. So much so that I’m doing it again this holiday season. It’s not part of my old day-to-day job, it’s completely separate and doesn’t interfere at all with my current job — or I wouldn’t do it. But it’s a way for me to get back to something I loved doing for eight out of the last 10 holiday seasons. And I heard tonight that a lot of people are looking forward to having me back. That works for me. First ‘meeting’ is 11/7. And, honestly? I can’t wait.

Ok, we’re getting to the end, but there’s still a bit more. We had some family pictures taken a couple months ago and they just came in this week. A huge package arrived at the door and out they came. First really good shot of the family. First really good shot of Renee and me. Two awesome shots of Aidan and Erin. At one point, when I was struggling what to pick out, the photographer said, ‘think of what photo Aidan and Erin would want hanging in there house some day.’ Great perspective and it, well, made it easy at that point. They are lifestyle shots — all of them. And, well, it makes me think we’ve developed a nice little lifestyle here.

The last reason why I’m feeling this way — or at least another good reason why I might be….my birthday is tomorrow (or today, depending on when you are reading this). I’m turning 42. Every day. Every step of where I’ve been has brought me to this place. And you know what? It’s a good place. I haven’t always realized that. Maybe haven’t always appreciated it as much as I should. Maybe have been distracted by things beyond my control. But, at least I realize that now. 

I’ve got family. I’ve got friends. I’ve got the best health I’ve been in for some time.

Yeah. It’s good. It’s real good.

So thanks for being a part of it. Seriously. I don’t always say it (yeah, that again), but I think it. A lot.

For me — and for many others — one of those people died this week.

It wasn’t a surprise. He’d been sick. Does that make it easier? Of course it doesn’t. It just makes it more real.

Ironically, I was on my way to a funeral earlier this week when the text came in:

“Lost another great one this morning.”

I froze. And, well, for the first time ever, I pulled over to send a reply message back:

“One of the greatest.”

Many of you reading know who I’m referring to, so a lot of what is to come here won’t surprise you. But to those of you who don’t know this man, maybe the next few minutes you spend here will make you want to say a prayer for the hundreds — and I mean hundreds — of people who are saddened by the loss of this great man.

What made him great? You can ask me, but I’m not sure I can tell you. It was sort of a thing where you just had to experience time with him to understand. Maybe the best thing to say is his greatness was in his commonness — yet he was by no means a common man. Does that make sense? It does to me.

He was simple. He was hardworking. He was honest. He was a family man — having been born into a huge one and raising a great one. He was a proud man. And for what he accomplished in life and how he impacted people, he should be proud. And nothing should make him or his family prouder than the amount of people who are going to pay their last respects to him Friday and Saturday.

A friend sent me a message that said, “so many people that shaped our lives are going to soon.”

Amen to that.

This was a man who shaped so many lives. In such subtle ways.

A man I had such admiration for. Such respect for. Such love for. How could anyone who ever met him not have those three things? Simply impossible.

I just have so many simple memories of him. And, again, that plays into his greatness. Nothing incredible. Just normal things. But lots of them. And all good.

Besides the fact that he’s the father of a dear friend, my connection to him — like many others — was through sports, particularly baseball. I wish I had the chance to see him play because this is a man who was drafted by the Mets in 1962. He was a Yankees fan, but one you could talk to because the only thing he loved more than the Yankees was the game itself. And that’s where we connected. Our conversations were always so much fun. More like arguments, really. Two stubborn Irishmen trying to prove a point — often times the same point yet one person had to ‘win’ the argument.

This man taught me more about hitting in 10 minutes than I learned in 10 years. Too bad it was after my playing career was over. He was a coach at the Little League where kids in my generation grew up during the summer. He coached softball — and that’s where he made the biggest impact on the lives of so many. Teaching them how to play the game. And always doing it the right way. So spending time with him watching others was so great for me. He taught me to see things I’d never seen before. “For God’s sake, Michael, watch the hands. Everything is in the hands.” I can hear his voice to this day. And I know exactly where we were when he said that to me.

But what he really did was help teach me respect for the game. How it should be played. What lessons you can take from it. What value it has besides just runs scored and someone winning. That sort of thing. You know, what’s really important.

And I’m not special here at all. He taught this to so many. Yes, it’s true. He taught them to hit better. Field better. Throw better. But he taught them to play better. To appreciate better. To respect better.

And he started with my friend, his oldest daughter.

When we were in high school, I was the sports editor of the school newspaper, and I wanted to write a feature story on my friend. She wasn’t the strongest, the fastest or the most talented. But her success came because she got the most out of her abilities by working harder than anyone else.

Hmmm. I wonder where she learned that from?

As I was thinking about her dad today, I remembered that I still had a copy of that school newspaper, published Tuesday, February 23, 1988. I knew the end of the story was about her dad. I just had to find it. And I’m glad I did.

These are the last two paragraphs of that story:

She credits her father for helping her along. She says he has always stressed hustle, hustle, hustle.

“He always told me, ‘Give 100 percent. Do the best you can, even if poeple don’t think it is enough. As long as you know that it’s enough inside, it’s good enough.’”

A pretty good lesson, eh?

She learned it well.

And so did everyone else who was touched by this man.

Yes, the text I got earlier this week was true. We have lost another great one.

And nothing is greater than the legacy he leaves behind.

But I’m not writing about him. Not now. Maybe not later. I mean, well, eventually. But this won’t be a birthday post like I’ve done in the past. Have I thought about him today? Sure I have. A lot, actually.

But I’ve also thought about other things in my past — and that’s what brought my here. Maybe it was on a whim. But so what. I’m here. And, well, apparently, so are you.

(Thanks for that, by the way.)

The inspiration for this post came from a strange thread on Facebook that started with an innocent comment about a friend’s interest in roller derby. She commented about another friend who would make a dynamic player. I made a comment that, even now, the two of them would kick ass.

I know that doesn’t sound like much but it then led to a look back at the roller rinks of southeastern Connecticut and southwestern Rhode Island, under 21 nights at a couple of now defunct establishments and old-school top 40 radio.

What do these things have in common? Simply, they are institutions of my childhood and early teen years. So, by default, they have an automatic place saved in me. A place where I can always go and pull out some fabulous memories — just like I do about my dad. But, as I said, I’m not writing about him.

So, those of you that grew up in and around Pawcatuck, maybe you’ll appreciate some of these things.

Since I started this thought with roller rinks….let’s start there.

Remember Galaxy when it was down at the beach and Roll-On America in Groton? And of course Wes-Skate in Westerly — Friday night sock hops, anyone? Now Galaxy is in Groton, ads are on the radio and I want to take the kids there. I never could shoot the duck, and I’d probably kill myself trying now, but forget the socializing nights as teenagers, remember the birthday parties and school nights roller skating — because there were a lot.

Maple Breeze. Do I have to say much more than that? I drove by today and was saddened. I went to the auction of when they sold the place — just to see whose hands would be on the property, knowing they’d never do it justice. I went to the property auction, and, as a result, have two special things in my garage — the old clown face and the golf ball sign that says, “Don’t Bounce Me.” On a perfect summer night like tonight, it was the place to be. Mini golf, go karts, bumper boats, water slide. And friends. Always with friends. Aidan and I were mini-golfing in North Conway this week and all I could think about was wishing I had the chance to take him to the best course ever.

There was always music playing at Maple Breeze. Always the local radio station. Maybe it was Fun 102 or 102.3 The Wave. Maybe it was RI104 before it became WRX, 103.7. Or, maybe it was the grand-daddy of the day — Q105. I have an affinity for the Q since I interned there and, most recently, was on the morning show a few years ago with Franco and Nancy and then Nancy and Shawn. But, the point is, more than a few of you reading this had red and yellow Q105 bumper stickers on your bedroom door or car.

So as some of you know, I went to St. Michael School. And, not sure about you public schoolers, but whenever there was an SMS school function, we always — and I mean always — ended up at Bee Bee Dairy in Westerly for ice cream. An equally good pizza place now, but each time I go in, I think about a Bee Bee Dairy sundae.

And speaking of St. Michael’s…Saturday morning basketball league at the Pawcatuck Junior High School Gym. St. Mike’s, West Vine, West Broad, Deans Mill Green, Deans Mill Gold. Great coaches and refs and great stuff for us kids. Even cheerleaders for the girls. Every Saturday morning…two games. And the gym was packed. Or at least I remember it that way.

Nothing could be written about sports in Pawcatuck without mentioning Pawcatuck Little League. I’m a little biased. Ok, a lot biased. I practically grew up there. I have immense feelings for the place and the people who made it into arguably one of the top complexes in the country. Gibson. Knowles. Lenihan. Walsh. Crowley. Cray. Seriously, I could go on and on, but I won’t….I’ll miss too many people. It makes me crazy to go to my own Little League now and see what it is compared to what I had growing up. If I ever moved back to Pawcatuck, that would be one of the reasons. Call me crazy, but it’s true. I remember the boys team that won the district and you’d think they had won the World Series….I remember the girls teams that were good enough to win the World Series. I remember all of it. It’s just a part of me. And always will be.

Back to St. Michael’s for a bit…how about the summer festival? Another institution growing up. Are you kidding me? Charlie LoPresto and family making fritters in the corner. Bingo in the other corner. The white elephant booth. Charlie Shea calling, “put a dime down, win a dollar. put a dime down win a dollar.” My first gambling experience at the dice wheel where they’d sweep losing quarters off the board into rain gutters. The putting green contest where a prize was a free pass to Maple Breeze. The moonwalk when it was there. Pony rides on the convent lawn. And fried dough. Oh, the fried dough.

Wilcox Park and summer pops. Seriously, remember when it all started? Remember the glow sticks you’d get? Remember how early you’d have to get in the park?

And speaking of the park, remember McCrory’s nearby? You could go in and get popcorn — and everything else.

What about Besso’s on the bridge?  A must stop before every movie to get penny candy when it was still just that — a penny.

And after the movies, you’d go to McDonalds. I mean, what else would you do? Of course, if the show was at the United, you’d be happy if you could sit in the balcony.

And the United was close to China Village — a mainstay for ‘special occasion’ dining.

So many memories. So many things to talk about. I mean, I didn’t even mention Rosalinis. I didn’t mention Thanksgiving Day football. I didn’t mention Del’s Lemonade. I didn’t mention “Smiley” working at the DQ. I didn’t mention the Westerly Community Credit Union holiday hoops tournament. I didn’t mention the wall. I didn’t mention the pavillions.

It doesn’t have to be mentioned to be important. In fact, it doesn’t have to be a significant event in your life either. It just has to be something — that when you look back on it — it makes you smile.

I apologize for typos and the ‘rush’ of my writing here, but the inspiration was there to get down a few thoughts and, well, that’s just what I did.

What I really hope is that some of these memories trigger some positive thoughts for you. I am blessed to have grown up in a very cool part of the world with a lot of very cool people around me. Some of them are still around me. And some of them aren’t. And often times you don’t think enough about the ones that are still around until they are gone. But it’s when they are gone that they can sometimes have the greatest impact on you.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

There’s so much irony in this post — before even getting to our issue. First, here it is June 16 — the anniversary of your passing four years ago — and the last post on the blog is from the anniversary of Dad’s passing.

Nothing in between.

Not because I don’t have anything to say. I have a lot to say, actually. Just haven’t really been ready. Or maybe willing.

Which, as you know, is a bit weird — because I’m always willing to talk about stuff. Especially this stuff.  And the thing is, my focus has changed — and that’s a good thing. As I wrote in the past to you, I was completely and utterly consumed by your death and all things around it. I just let myself get buried in it, and I could never dig out.

But I’ve done that now. Besides, I’ve got a lot of other good stuff going on. The new job is fabulous, and I’m actually taking an interest in exercise and diet — at the same time. I know, right?

I’ve even thought, Tim, of changing the name of this blog. I love “I Got Nothin’.” Heck, I invented the damn saying. But I don’t have nothin’.

I’ve got a lot, actually — and I’m really starting to understand that. Not that I haven’t in the past. It’s just different now. I’m not really sure how to explain it, but I think you understand.

I’ve got family that loves me, friends that would do anything for me (and vice versa) and a great job. Even though the meaning of I Got Nothin’ isn’t negative, it can easily be implied that it is.

And, well, I’ve got somethin’.

Thankfully, Tim, I’ve got you. And what became an obsessiveness over your death has now been turned into something much more focused and positive.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not always easy. I mean, I’m sad today. I’m just not pissed. That’s what I used to be — but I’ve gone about a year not being that way.

And I’m proud of myself for that.

I don’t want to be negative anymore. I can’t.

We think about you all the time. The kids say a prayer for you every night. And, the prayer card from your funeral is Aidan’s bookmark. He asked me about you the other night, and I told him about you and how you passed. And then we read the prayer on the card — Bridge of Love (so good!).

And, when it thunders, it’s you and Dad up in heaven who are bowling strikes. I’ve got Aidan convinced that you are a better bowler than Dad — even though you and I both know that’s not the case.

There will be some awkward moments this week, I’m sure. Danielle, if you can believe it, graduates high school Friday night. We’re getting together Sunday — Father’s Day — to celebrate. No doubt we’ll all have you and Dad on our minds. But, the good thing is, we’ll be together that day. And you know we won’t say anything to each other (nothing has changed since you left!), but being with each other will help. There’s no doubt about that.

If we do say anything, it’ll probably be some of the classic family stories that we’ve told time and time again. And that’s a good thing. It helps. Especially because you did such goofy stuff, there’s no way you can’t laugh at some of these.

That’s the other part of this, Tim.

Stories.

Before, it was stories about what happened when you collapsed, what happened in the hospital, what songs were on, what we did or didn’t do…and just feeling sorry for myself because of the timing of you and Erin.

Now, the stories — and/or the thoughts — serve a different purpose. Holding key ones close to my heart helps to keep you there.

Where you should be.

And where you’ll always be.

And the thing is — it’s there, Tim, that you’re having an even greater impact on my life then when you were actually here. Go figure. I can’t explain it. I can try, like I have here. I just know it doesn’t always make a lot of sense.

But I also know it’s true.

So, four years later — will you accept my thanks for what you’ve done for me?

I hope so.

Love you.

Mike

It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, because I do.

But, usually, when I sit down to write this letter, everything just flows so easily — not because things have been building up, per se. Mostly because, in the past, I’ve been consumed with certain days and events that spark key reminders of your death, which happened 11 years ago today.

This time, it’s different.

And that’s a good thing.

It’s not that I’ve forgotten about today. Oh, no. On the contrary. I can still recall every detail like it was yesterday.

It’s just that I haven’t been as pre-occupied in my thoughts as I have in the past. You know, where I’d start thinking in December how miserable January is going to be. Little (er, no) things like that.

Now, I try to just keep going — remembering milestones, but not dwelling on them and not being consumed by them. And in those milestones become tributes — which is why I share this with others. Yes, this is your day. Our day. But this is also a day that I can remind others about you. Because, well, you had an impact on a number of folks, but they probably aren’t waking up today realizing what happened 11 years ago.

That’s the other part of this, Dad. While I highlight the milestones, I’m doing it because I’ve become even more comfortable with the everday remembrances — like prayers with the kids, thoughts throughout the day, wondering to myself how you would handle a situation.

That comes up a lot more now. And that’s such a good thing.

Oh, I still get sad — and a little of that will even happen today. But, the good news, Dad?

Overall, there is more happiness than sadness. Maybe happiness isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s awareness. No, that’s not it. I’ve always been aware.

What I’m trying to say, Dad, is that I’m trying to live more day-to-day with you. That if in a situation a thought of you comes up, I roll with it. I smile. I laugh. I respond. Somehow — and almost always to myself.

And, well, if a day or two — or a week — goes by and I don’t think of you, it doesn’t mean I care less or that I’ve forgotten.

I promise you that, Dad.

Because I will never forget.

What it means is that you are with me. I know that. And, even though I’ve always known that, it’s like sometimes I’ve felt I’ve had to prove it to others — and even to myself.

There’s nothing to prove, Dad.

In fact, it’s really pretty simple.

You’re my Dad. You always will be.

And while you may not be physically with me anymore, your presence in — and impact on — my life is probably greater now than it ever was.

And, I don’t know about you, Dad, but I like that.

Love,

Mike

Yet, apparently, it happens.

Hard for me to figure sometimes because of the topics I tend to write about. Let’s face it, it’s not always rainbows and flowers over here at I Got Nothin’.

A lot of it, as you know, is about the challenging things I’ve dealt with — and, well, continue to deal with.

So, that begs the question. How is it possible that some people are actually taking things out of what I’m writing about?

Well, one reason is because other people have gone through similar situations — or even worse. And in the interest of this post, much worse.

Example one is about a sometimes email friend that I discovered while writing about the death and subsequent dealings of my brother. Not easy to find someone who understands this. Except in this case, I did.

This person lost her brother in a horrific way. And she reached out and said, hey, I get it. I totally get it. She explained what she thinks about, she understood what I was thinking about. It was nice to have that connection. We emailed a few times and then it went away. How do you keep something like that going?

Well, apparently it kept going. Because without another email and without me writing for months, this person reached out when I wrote about my brother’s birthday. She knows what the feeling is like. And she just sent a note to say, hey, thinking about you today. That’s a pretty cool thing.

An amazing thing, actually.

And I am grateful that she reached out a while ago, and I’m grateful that for some reason she kept my email and made contact again. 

To her, I say thank you.

The truly most amazing thing goes back to my brother’s wake. There was someone who came that surprised me. Not in a bad way, but a good way. This person and I were friendly. We were business associates. We always had a laugh. Always had fun with whatever conversations we were having.

But, quite frankly, I didn’t expect him to be at the wake. And I don’t mean that in a negative way. I just didn’t expect it, for whatever reason.

But, again, you just never know what other people have dealt with.

So, fast forward to this week when I learn something about this person that literally made me stop doing what I was doing for like 10 minutes. Just sort of stared at the screen with what I learned. That this person could thrive the way he has after this, well, it’s beyond compare.

Simply put, this person should be an inspiration to everyone. And I had no idea. At that point, I’m like, gee, some friend I am for not even knowing this horrific event in someone’s life. Then again, I’m not sure how many people know. I mean, it’s not like dinner conversation.

So when I found out, I had to write him. I had to say something. I wasn’t sure what, but I had to do it. I had to say that I don’t know what I could ever do, but I can at least offer my support and constantly send good vibes in the direction of this person.

So what kind of response do I get back? Something pretty amazing.

The first part was:

“I was thinking of you today, Mike, and thinking back a few years — now you know why it was important for me to be there for YOU.”

Seriously?

Seriously.

I had no idea. No freaking idea. If I did, the firm handshake I got a few years ago would have become a huge hug. I mean, trust me when I say that I don’t wish anything like what this person has gone through on my worst enemy. And, yet, his focus was on me.

Mind boggling.

And then this where I get into the part about not understanding how someone can take anything of substance from what I say.

Because then he said:

“Keep writing, Mike. It makes a lot of us smile, laugh, cry, feel and reflect. You help a lot of folks….”

Those are unbelievable words to read — especially when it’s about you and your writing.

I’ll never truly understand what people take from this space and these words.

It goes back to the point that I’ve tried to make in the past. This is my space. For my thoughts. For my feelings. For my emotions.

Never at all thinking that some people would have the same or be able to relate to the same.

Yet they do.

And, if because of that, I’m able to help one person — like either of the two mentioned here — then I’m beyond grateful.

Because there’s absolutely no doubt the two of them — and countless others — have helped me.

So, to my two friends, you know my feelings about your situations. Call this our crazy bond that will always give us common ground. Thank you for your words and, more importantly, your actions.

And to anyone else that pulls anything from my words, I appreciate you coming to this space and sharing it with me, and I’m humbled that anything I say can help.

That’s fine. I’ll eventually share more about it. But, fact is, it was a great move for me. The right one at the right time — for a variety of reasons.

One of the benefits of the new job? My brother Tom works there, too. He’s been there for about 10 years. We don’t see each other every day. Heck, I can’t even remember the last time I have seen him. We don’t even talk and/or email every day.

But, it’s been fun. He knows a ton of people there and they all say good things about him (I just figure they are being polite….). He’s given me some insight into some people that’s been helpful, and he’s put up more than a few times with emails meant for me that have gone to him. Of course, I’ve put up with being called “Tom” a few times, too.

We’ve had one lunch together in the cafeteria — and we’ll have a second today.

Afterall, today is his birthday. And, well, it’s Tim’s, too. Remember, they are twins.

So today, which has, at least for the last few years, been a tough day, becomes somewhat of a good day.

I was never really sure how to deal with today — particularly how to ‘deal’ with Tom and what I can only imagine he feels on this day.

But today, we’ll have lunch. We won’t talk about anything of substance, but that’s totally fine. Key is, we’ll be there. Together. We’ll talk about work stuff or even the horrible Patriots game. Most likely other stuff, too, since Renee and the kids are coming in to have lunch with “Uncle Tom,” too.

Regardless of what the lunch topic is today, many things that are spoken will actually never be said.

And, for this tight-lipped Irish Catholic family, that’s quite alright.

Especially today.

Not much has changed since 1984.

Of the nine people in the above phot0 with me, I’ve known three of them for 35 years. That’s not a typo, but it sure looks like one.

35 years.

The others in the photo? Well, I haven’t known them as long — only 28 to 32 years.

Heck, there isn’t a woman in that picture that looks older than 30.

Who are these amazing individuals?

Elementary school classmates — three of them dating back to first grade. The rest joining along the way in either fourth, sixth or eighth grade.

We all went to St. Michael School — all for our own reasons (or, I should say, our parents’ reasons). And yet, despite the time that has separated us since eighth grade graduation in June 1984, there’s a bond that holds us together.

I used the word inviduals above, and it couldn’t be a better descriptor. Because, while we were an incredibly tight class, it was our individual spirit and personality that made us that way. In fact, I’ll never remember the words of our president on graduation night, “We are the very special class of 1984 that will never walk this way again.”

I’m sure there were some teachers that were saying, “Thank God” as they heard that line.

There were 30 of us in the class. We lost one classmate in later years to illness. Of the 29 that remain, 10 of us were able to make an impromptu gathering on a recent night to catch up, relive some memories (good and bad) and just be in the company of some amazing people.

As we sat around the table, we took turns recapping what we’ve been doing — essentially since 1984. At the end of our recap, we had to answer one question, “How did St. Michael’s prepare us for the rest of our life?”

It seemed like such an easy question at first, yet none of us could really answer it.

And, as I said earlier, this group contained some amazing individuals. Among them:

– a veteran who put his life on the line for this country and now continues to serve as a policeman, all while maintaining the youthful spirit he had back in 1984;

– another veteran who found so much good in his time and now manages the shipping and receiving operation of one of the world’s largest casinos;

– one of the most amazing spirits you’ll ever meet who did everything from work in a bakery to produce the evening news to now chasing her dream as a filmmaker;

– an author — and mom of four — you can find on Amazon who doesn’t live in this country and tells amazing stories of a life she could write a book about;

– a teacher, coach and father of three who maintains the true spirit of gentleness he’s had forever;

– a mom of three who balances cheerleading, hockey and lacrosse with her ‘real’ job — taking care of end stage cancer patients with the type of care and compassion you’d want your relatives to experience;

– a relatively new mom — who is expecting again — and who has given so much of her life to helping others through her work in the department of children and families;

– another mom (of two kids)  who completed law school after the birth of her first child — and who know works as a managing attorney for a non profit in Rhode Island specialing in housing law;

– a mom of two who returned to her roots, is now engaged, is running the books for her fiance’s business and still has that quality about her that drew everyone to her as a friend 30 years ago.

As I said, an amazing group of people. Yet not a one could truly answer the question in the way it was intended.

Yet, in hindsight, I knew how to answer it. In fact, we all did.

We didn’t have to say anything. The words were a struggle for everyone, but the actions weren’t.

Each one of us that came answered the question. In fact, we answered it by being present. By coming together to remember and reflect. By coming together as friends — friends with bonds so strong they go beyond anything life has thrown us since we thought we were experiencing real drama in 1984.

We stood by each other then. We stand by each other now.

And while we struggled to answer the question that night, the answer was in front of us the entire time.

Who is Mrs. Schwer, you ask?

She was my seventh grade teacher — simply one of the best teachers I’ve ever had. While she was my primary seventh grade teacher, she also taught me math in both sixth and eighth grades.

I went to a catholic elementary school. Small community. Close community. And, since my mom taught at the same school, I got to know the teachers a little better than most. Both a blessing and a curse, I suppose.

Fair but firm — that’s how another classmate described Mrs. Schwer. And I don’t think you could be more accurate in describing her teaching style. But this fair but firm teacher also had a funny side. Like when she’d throw an eraser across the room at a student who wasn’t paying attention.

Now, this isn’t like an old catholic school story where the eraser would be hurled across the room. It was a fun, playful way to get across a strong message — and it worked. Just ask a few of my classmates.

Mrs. Schwer did more than create memories. She preserved them.

She always had her camera around her neck, ready to capture the latest and greatest moments for any of the classes. We never really appreciated this — until graduation night. That’s when, sitting in the church, we’d see a slide show of our eight years at St. Michael’s, and there’s no question Mrs. Schwer took 90 percent of those photos.

I wonder where all those slides are today. Because I would give anything to see the slide show from my graduation back in 1984.

It’s hard to put my finger on one element of her style that made her a favorite. It was the total experience. The way she cared about her students. The way she made it fun. She was in charge. There was no question about that. But nobody was treated differently. Everyone was treated the same. Do your work, and give your best effort. That’s all she asked. It was really that simple.

That’s just one of the reasons why I have a lot of memories about St. Michael’s. A lot of memories about Mrs. Schwer.

I remember other strange things, too. Like when certain girls in our class tried to outwit her by wearing make-up (you certainly couldn’t do that at a catholic elementary school!). The girls would come in to the class and she’d inspect them before they were allowed to sit down.

I remember her hands — probably more than anything for reasons I can’t explain. Hands that were always covered with chalk, rough and full of experience. So many lesson plans done. So many blackboards. So many overhead projectors. I remember her hands.

I remember her outfits — so often in pants. So often with a turtle neck or sweater. So often with a jacket. I remember her hair. Always short. Always gray.

And I remember her smile.

Always shining.

Not even sure if anyone cares. If anyone missed it. Not sure what you’d actually miss, but you know what I mean. At least I think you do.

Giving up on blogging? No, not really. Just didn’t have much to say. Or, if I did, I didn’t really want to say it.

Last blog was about getting help. I got it.

And it’s been a good thing. Has definitely helped. And, well, that was the goal.

So what’s brought me back?

I’m not sure. But I’ve been thinking a lot about this space in recent weeks — trying to figure out exactly what I wanted to do with it. If anything.

January is typically a month filled with emotions for me, so I knew if I was coming back, this would be the time.

But, I was waiting for the right time to start. You know, just like the right time to start a diet. Well, there is no right time. When you start, you start. And that’s what matters.

So here I am. A start.

And that’s what matters.

Of course, some of you won’t be surprised by the topic that got me back.

Death.

But, it’s what I write well about. Maybe it’s not death, per se, but the emotions and the memories that come with it.

And only this time, it’s about the death of one of my favorite teachers. Lots of memories when I heard the news today.

Memories that I’m sharing with you in the next post.

And hopefully more memories and other moments that I’ll be sharing with you in the future.

Because, for now, I’m back.