Gone but never forgotten

For the last 19 years this day has brought new meaning to my life. Prior to 2005, this was the season meant for taxes and for my sisters shared birthday on every Americans' favorite holiday. As many of you know, life tends to take over and while their birthday remains, the day after - the 16th of April has become a holiday on to its self, one where I reflect on my mortality and the loss of my dear twin. 

We all lose people we love. I'm not objectifying my loss to be more than yours or of a higher value. I would say for me I dread the lead up to this fateful day and the rush of memories and emotions that seem to play out every, single, year. Last year I celebrated Stephen's memory at a small seaside village outside of Thessaloniki. Greece. When this is published, I'll be in Spain doing the same. 

I like to think he would be supportive of this new tradition, traveling to a different location, to see and experience something new, while embracing his memory and all that he was to many in this world. I get emotional thinking about his loss and how different life might have been for not only me and my siblings, but my parents, and his fiance and unborn child. Death brings a storm and how we weather that experience, truly impacts that season of living until the next tempest arrives. 

While I take moments to honor his life, I can't help but reflect on his generosity, his carefree spirit, and the love that he shared unconditionally with so many. He was a model for me and others in that way, so much so that he reminds me still on how to take a moment and see what you can do to create positive change. 

One lesson that I took from Stephen more than any other was being generous and helping others. I'll leave you with this short story from a previous blog I wrote on my first trip to Ireland. On a side note, I still believe the trip to Dublin was more about him seeing the sights than me. I'll let you know one day when he and I meet again to compare notes and whether his soul was living vicariously through me on that holiday weekend excursion. 

From November 2022:

There was a point in the walk to Bull Island where I intended to share a short story but between the wind and the run in with the Easter Island statue, I dropped the ball entirely. My apologies. With this being the holiday season, especially with Thanksgiving underway, I can’t help but think how important giving is in all our lives. 

Many struggle this time of year, far more than other times. Some are lacking in basic necessities, others are without emotional or physical support. I don’t need to jump into war torn areas, where we know the need is great, but as I look outside the door and those I pass on a daily occurrence, I have no other recourse. 

As a teacher in New Hampshire, I saw first hand how school districts support those who don’t  have enough food, clothing, or even shelter. Here in Poland it’s a bit different. I know there is a need but I don’t know what channels they have to provide. The number of Ukrainian refugees living here clearly shows that Poland is a country that embraces a giving mentality. Many Polish families welcomed Ukrainians into their homes with open arms. They allowed them a place to stay until a suitable arrangement could be made during this trying period. Even now the country continues to support Ukraine in whatever way it reasonably can.

Back in the States, many live in a bubble. I know I did until sixteen years ago when I transitioned out of the Navy and went back into education. I remember gathering what belongings I did have in Maryland and finding to my surprise that my favorite fleece blanket was gone. I looked around the house, in every drawer, closest, and box. The unicorn blanket had been a keepsake since middle school and a favorite of mine.

I didn’t take it to South Carolina or Florida for fear of it being taken or lost, let alone knowing the blanket couldn’t be brought to boot camp or training command without an ample amount of ribbing. To say I was bummed, was a bit of an understatement. When it came up in conversation at the dinner table, I found out why the blanket was gone and how.

Stephen in his overly generous nature had given it to a homeless man in Washington DC. My first thought was you gotta be kidding me. Why did he take my favorite blanket? He didn’t donate his Grizzly Bear fleece but I guess anything that wasn’t my twin’s was fair picking. That’s exactly what happened. All said, some clothes, a second blanket I overlooked, and the unicorn fleece were all thrown into Stephen’s truck and delivered to a homeless person he saw near the Days Inn in downtown Washington.

I couldn’t be mad since it was for a good cause, but I found it fitting that my twin had only given up my belongings. I can hear his voice, “You weren’t using them.” 

From what I gathered he did this multiple times. It was sort of a funny joke in the end because Stephen had passed eight months earlier and I could hear him rationalizing his giving even without having a formal conversation. This was the same guy who after the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004 said he was changing his life because if the Sox could come back from being down 3-0, then he could do anything he set his mind to. Sadly, his own personal quest ended far too soon, but his legacy and the lessons he provided continue to this day. At the very least, I know my blanket found a good home.

In Dublin, this specific memory popped in my head after I passed an old woman. 

Let me back track, this memory didn’t show up until a few hours later on the return walk to my Airbnb. 

The first time we crossed paths, she was up against a derelict building door. She mumbled something probably in Gaelic and held up a paper cup. I waved slightly and carried on, more focused on finding Bram Stoker’s Park and his childhood home. 

A typical American, I blew by her but not fast enough to lose sight of her condition and to see the whites of her eyes. She was barely sitting up and if not for the wall, I’m not sure if she wouldn’t be on her side. How she got to that spot, I couldn’t fathom, but at that moment I also put her out of my mind.

In Riga and now here in Dublin, seeing people in hardship pulled at my heartstrings, but I knew I couldn’t give to everyone I saw. There was no way to tell who was truly in need and who was putting on a show. Maybe that’s jaded, but it’s also the truth. 

Three hours passed and I was cutting back after my tour of central Dublin. There was the old woman with the squinting eyes, still against the wall. A light blue fleece blanket was wrapped around her legs. I’m confident there wasn’t one the first time we crossed paths. 

Again she spoke and I gently shrugged and smiled. Several seconds passed and I kept walking. I felt for my wallet and wondered how much cash I had. I knew I didn’t have change and anything less than a significant bill. About that time, when I was rationalizing why I shouldn’t stop, Stephen and his unicorn snatching deeds came to mind. 

Possessed by Stephen’s memory and what was the right thing to do, I turned around. She didn’t see me coming as her back was turned. I tapped her on the shoulder. She lifted the cup and I shook it off. 

Slowly I knelt down and handed her the bill. Tears filled in her eyes and she spoke in Gaelic. I’m pretty sure I know what she said, but we’ll save that for another story. We didn’t have to exchange another word. I saw the angel looking back at me, a woman who hadn’t always been this way, who had a long life up till now, but had fallen on a rough time. 

I felt what she felt and knew this small gesture would help her more than it would me in finding another place to stuff my mouth and fill my stomach. I walked home hopeful for the old woman. More importantly, I was thankful for Stephen, his memory, and the lesson he taught me years earlier. 

In this season of Thanksgiving it doesn’t matter how much you give, but that you put yourself in the right place to help those in need, in a way that truly serves. If you happen to see a unicorn fleece blanket, do let me know. 

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An angel to many - Stephen