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Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

I can’t say much in detail, in case this letter gets intercepted. I just don’t want you to worry; war is always dangerous, and today it just happens to be a bit more so. My unit’s training has been extensive; we’ve been preparing for this day a long time.

Yesterday, our commanding officer gave us a speech—the equivalent of a pep-talk before a game, but on a deeper level. I’ve told you he’s a serious soldier, who would die ten times for his country, and who expects us to feel likewise. Yesterday, I learned that no matter how strong the body may be, the heart cannot be trained to be strong. I’m not saying he snapped; he was austere and formal the whole way through. He was, however, very heartfelt. I wouldn’t have expected it from a man like him. Yeah, I think of him now as another human being, instead of a bronze statue come to life.

I don’t know if it was seeing this side of him, listening to my comrades talking about their families, or just the silence of midnight, but I felt I had to write to you, to tell you that everything’s going to be alright. It’s like I have an angel looking after me. Don’t worry about me, Dad; worry about Anna and Lily, who’ll be starting the new school year in a week; tell them I love them for me. Worry for Adam, and tell him I’ll be back to play basketball with him as soon as it’s finished—pass on my love to him, as well. I can’t explain why I feel so sure, but I know that whatever happens today, I’ll make it out, and I’ll come back home.

With love,

Cpl Francis C. Deluise

*

He looked over the paper after having read the letter; there were a few ragged holes in it, and places where the ink had run, possibly from rain, possibly from tears. The enclosed photo had names on the back; finally he had a face to put to the names of friends and comrades his son had mentioned in past letters, but his son’s own face was just out of the shot.

Looking up at the soldier who had delivered the message, he felt his own eyes begin to water. He was glad his daughters and other son were at school, so he would have time to deal with his grief before having to break the news to them.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Deluise.” the soldier who had delivered the message said. “He took it with him that morning, kept it close to heart.”

Those words made the ragged circular holes that aligned when the letter was folded all the more terrible.

“It was written over two weeks ago.” the soldier continues. “I found it after the fight was over, and kept it for when I’d be heading home on leave.”

The boy—boy indeed, only nineteen—lived just a few streets away, yet he had never met him before. Looking back at the photo, he identified the face as that of Cpl George McKenzie; his son had written of the younger soldier often, relaying many nights spent playing cards or fighting, under a starry sky or under fire.

“Thank you for bringing it to me, George,” he finally managed to choke out. “I’d been worried, when I heard about the attack…it lifts a bit of the burden to know for sure, but still…”

George closed his eyes; they had been close friends, and Francis’ death must have touched him just as deeply. “Good day, Mr. Deluise, and…I’m sorry.”

The young soldier left. The sound of the door closing behind him seemed to echo sadly through the empty house—empty of all life except for Francis’ heartbroken father.

He looked up to the ceiling, then down to the letter again. His eyes dwelt on the photo, and he closed his eyes. “Olivia,” he whispers the name. “My dearest…take care of him in heaven. Don’t let him stay a moment on his own. He is finally back with his family, after two years of war. He was only three when you left us; now you two can finally meet.”

His eyes flickered to the framed photo on the wall, of his long-dead wife. It had taken a decade for that wound to heal over; this one would take a little longer.

“One day at a time,” he whispered to himself, quoting a common phrase from his son’s many letters home. “Take it one day at a time.”

How did you know

Did you know how did you know how come I didn't guess couldn't guess couldn't imagine how your knocking at my door would turn into knocking at my heart my heart closed down for the winter iced over so frozen over that it missed spring entirely and not just this spring but so many lost April awakenings the sudden summer in your smile melted ice so immovable I thought it was glass or maybe it really was glass but you just you shattered it and the shards all flew away like maple keys in a wind the wind blowing through my heart that carried away all the crushed brown leaves and sad withered seeds that will never sprout the accumulation of too many cold winters and too few healing springs how that can be I don't really understand don't really care all I care about is that you brought summer back to me when you came and from now on it will be summer whenever and wherever we are and the sun will be brilliant and hot in both our hearts even in the rain.

A walk

Juliette was walking to the store getting some bread and milk. While doing so, she ran into a goat. The goat was unfriendly and thankfully fell over. Juliette said, "You left your bridge! You must be lost."
The goat replied, "Loser." and then ran away.
The end.

A Note to a Suicide Prevention Worker

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by donald Whyte

A couple of nights ago my wife and I were having a discussion about suicide and suicide prevention. A course was to be offered to the public on suicide intervention.

During this conversation my mind wandered to the Artic and the tradegy that is, up there and for that matter, around us at all times. I remembered the death of my partner’s beautiful 18-year-old daughter whom I’d know since birth and had washed dishes with; a 20-year-old student who, on occasion, with his mother’s blessing, I’d drag out of bed in the morning and take to class; a friend I’d gone to school who I’d visit in Edmonton when we were younger; a 45 year old construction colleague, with whom I’d shared different projects and sailed the Mediterranean while on vacation, plus other friends and acquaintances.

In our discussion I leaned toward the futility of it all, as it is treated by society at this point in our evolution.

The human being that relieves the single issue that pushed a person wanting to finally call it quits, has to realize the whole situation is much, much more complicated than stopping a suicide.

You’ve just had a baby, friend. 

The suicide survivor may talk the talk and walk the walk of a “normal” human but it doesn’t mean he/she’s any more content. Of course you can’t make blanket statements, unless it’s about your spouse.

A construction colleague’s nephew, a former friend of my son’s, from the north, only shot off the lower part of his face and was saved (success? failure?). After much serious counseling, a year and a half later he finished the task.

(success? failure? tragic? reality?)

This is not a personal suicide note.

  

It’s just what came from my pen when put to paper after talking with my wife and envisioning what they might have been thinking.

To Rodney, Joey, Carmen, Jobie, Jimmy, Yusapie and Siesie

 Not forgotten.

A note to a suicide prevention worker

Of course it matters.

Any attempt to make contact, matters.

I appreciate your reaching out.

Do you understand?

Do you understand where I am?

Do you know how long I’ve felt like this?

Do you know the darkness, the loneliness, the depth?

Do you have the stain of suicide, on your heart?

Because if you don’t, I will know and

your educated words will be hollow,

like a culvert in a ditch,

empty with some undisturbed silt at the bottom.

Of course you care.

Thanks!

You offer encouragement.

We can win this game.

Things always look darkest before the dawn.

And you’re convinced that things are getting better.

Because I told you that

I am feeling better.

It’s what you want to hear.

It’s what they want to hear.

Then I can get back to what I was doing,

in my abandoned prairie farmhouse

with a cold, north-west wind

whistling through the forgotten window cracks.

Of course I need a reason to live.

That's pretty deep.

Will a course on horticulture do the trick?

Or, perhaps a book.

I can pretend to be joyous and happy,

though it is difficult to do while crying.

Say,  3 weeks ? 6 months ?  more?

Because I’ve been doing this, my entire life.

I can't make it too long though.

My relationship with self is bleak.

The balance is finally at peace,

the pendulum is slowing

and of course, I’d just as soon stop.                                                                                    

dW

The Garage Door Opener

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 by donald Whyte

Operating the modified garage door opener or (the spring is broken and I gotta go)

TOOLS REQUIRED:             -steel pry bar – 5’ long. (heavy and difficult to maneuver)

                                                -Solid, 12” high strong thing, that will stand on it’s own.

                                                -Stepladder - 6'

                                                -4 pieces scrap 12” long (aprox.) 2 x 4 s.

   (if you don’t have any scrap 2 x 4 then you might
   have to buy an 8’ long piece and make some scrap.
   If you have to buy one, you’ll need a saw.
   (See, "Cutting your board in two," on pg. 43)
   Do not try and break it. You could except it's very
   messy. I should know.

Step 1 – Decide if you really do want to open the door. Studies have shown that if you
            wait an hour, the feeling will pass.

Having decided that it’s a really nice day and would be a crime if you didn’t take the bike out, proceed as follows:

Step 2 – Using the heavy steel bar, that you had to search ½hr. for and found, on the

second visit to the shed on the other side of the lot, you lug your Morley sins to the heavy, one piece, wood and steel door. Once at the door, drive the pry bar under the bottom edge to pry it up an inch. This will loosen it from the steel lip embedded in the concrete floor that is keeping you from sliding the bar completely under the door. You’ll probably damage the door doing this but that’s all part of the “things wear out” cycle. You’ll get over it.

Step 3 – Once you are able to get the pry bar under the door, take 2 pieces of 2 x 4,

place one under the pry bar to act as a fulcrum in prying the door up and one to slide under the door.  While your prying the door up you must shuffle your feet in such a manner as to position the second 2 x 4 into place under the door to keep the door a hard fought 1½" off of the floor slab.

Step 4 – the action of the door opening will increase now, due to the door being clear of

the steel lip and you being able to put the pry bar freely under the door. Take two pieces of 2 x 4 and repeat step 3, placing the pry bar on top of the two 2 x 4 s and shuffle the other two 2 x 4 s, stacked one on top of the other, until they are in place under the door. This might take more than one try because the  2 x 4 s tend to fall apart as you shuffle. It’s a little bit like playing soccer and the piano at the same time. Practice, practice, practice.

Step 5 – You will now be able to pry the door without using a fulcrum. Have on hand a

 box or milk crate or something fairly strong to support the door during this step.

 Do not use a cardboard box as this may possibly collapse causing injury and
             I can not be held responsible for such silliness during this operation. I used
             an old piece of steel column welded to a flat plate. Use you imagination.

Place about 1/3^rd of the pry bar under the door and lift the length of the bar remaining on the exterior. Once you’ve lifted the door a little higher than your box or whatever, shuffle the box under the door. A new dance step might be in order. (Remember, practice!)

For the next step, if you haven’t been eating your Wheaties, now would be a good time to go have a bowl.

Step 6 – This step started out as a “garage door opening maneuver” coined by the

Industry, the “clean and jerk”. It later evolved into a sporting competition where participants would mimic the act of opening a “sticky garage door with a broken spring” using barbells.

You should now have an approximate 12” high support under the center of the door. Be careful that you are lifting in the center of the door because if you’re not, the door might twist, causing the wheels to come off of the door and the whole assembly collapsing onto your prize whatever ( a handsome Italian motorcycle, in this case, to go with it's somewhat lacking owner. A guy's gotta have some aids to help him age gacefully) you were protecting in the garage in the first place. It always helps to have some tension and suspense in the operation otherwise you might be tempted to break into that case of beer.

Now for the last step it’s important to have your stepladder close at hand.

No, you’re not going to climb it to establish a better vantage point.  It’s your 6’ high, self- standing center support that won’t fall over, like perhaps a stick of wood might.

Now approach the door and squat in a lifting position that would do Workers Compensation proud. Grip the bottom of the door and with determination, lifting in a fluid motion, using your legs, then arms, pull the door to shoulder height level. (The Clean).  Finish by lifting the door as high as you can above your head (The Jerk). That’s for sure. This is much more difficult than the Olympic sport because the Olympians get to straighten their arms to finish the lift. You won’t able to because the door’s not that high, so with your arms half extended, holding this blasted door over your head, coax the ladder to it’s appropriate position. This is easier said than done.
 You'll probably have to rest the door on the top of your head briefly to complete the negotiation. You could tape a piece of Styrofoam to the top of your head (that would light the neighbours) but a winter tuque should suffice and be less conspicuous. If you're short you'll probably have to rest the door on your head until the blood and strength comes back to your arms and then hold the door open with one arm and shuffle your dance partner into place with the other.
You must only believe that it is possible.

There, the door is now open. You’ve got a ladder in the middle of the opening but it’s open.

This is fine if you’re only bringing a motorcycle out. If it were a car, you would have to proceed to step seven, Installing 2 x 4 supports on each side of the door. ( I haven't written it yet) You can now go for a nice, (relatively) warm, early spring ride. Once returning home and parking the bike in the garage you are faced a decision. Are you going to close the door or not?

I judged that with a choice between leaving the door open and possibly having my 2 bikes and all my mechanic tools stolen or opening the door again, I threw a blue tarp over the bike and left it open.

dW

-I’m still waiting for my 2 garage door specialists to come home and finish the job of dismantling and reassembling the spring (after a fashion).

Aluminum; 50¢ a pound

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Aluminum; 50¢ a pound                                                      by donald Whyte

The weight of the snow was crushing Leo’s lungs. He knew that this might happen. He’d purposely brought a knife with him just in case but he’d gravely underestimated the seriousness of the situation. As a sense of desperation settled in, he tried to wiggle in a way that would free any part of his body, but to no avail.

Leo had a couple of issues that were not in his favor. One, he was claustrophobic and tended to feel a good deal of discomfort in tight spaces. Indeed, he was feeling panic and the first thing he had to do was to get a grip on his thinking. Then, get control of his breathing. He could only expand his chest part way, forcing him to take frequent short puffs of air. The other issue was that he had recently had a small heart attack and if he didn’t get a grip on his mood he could quit possibly have another.

Leo was a fifty nine year old mechanic. At five foot ten he carried himself well and had been in pretty good shape until this recent heart thing.  He was not overweight and still an active guy, skiing and hockey in the winter, biking and baseball in the summer, enjoying a couple of beer with the gang afterward. Now, because of the heart thing he had to pace himself and was attending rehab at the hospital three times per week.

Pinned under the collapsed carport, Leo could only manage to take shallow breaths never catching quite enough air to quench his body’s need. He tried to move his right arm toward the knife in his back right pocket. On top of him was the thin layer of fabric that acted as the outer skin of the carport and on top of that, a couple of feet of heavy snow bearing down on his whole body. His back was on the frozen, hard cold ground. If he could retrieve the knife, he would be able to cut the fabric and dig through the snow. As it was, he couldn’t move. Leo could hear the quickened pounding of his heart move up to his head like a drum beating in the still winter air. He had to do something.

The carport, a Blizzard S-D, was a seasonal shelter to protect a car during the winter months and over the previous few weeks a lot of heavy snow had fallen. There must have been twelve inches of snow on the roof, a testament to its strength. He was supposed to have been cleaning it off each time any amount of snow had accumulated. He’d forgotten. It was a wonder it hadn’t collapsed before this. Then, after the last snowfall, it gave way. The highest point of the roof, the peak, came straight down bending the aluminum support pipes that constituted the structure of the frame like plastic straws. It now had the form of an M with the snow from the entire roof trapped in the center V. The exterior legs were still standing, creating a small passageway from front to back on either side inside the carport. A small person could almost stand upright in the five-foot tall passage. Leo was not a short person and had had to contort his body to go in. He had gone in to try and disassemble the twisted creation of nature’s might for an organized cleanup. Leo had been loosening and removing bolts. He wanted to save as much as possible of the unit to perhaps reassemble later using undamaged pieces. All was going well until he come to one bolt that seemed to be under pressure and was giving him trouble taking it out. It was at the end of the carport so Leo calculated if it comes down he could fall outward, no harm done. All of a sudden the bolt and nut snapped apart with incredible force. In the blink of an eye the whole side collapsed onto Leo without time to fall or even think about the plan.

 Leo found it difficult to calm his mind and most of the time when not thinking about his plight, he thought about Audrey, his wife with whom he’d shared a lifetime, a true soul mate. From the first time he’d laid eyes on her sharp features and answered to her quick wit, it was a, “love at first sight.” They were planning to celebrate their 30^th anniversary this coming Friday night with their kids and families. He hoped that he hadn’t messed things up with this misstep. 

He thought then of Newton and Annik (his two children) who still had a direct line to his soul. Leo’s kids had grown up now and had small children of their own.

 He thought of how he’d give his life for them but unfortunately the shoe was on the other foot. No one was aware of his predicament anyway so for now, he existed alone in his space.

A hue of darkness crept into his soul accompanied by a chill that made him shiver.

It seemed to be getting dark but then, the sun goes went down early this time of year, only meaning he’d have to wait a little longer for someone to find him.

He accepted the notion that because the kids had grown up and Audrey was an independent woman, it would be all right if he didn’t make it but that wasn’t going be the case.

 Pulling himself from his darkness, his thoughts embraced his wife, kids and new grandkids. He was going to be part of that scene and a little bit of snow wasn’t going to change that.

Leo also thought about his life’s work and his continued education to become a teacher. To be able to help someone acquire a trade was priceless. Once he had those initials after his name he could start his new career. The local trade school had already offered him a position.

He thought about his warm welcoming home, a place where he could be thoroughly entertained and engaged, the projects planned.

Leo was convinced these thoughts would be enough to keep him going during this difficult situation. Leo tried again to move his body using small repetitive movements to free his hand and make space for his body. He could only move his arm about a half an inch.

Leo just keep moving his arm back and forth, back and forth. His lungs were on fire, his heart pounded, his muscles ached. Audrey was at work in town and wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours. He wasn’t expecting anyone to come by and even if someone did he couldn’t make much of a sound because of his position under the snow.

His heart was quieting, his hand was moving, and after what seemed like hours, he had moved his arm around his body until his hand was able to unsheathe the knife.

After it was all over, it had been the mail lady who had spotted him. She had driven into the yard to have a piece of mail to Audrey Mitchell BSc. signed for and while looking around for someone she saw a hand coming out from under the carport holding an box cutter knife. It took the fire department to dig him out. An ambulance was there to take Leo to the hospital.  Audrey had been phoned and asked to come to the hospital from work. Dr. Sterbridge MD looked through Leo’s medical history, ”A teacher, that would require a BA. He always joked that mechanics should have some letters after their name.” After the initial shock had subsided, Audrey phoned the kids to arrange to pick them up from school.

While Audrey was waiting to leave she glanced through the triage window and noticed a form of Leo’s on the desk and apparently he had gotten an abbreviation after his name after all. When he arrived at the hospital he was; Leo Mitchell, DOA. Dead on Arrival.

dW