Another plan

How do I begin....it has been six months since my last post, and it is with trepidation that I share the events of these past months.  In my last post, I could not help but reflect upon dad in light of MLK who lived a tireless life of service and advocacy, as all of my memories of dad are in light of his life in labor of others, including his family.  I wrote of him with an air of hope and peace with no thought that more tragedy could ever befall our family again since losing dad was so profound.  But, naively, the world had another plan.  Last Tuesday, May 31st, my brother-in-law, Nick Venuto, age 40, was tragically killed on his way home from work.  He was traveling by bicycle on the same route that thousands of bicyclists travel every day on State Route 56 in San Diego, a path that he rode several times a week to and from his new employment to stay in top cycling shape.  Tony and I received the phone call from his parents at around 8:30, that evening, and we just couldn't believe the news.  Shock and denial overcame us.  We could do nothing but call others with the unbearable news, and make plans to fly to San Diego.  Tony took off the next morning to be with his family, and I stayed behind in a sort of paralysis taking care of things in Oakland before I could hop on a plane myself.

Over the next several days, real time seemed misplaced.  The family and dear friends to the family prepared for the vigil and funeral service while surrounded by an outpouring of love from friends and strangers.  Many, many tears were shed, and many wonderful memories were shared.  CBS 8 aired an amazing three-minute tribute to Nick, having interviewed his parents to learn about his cycling career and life as a devoted husband and father.  The newscaster reported from the location of the accident as well as from Nick's living room.  The day before the clip, the family and a few close friends caravaned to the site to memorialize where Nick took his last breath.  We decorated the chain-link fence that was immediately repaired after the accident, and we placed flowers all around the area where he was killed.  Bikers stopped to offer condolences and meditate on the anomaly of this event.  Back at the house, life continued to move along.  But as Tony said in his poem about Nick, we all felt it: "we can't help but expect you to appear whenever the door opens, for you to flash that smile and giving spirit, (to) join in the conversations and games the children are playing, and get pulled in all directions because everyone wants to talk to you."      

 
The shock of it is still palatable.  We are back home in Oakland but our hearts are in San Diego with the family.  At the services, I was deeply moved by those who had been impacted by Nick in life and in his death.  The accident shook people to their core.  Even the priest who performed the mass and the vigil requested to be the presiding pastor for the services because he was so moved and saddened by the accident, and he did a beautiful job.

My birthday gift

Dad's birthday gift

      I have been asking Nick where he is, in the quiet of my mind.  I am hoping that he is in a safe place surrounded by loved ones who have already passed and found one another.  He may still be close by, as all of us have experienced unusual events since his death.  A garbage can fell over by itself when there was no wind or cat to be found.  His bicycle light started flashing on it's own.  A painting was mysteriously knocked off of our wall and was found unbroken on the ground.  We hope that Nick is resting peacefully somewhere not too far because we can't bear to think of him as gone.  I have to keep thinking that those whom we can't see send us messages like these and the one dad sent me on my birthday.  I want to believe that we find pennies because dad is still watching over us.  I hope the same goes for Nick, that he remain close to his family and show them with little gestures of love that seem like events of coincidence.  My wish for him, in my heart of hearts, is that he make haste to where he needs to be since God has called him home.

Let's not forget...

"The only thing worse in the world than being talked about is not being talked about." Oscar Wilde

I wanted to write a post last weekend in honor of both my father and of Martin Luther King, Jr., whose birthday we paid tribute to as a nation, but I didn't get to it.  I thought deeply about what I wanted to say about the legacy of Dr. King and how we now pay gratitude for the enduring battles that he fought in the name of peace and equality, and I am thankful that his messages have prevailed.  I am thankful that his life triumphs were carried on by others who knew that his words were truth, and who were willing to sacrifice themselves for the good of all.  I opened my blog with this quote by Wilde because I am grateful that we continue to talk about Dr. King as a prevailing presence in the civil rights movement.  We, as a society, are still struggling with creating peace and equality among races.  Thus, we must call to mind the example of Dr. King to keep us aligned to that path, rocky as it may be.  And I don't want to stop talking about dad.

He was too much of a presence in the world not to be talked about any more.  I have not started a movement in his name, we haven't organized others to spread the word on motorcycle safety, or rallied agnostics to rejoin the church because dad was such a believer.  I have this little blog, and my family and our friends to keep him alive in our hearts and minds.  But I think more can be said about him, and it may take me a while to get it all out.  Perhaps it is only my need to keep my memories of dad alive, that he, like others who have passed, live quietly within us.  But living with a death, especially the passing of someone so significant in one's life, can not be so easily and quietly let go of, and it seems as if it shouldn't be.

My dad lived a tremendous life, and he, too, fought for equity, peace, and love as did Dr. Martin Luther King.  I am compelled by the challenge to advocate for those who have less and to give of myself for the good of others.  Dad was probably called to serve others in the special way that he did, as was Dr. King, so we can't exactly compare ourselves to them.  And there are many, many people in the world today who fight and give so that others may have and feel loved.  Grandpa lived by a more humble philosophy of just work hard and stay the course.  He didn't expect grandeur or heroism.  But dad exceeded his lessons, and strove for making more of an impact.  In the end, though, even looking back on a life that came, changed lives, then slipped away in a fleeting second, I know that we are all the same.  But what a wonderful dream to be among the few to be talked about, even when we are no longer around to change the world.