RIP Professor. Neil Peart

Im sitting at work sad as fuck. Neil Peart is gone.

My two closest friends texted me within five minutes when the news broke. Dean, who has been a lifelong Rush fan hit me with the news first. We saw Rush together on their last tour in 2015. A couple minutes later Shane, my lifelong brother in life and music, texted me the news. They both knew how I would feel. They both share a deep love of music with me and an even deeper understanding of what this loss means.

Neil Peart wasn’t just a rock drummer. He is probably considered to be the greatest drummer who ever picked up the sticks. That is a debate, considering your own preference and musical interests. But any rock musician would put him in the top of their lists of influence. His methods, perfection and skill is absolutely beyond estimation. But Neil wrote all the Rush lyrics. So those words, were influenced by all sorts of fantasy and literature, who did comparisons with history and the psyche. All of it was from him. And the lyrics had substance. It went beyond just kicking ass and chasing chicks. Its not common in rock radio to be talking about integrity and honesty in a radio hit (Spirit of the Radio). Or even breaking down a love of a motor car (Red Barchetta). Or using history as a parable for a futuristic story about humans enslaves by aliens, inspired by German concentration camps that his bandmate’s family endured (Red Sector A). Or fuck, the granddaddy of them all: rebuttal of a totalitarian society who controlled and subdued creativity per potential rebellion, and it was a comment on their current state in their industry as artists (2112).

The examples go on and on. For me, i connected with lyrics about just wanting to be the cool kid in school, when I wasn’t (Subdivisions). And knowing you have to work hard to make your dreams come true (Something for Nothing). But today, i’m thinking about Neil, his life and the life of those whom I hold dear in my life and whom I share a love of music with. Its a garden to nurture and protect (The Garden).

Im sitting at work, devastated. Ive cried a lot today. Im sitting in silence. I want to turn on some Rush from my phone, but I don’t even know where to start. I’m not sure I can right now. I know it would turn me into a blubbering mess. Its yet another thing that changes for me as I grow older. You love a musician or an actor or an artist. They die, then you come back to the work and see it in a different way. Sad that its the end and you now have a complete body of their work, knowing nothing else will come from them. Amazed and sad at their work and performance, because it means so much to you. You use their art to define you and who you are. Like when I watch Star Trek now, I cry. Because I love those folks and miss them. He same it shall be now for Rush. I won’t hear it the same way again.

But most of all, I am grateful to have lived during the lifetime of those whose work spoke to me. Im grateful they gave me their art and grateful for who they were. Neil was a great man. A monster musician. A monster writer. And a humble, quiet, peaceful person. He endured the sudden loss of his daughter to a car accident, the loss of his wife to cancer and found happiness in continuing. He leaves behind a daughter who will have to find her own way now to cope without him. And he was so humble that even when he is considered the greatest, he cared enough about his craft that he re-learned how to play with teacher Fred Gruber. He changed his style and made himself better, without ego. That shows how much he cared and wanted to continue to grow and learn. He didn’t crave the attention or the limelight, in fact he ran out of the stadium after the last cymbal crash  to avoid it. He came,  he played and he gave it all to us. The best. The greatest. And he showed us how to be a great person.

This loss is incalcuable. For me on a personal level, it is devastating. I will not be the same again. RIP Maestro. The Professor. Thank you, beyond words.

“The treasure of a life is a measure of love and respect.
The way you live, the gifts that you give.
The measure of a life is a measure of love and respect.
So hard to earn, so easily burned.
In the fullness of time,
A garden to nurture and protect.”

—The Garden. RUSH off of CLOCKWORK ANGELS. Lyrics by Neil Peart. RIP

Honoring Our Friends

Hey friends. I got a quick Friday blog for you all. I try not to post too much here but I like to keep content flowing, but mostly if I have something to say that is worthy for you to come here and read. Today, I do.

This week, my day job honored my friend Caleb ( Remember Him Here ) by planting a tree in our yard at work with a plaque baring his name and dates. We were all excused to go out there to pay tribute to him and memories of him. His wife, kids, brothers and sisters and mom and dad were there. After the reading of a poem, my boss said a few words and then opened it up to all of us to swap funny stories. Of course there were tears but also plenty of laughs. It was a great moment.

I absolutely love that my day job did this for him. There are a couple other trees in the area that are similar tributes to fallen friends before my time. I've seen other places of employment have tribute to employees who passed on as well. The local best buy has a glass case with a person's uniform and pics of him in it. The local Walmart has a plaque on the wall bearing a guy's face and dates. Its great to be at a place who actually CARES about their employees and honors them in such a way. It makes me feel very valued at a place where I work... perhaps for the first time ever in my life. And if you scroll through the last 10 years of blogs here at my site, I've had a ton of different jobs! 

I feel happy now that I got a place to go at the day job where everyday I am reminded of him. I have some things in our office that are for him. Like at my desk I got a pic of us together. And when I arrive there, I have to sit at his old desk for a couple of hours. For weeks, I didn't want to. I wouldn't even go near there. But this week it was unavoidable. But once I did, I felt better about it. We still got a couple small things that were his at the desk.

Now, I'm just grateful that I have a place to go when I walk outside to reflect on things. I haven't made it out to his grave site in Owosso. I just cannot do that yet. The tributes will keep coming. I already plan to get my first tattoo in March at Horrorhound Cincinnatti and it will be a tribute piece I am doing for him.

I was talking with his daughter and I told her and his wife about my tribute horror comic idea. I have to start on it soon. I've already pulled the reference for it and it has to be done early 2017. But I just haven't started it. Soon I will have to. But I want it to be my best. A lot rides on it for me. The book will be sold at the conventions his friend and wife go to. The money will be split between Caleb's family and Joe's family for their kids' needs. I won't see a dime from it and that is what I prefer. I just want them taken care of the best I can do with that I was given on this planet to do. If nothing else comes from my years of doing comics, me using this stuff I've learned to make something to help someone else makes it all worthwhile to me.

Anyway, I guess it goes to show that the work never stops. I keep thinking: Ok, get through this day and we can move forward. Get through this event and then we can move forward. But the events, tributes and works keep flooding in. Sometimes its tough to keep reopening old wounds. But I think sometimes in doing that, you can gain strength from the pain and turn it into something different. Like there's a part when you lose a musician, say... and you hear their songs for the first time after they are gone. And you are saddened that they are gone and this is all you have now. But after a while, you begin to celebrate what you have of them. The song starts to become "yours" and you use it to celebrate and be joyful that you even have this part of their art or their life. You use it to define you. So it shall be with Caleb and all that is still to come. The work, never ends.

I've had a few losses in my life. And every day I think about those people. Every day. This month alone marks my mother being gone 16 years. Its been a long road, this life. But every day I am thankful when I wake up. I made it another day. I get to honor my fallen loved ones again. I get to carry their spirit again, one more day.

I'm honored to do so... all the days of the rest of my life. They live on. And so shall I.

This tree will live longer than I will. The winds will not take it down. Its roots will grow deep and always remain. Nature thrives where we cannot. But nature will remember and it will live on. Never forgotten, never saddened...

...but it shall remain. It shall stand.

--T

Saying Goodbye

This morning I got the call that I knew would come. The inevitible call. My step-mom Gloria passed away peacefully in her sleep. She had been in the hospital for the last couple weeks. She fought right till the end. It was her way.

I met her under the weirdest circumstances almost fifteen years ago. I had just lost my mother to cancer. I was devestated and not ready. My dad and her connected because her and my mom were friends. Their phone conversations increased and they began to see each other as friends and then more. She had just lost her husband to cancer not too long before my mom passed. They shared grief. My dad had his twilight years that he was owed with my mom taken away from him. He had found stability and comfort in a friend and it developed.

I'm ashamed to say now, but at the time this all happened.... I wasn't ready. Things moved too fast for me. They married quickly and I didn't attend the wedding. I was asked, but I refused. I just couldn't. I was in a spot where I felt it was just too soon for me. But thankfully in time, I got over myself. I got to know her. Gloria and I had some deep, deep, deep conversations over the years. I found that I came to respect her, love her and look forward to talking to her every time she called. She was a woman of honor. She earned your respect. And she was one hell of a great cook.

She had a very hard life. She raised three kids on her own. One of them died in a tragic accident. She battled breast cancer, MS, being overweight, COPD and a slew of other health problems. Early on, she was given a dire diagnosis that she wouldn't live another two years. That two years became another 14. She was a fighter. She never gave up. Never rested. She was always up doing things and taking care of things. She loved it. And she loved my father. She said several times that she loved me as though she gave birth to me. She was there to support me in my toughest times, even most recently. I needed her and her calls to strengthen me. We spent hours on the phone together. Sometimes I hated that I unloaded all my grief onto her. But she was my great ear. She listened and gave great advice. No matter how heavy my load was, she wanted to help me carry it.

In time, I gave her a title. The most honorary title I could give another person in this life. I called her "Mom." Early on, I went out of my way to say "Dad and Gloria." Sometimes I do. But sometimes I slip and I call her mom. I sent her Mother's Day cards, Called her on that day. It was a title I felt she earned. She deserved it and my respect. And I was glad to give it to her. She's told me about some of the things she's had to deal with in her life and I cannot even fathom it. It took a lot to take her down. And even in the end, when the diagnosis was dire and she was given less than a day to live, she spat in death's face and made it even farther than that. Her will never broke. Not even slightly.

I had the privelege of going down last week and saying goodbye to her. It was a hard trip to make for a variety of reasons. But I am glad I went. I got to speak to her briefly. I could barely hear what she was saying to me. I'd make out a word here and there. But really, I didn't need to hear every word. Sometimes, you just know what needs to be said without words. I told her that I'm never gonna make another pot of homemade chicken and dumplings without thinking of her. A few years ago, she gave me her grandma's rolling pin. Thats what I make them with. The receipe she showed me. I am now a master level chef at them. When I make them and I see someone take that first bite of them and realize how awesome they are... its a great feeling. Immediately they want to know they are made. And I am glad to share it. Cause thats what you do with something good in life. You share it. Her dumplings live on. Just like her love of life. She shared it too.

She also showed me how to fry chicken. and bake a pie from scratch. She'd read my books and tell me what she thought of them. Years before I ever broke into anything with my comics she told me something. I remember the conversation well.

"You're gonna make it," She said. She'd tell me that every time I saw her. And I did. In my own way. But I never could have done it without her support and encouragement. In my art, in my life, she's always been there for me. And once again, I am faced with a harsh reality that I cannot pick up the phone and call my mom to talk to her. I've lived through this twice now. Its a shitty feeling. There are rough days ahead, especially for my dad. I feel for him so deeply, having to go through this twice now. I cannot even imagine. But he'll get through it. We all will have to. Cause thats what she woulda done. And she woulda screamed back loudly at the universe. "Come at me with what you got!" A true fighter til the end. Where every other part of her body failed and slowly faded away, the last thing she had was her heart. It never left her. And it will never leave us. And I will gladly carry it with me, always.

RIP Mom. I'll miss you.

____

The fleeting winds of time flying through each day
All the things I should've done but time just slipped away
Remember seize the day
Life goes by in the blink of an eye with so much left to say

These were the best of times, I'll miss these days
Your spirit lit my life each day

--Dream Theater "The Best of Times" 

Dec 22nd. A Poem from an upcoming book

Some of you might recall that every December, I do some posts about my mom and her passing on the 22nd. Usually each year I do something to mark the occasion and this year is no exception.

I am going to share with you a poem I wrote back then and only finished recently. Its going to be included in a book of short stories and poems that I have wrote over the years that I am hoping comes out this next year. No title yet, but I am collecting it all and writing some new material for it. I am hoping it is my first published novel of this type, and then I shall finish the other ones I have on my plate. I guess you can say I've been writing this book all my life as there's stuff back there from a long time ago!

Anyway, here is a poem that will be in the book that I started back in 2005 and finished in time for this book. and its about my mother. Enjoy:

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“Mother” (Started in 2005/Finished in 2013)

She closed her eyes

I never saw it.

Why would I want to?

She’s still alive in the back of my mind, you know?

Crocheting, napping and creating. Watching QVC. Taping her soaps.

Despite what the papers say, no, my mother never went away.

I pick up the phone to call

Then remember she’s not there.

Man I wish I could talk to her now. I need some advice. I fucked up big time. I need to hear you say it alright and it will get better. But you’re not there.

Despite what I think and say, my mother did go away.

Buildings shake and planes crash them down.

It’s a world changed and I’m glad you didn’t know about it.

Your favorite actor died yesterday. I wish I could quote you Monty Python again.

I saw an awesome movie and I thought about you again.

Despite what I want and feel, my mother did go away.

You never knew what I grew to be.

You never met my sons.

You never got to meet my wife. Man you woulda got along.

I have a tape of you. Three minutes of footage. I can’t get through watching it without tearing up. Like we did every time Spock died.

Despite what I think and say, my mother did go away.

Dad has remarried. She’s great to know.

Never tried to replace you. But your influence still lingers.

You’ll never be forgotten. You’re always brought up.

I can’t get gas anymore without getting a receipt because you told me to. And its silly to keep asking and waiting for it. But if I don’t, its like I’ve let you go finally.

Despite what I think and say, my mother did go away.

I’ve done great things.

I’ve made a great life.

I wish you coulda hung around longer to have been a part of it.

I feel robbed sometimes, but then truly blessed. Some people I know never had a mom, especially one as great as you were. And you’re with me still. I can talk to you whenever I want to. Even now, as I write this, I am .

Despite what they all say, my mother never went away.

You’re alive again. I don’t have to visit your grave.

You’re in my head. You’re in my hands.

My heart is here because you willed it into existence.

Thank you for all you did and will continue to do. I’ll unlock more about you as I go on through this life. I’ll never forget you. Not in a trillion lifetimes.

I watched “A Lion in Winter” the other day, just because of you. I saw Paul McCartney and cried, wishing I could tell you what it meant to me. You showed me the Beatles. You showed me the Godfather when I was six. Never protected me from the truth. Thanks for not bullshitting me, ever.

I’m closer to you now even though you are not here. I cannot hug you. But I can still love you.  Despite what I remember that happened, and all that came after, my mother never will go away.

--T