Schadenfreude Be Damned

I'm so done with schadenfreude, when people experience pleasure from other people's misfortune. I really am. Too many people spend too much time grounded in outrage, scarcity, and judgment, all of which allow unhappiness, loneliness, and hate to thrive. I know, I've had my share. That includes disparaging those with more money, popular entertainers, business and government leaders, those who have done us wrong in some way, and others of similar ilk. It's usually about people with power, in power, or holding power over us somehow.

And when we act that way, our children see it. Feel it. Model it. Our kids have called us out more than once about judging others while celebrating their misfortune. As parents, spouses, and friends, Amy and I have worked on this for many years; it's always a work in progress. It's also a time suck and a soul suck to live in negativity. Thankfully we've come to realize how much more energy it takes to judge and celebrate misfortune than to accept, empathize, and love -- and to let go of that which does not serve us. 

Back to the kids, though. Our children model who we are and what we do and say. And yes, there are life lessons, beliefs, morals, and more that we want our children to absorb and apply to their own lives that are never without their own bias. This becomes more evident when they are teenagers, which ours are now. We've loved watching them grow up and helping them grapple with this thing we call life. We're grateful that they reject our schadenfreude but remind them to do the same with their own. 

This doesn't mean we don't stand up, speak out, and push back on injustice and/or people we feel jeopardize our family's wellbeing and safety. Because we do. But we don't long for and celebrate the demise of those things and people we push back on. We want positive change, yes, but not to destroy that which we want to change for our betterment and the betterment of others. Just positive change, and again, through eyes of acceptance, empathy, gratitude, and love.

And it all starts at home. Recently, our family all had things about each other that bothered each other -- Bryce and Beatrice making each other feel bad about things they shouldn't have, Mom getting really mad about something she shouldn't have (and usually doesn't), and grumpy Dad getting super fussy about things he shouldn't have (and usually does). So, we spent time at dinner talking about these things, each of us sharing how we feel without judgment, really listening and hearing each other. That's no easy trick for any family with teens, including a family like ours that does work on our communication skills. 

That's why we practice communication and gratitude in our house. There's always something to be grateful for. Each other, for example. Even when we don't get along. Especially when we don't get along, because it reminds us of why acceptance, empathy, forgiveness, gratitude, and love are so important. This also applies to everything and everyone else in our lives, which is always the tricky part. Letting judgment go is grand. Schadenfreude be damned. Winston agrees (this time at least).

The Comfort of Gratitude

Every night at dinner we ask each other the same question. Well, Mom and Dad ask each other and our children the same question. 

We ask the question: "What are you grateful for today?"

Rain or shine, happy or funky, at home or traveling -- the same question every time. All four of us pause, reflect, and share something we're grateful for. It doesn't matter what it is, just that we're grateful for something. Sometimes with teens, the answer is, "Nothing." But that would be the wrong answer, because there is always something. So, sometimes in those cases, either kid may answer that it's the food they eat, or the shirt they're wearing, or something seemingly benign and unimportant. 

But it's all important, whatever it is. Just the act of being grateful about something, anything, is good for the brain, the heart, and the soul. There are many studies that have been done that correlate gratitude with wellbeing -- gratitude was most strongly correlated with personality attributes related to wellbeing, and the researchers concluded that gratitude has a unique relationship with life satisfaction.

We've embedded gratitude into our relationship since the beginning, between my wife Amy and myself, long before we had children. When our kids were old enough to understand and answer the question, we included them in the gratitude sharing and have made it a best family practice ever since.

For us, we're so grateful for our children. If you've ever read anything I've written here, you figure that out pretty quickly. Not one dinnertime sharing goes by without us sharing something about our children we're grateful for. 

Today, their level of self-awareness, with teen flaws and all, are light years ahead of where me and Amy were at their age. We're so grateful for Bryce for being who they are and organizing an upcoming LGBTQIA+ march. We're so grateful for Beatrice who is also a leader in the making, who volunteered to show 8th graders the high school campus recently, including her sibling, and who will again be a lead camp counselor at a local day camp this summer.

Recently we all went to a high school event called "Dancing with the Santa Cruz Stars: Battle of the Bands" where students and teachers alike danced in teams to supergroup music and compete for the fun of it. We went last year and it was so much fun! The gym was again packed!

This year, Beatrice is in a high school production of High School Musical, and some of her theater mates and her did a flash mob routine during one of the dance routines at the Dancing with the Santa Cruz Stars. Even more fun!

After the dance competition, I loved seeing both our kids talking and laughing with their friends. My heart danced and sang watching Bryce embrace the evening with a rare joy; they're so done with 8th grade and excited to be in high school next year. Both kids will be in choir together next year, and the high school choir teacher, known as Mr. T, won the dancing competition this year, dancing impressively with another student to a medley of Wham songs. We can't wait to see what Beatrice and Bryce do in choir next year, especially after Bryce's inspirational solos the 8th talent show.

We're grateful that both of our kids push themselves out of their own comfort zones, which is easier for Beatrice, but not so much for Bryce. They both do it nonetheless, and whether they want to admit it or not, are both grateful for improving their own wellbeing and embracing life. 

Blessings to us all. We are all but fragile beings and the comfort of gratitude strengthens our resolve to live and to thrive in the face of anything. 

#BhivePower works.

Celebrate the Best of Us

Am I forever unredeemable?
Can I ever overcome all the wrongs I'm running from?
Can my worst be left behind
And do I deserve to find
There's a soul who could see any good in me?
Or will I only ever be
Unredeemable?

–Unredeemable, from Spirited

Spirited is one of my favorite Christmas movies today. Only two years old, it stars Will Ferrell and Ryan Reynolds and is an over-the-top A Christmas Carol twist of a musical comedy. I love it. Our kids like it. My wife Amy does not. At least, not all the singing and dancing parts. Actually, none of the singing and dancing parts. 

She's not a musical fan, but she kind of likes the story. That one along with many other holiday movies we watch this time of year: predictable campy comedies and melodramatic classics and heartfelt uplifters. For us anyway. The Holiday, Elf, Christmas Vacation, Just Friends, Four Christmases, Noelle, When Harry Met Sally, The Family Man (still my favorite), and It's a Wonderful Life (always a favorite). There are others as well, but these are the mainstays. And yes, Die Hard is a Christmas movie.

However, A Christmas Carol isn't one of my favorites, whether the Charles Dickens' novel or any of the movie adaptations over the years. I get the story. I like the story. Just not a favorite.

But the theme of it -- that even the worst human is redeemable and can be inspired to find the good inside others and inspire others to do the same -- has always resonated with me. 

Too bad the worst humans today get the most media visibility and inspire too many others to do their worst as well, including our children and grandchildren. Our own children ask us all the time now why so many people celebrate and support those who embrace the worst qualities of humanity. That's always a super-tough one to answer, and it gets harder to answer as our kids get older. 

Because we're all a little unredeemable, aren't we? That's what makes us human (and why we watch all those campy holiday movies each year). No matter what religious or spiritual belief system and/or societal norms we choose to live by, or try to live by, or pretend to live by, most of us have made poor choices and done bad things we're not proud of. 

Some of those have seen the light of day and hopefully we've repented, while others are secrets buried deep inside the dark wells of our hearts. Mercy me, that seems to be the plot of nearly every contemporary dark novel and movie adaptation in recent memory. 

Our kids want to know about our poor choices and bad things we're not proud of; they want to understand who we were, those choices we've made in our lives, and why we became who we are today as they're becoming who they are tomorrow. Of course, we don't tell them everything, but we do want them to understand the why of our choices and what those repercussions were, and what they could be today or tomorrow if they made them.

When they ask, we also talk openly about the worst of humanity with our kids now that they're older, while emphasizing the best of humanity when they don't. We know we shouldn't be defined by the worst things we've done, as long as we've worked hard to be good people and do good things for ourselves and others. 

Are we ever unconditionally selfless, empathetic, and loving with others throughout our lifetimes, no matter what they've done? For most of us, no. It's more complicated and nuanced for most humans, and the worst-of-us recidivism is unfortunately up these days. But instead of wallowing in all that, something I struggled with in my youth, I only need to look at my wife and children to know that we work hard to celebrate the best of us. It's not a Dickens' novel, or a spirited modern day musical (of which Amy is thankful), but it is a story of redemption I continue to write with gratitude. 

Our Learning Quests

Like so many other families this year, my wife Amy and I worked from home, our daughters Beatrice and Bryce schooled from home, and our entire family lived everything from home for nearly 10 months of 2020. And as COVID-19 raged around us, and polarized people raged at each other, we did things that we loved. 

We not only became closer as a family, of which we're grateful, we expanded our personal interests and developed new habits that fueled our learning and creativity. 

For Amy, it's putting puzzles together. The love of puzzles isn't new to her, and she rekindled it pre-pandemic. But once shelter-in-place orders started, she began to buy puzzles at Goodwill. At the end of each day of working and schooling from home, she pulls out the latest puzzle she'd started, spread out over a big piece of cardboard, and get to identifying the myriad of interlocking pieces. When she's nearly done with a puzzle, she lets the girls place the last few pieces. Then she puts them all back in the box and gives them back to Goodwill for someone else to buy. 

For the girls, it's doing art, specifically drawing with colored pens and pencils. This isn't new to them either, but there's been of surge of creativity between the two of them. Each girls has a unique artistic eye within their developing talents. Bryce loves Japanese anime and a games called Gacha Life, Adopt Me and Among Us, which influences much of her art of late. Beatrice likes the same games, but not anime as much, and is also big graphic novel fan. Both girls like reading graphic novels actually, with Bryce enjoying text chapter books more than Bea. Both girls also draw what they like from looking at other images and from memory, and their interpretations are quite memorable. Like Bea's Rudolph from the stop-motion animated show from 1964 and her recent sunset interpretation. She's now working on a creepy graphic novel, a genre and style she loves.

As for me, well, it's been about the drums this year. I've been an air drummer since I was first introduced to rock and roll by mother, but I never took lessons, never owned a drum set, and never played in junior high or high school. In the early 1990's, before I met Amy, I remember going to a music store with my ex and buying a practice pad with a stand and some drumming lesson books. That lasted about a week and then they were shoved into a closet never to be seen from again. Before Bea was born, I started up again with another practice pad, a pair of drumsticks and foot pedals for footwork practice. I had some new printed lessons and a subscription to Modern Drummer magazine as well. That lasted a few months. Then about five years ago Amy bought me an electronic kit, and I taught myself drumming rudiments and took some online lessons, more than I had ever done before. But then the kit got moved around due to house changes and my busy work and travel schedule killed any momentum I had finally established.

2020 started off with the death of my favorite drummer, lyricist and writer, Neil Peart. Shortly after that, I carved out a new location in the garage, set up my drums again, and restarted the video lessons. Now the fire is more real than ever, and I practice nearly every night. Santa even stopped by early this year and left me an upgraded electronic kit, so I can't stop now. I won't stop now. 

The puzzle that Amy completed last Christmas, before the global pandemic changed our worlds forever, was called "The Quest For Knowledge." It's now framed and hangs in our house. How prescient and appropriate for our family this year, and how grateful we are to be able to do the things we love to do. The things that keep our synapses firing and brains rewiring -- the puzzles, the art and the drumming that drive all our learning quests. 

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

The Primary Pooper Scoopers

The Little Wooden Reindeer

A Well-Being Worth Practicing

A Grateful Tree

It's This Moment That Matters

The Bank of Mom and Dad

Something to Celebrate

The Haunted Garden

Mapping the Way

Mask Up First For Your Families

All Because of One Day on the Beach

Awash in Love and Hope

The Building Blocks of Healthy Lives

The Part Where All Lives Matter

The Clarity Bridge for Homelessness

Stars to Shine

Loving Community Wide Shots Abound

A Foundation Worth Saving

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

Help Prevent the Back-to-School Bullying

Memories Now and to Come

Especially Our Kids

This Old "No" Guy Jedi

Choose Eyes of Love

The Morning Work

We Shared Blue Genes

Agree to Disintegration

The Teacher Parade

All These Things Can Lead To Grace

Our Freedom Is Always Welcome

A Well of Strength

This Bad History

No Shirts, No Shoes, No Problem

The Iceberg Underneath

The Healing Hope We Can Give

Donate Your Date Nights and Help Feed Families

About All The Things

Dad, Our Family's Computer Guy

The Newest Normal

Where Our Troubles Are All The Same

This Is The Life

When There's Nowhere to Go

Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To 

A Well-Being Worth Practicing

I want to be a grateful tree
unending love
for all who pass
to stop and smile
and then after awhile
embrace their grace within

–A Grateful Tree

Sunset by Beatrice

Even though we weren't together, we're still grateful. This was the first time in seven years we didn't go to my sister's house for Thanksgiving due to COVID-19. That tradition started after our parents passed away. We knew going into this holiday year that the pandemic reality would preempt our gathering. Instead, we fixed our own Thanksgiving meal and were grateful from afar.

This played out throughout America, with families choosing to not gather, and yet, there were many others who did choose to travel and gather. No judgment, just choices we all made. According to the latest numbers, nearly 50 people are dying each hour and the rate of infection is probably closer to 8 times higher. 

A few weeks ago our youngest Bryce didn't feel well. We were worried, so my wife Amy called the doctor, who then said we should get Bryce tested for coronavirus. We had been practicing safety protocols ourselves and with our friend pod (wearing masks, social distancing, etc.), but then we ran a haunted garden with our pod, where more people than we thought came to walk through it. Plus, earlier that same day on Halloween, we went to the Beach Boardwalk, which I'm sure was grateful to be open, as was the families with kids who came, all masked up, even if it was only the food vendors giving away candy to the kids. 

Thankfully Bryce was negative. We were grateful. 

But, we would've been grateful even if she was positive, despite all the things we would've had to do after the fact, including getting sick ourselves. Because that's what we practice every day: gratitude. It was a long time coming for me; I had a hard time with happy even after Amy and I were together. 

For years now, especially after we had our daughters, we've been practicing mindfulness and gratitude. And for the past two years we've had, and continue to have, weekly family meetings where we share our compliments, appreciation, things we notice about each other, and what we're grateful for. Plus, every night at dinner we share what we're grateful for. It's our way of saying grace. 

Amy and I know that practicing gratitude can help improve health and emotional and spiritual well-being. We try to live that way every day. That was reinforced to us when we recently listened to a Hidden Brain podcast about the power of gratitude. Towards the end of the podcast, the psychologist who was being interviewed quote famed sociologist Georg Simmel.

"Gratitude is the moral memory of mankind."

And womenkind, of course. Without gratitude, as well as kindness and empathy, we are lost. We all have the capacity to overcome any kind of adversity and to thrive, even when we feel like we can't. It's up to the adults in the room to be mindful of this and teach our children in kind to be kind and to be grateful, because practicing gratitude often encourages others to do the same. That's a well-being worth practicing.

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

A Grateful Tree

It's This Moment That Matters

The Bank of Mom and Dad

Something to Celebrate

The Haunted Garden

Mapping the Way

Mask Up First For Your Families

All Because of One Day on the Beach

Awash in Love and Hope

The Building Blocks of Healthy Lives

The Part Where All Lives Matter

The Clarity Bridge for Homelessness

Stars to Shine

Loving Community Wide Shots Abound

A Foundation Worth Saving

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

Help Prevent the Back-to-School Bullying

Memories Now and to Come

Especially Our Kids

This Old "No" Guy Jedi

Choose Eyes of Love

The Morning Work

We Shared Blue Genes

Agree to Disintegration

The Teacher Parade

All These Things Can Lead To Grace

Our Freedom Is Always Welcome

A Well of Strength

This Bad History

No Shirts, No Shoes, No Problem

The Iceberg Underneath

The Healing Hope We Can Give

Donate Your Date Nights and Help Feed Families

About All The Things

Dad, Our Family's Computer Guy

The Newest Normal

Where Our Troubles Are All The Same

This Is The Life

When There's Nowhere to Go

Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To 

Love Letters

"Hold on, nothing's the same
Tell me why I feel this way
Life wouldn't be worth living without you..."

–Santana, Hold On

I wasn't sure what I did wrong. But I did something, because she was mad.

"Dad, why don't you listen to me the first time!"

That was Beatrice, our oldest daughter.

"Rude, Bea-Bea. Just rude."

That was Bryce, our youngest daughter.

I had picked them both up from school after their musical theater class where they were rehearsing a Frozen Sing-Along for Christmas.

"Dad, didn't you hear me the first time!"

Ah, right. I didn't listen to her. That's what I did wrong. Thinking about work after I had asked her about her day.

"Sorry, Bea. Just tell me again, please."

Silence.

"Come one, Bea. Just tell Dad," said Bryce.

Bryce has become my champion of late, and Beatrice champions Mom.

"I'll just wait and tell Mom," Bea said.

"Beatrice, just tell me again. I'm listening."

Silence. And then:

"Okay. Today I..."

Thinking about work again. So much to do. Big year coming in 2020.

"Dad, did you hear me?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Say that again."

"Dad! C'mon! You're not listening to me!"

"Dad, you need to listen to Beatrice."

Even Bryce couldn't have my back this time.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Please, tell me again."

Silence. Bea wouldn't talk with me the rest of the way home. Bryce tried to play with her, but got no response.

The ride home was less than 10 minutes, but the last few minutes were forever, because I did feel bad that I had disappointed. I do try to be present for my kids and sometimes it doesn't always work out that way. Sometimes the adulting in progress sweeps you away by worrying about the past and the future. Like driving your kids home, when you have to check the rearview mirror and keep looking forward in order to get everyone home safely. That shouldn't mean you compromise the present by not being present, but until a car is fully robotic and self-driving, then you definitely have to watch the road.

Still, no excuse for not listening to my daughter when I'm thinking about other things as well as driving. Productive multitasking may not be a scientific reality, but the idea of it is still a parental one. We got home and Beatrice fumed for awhile, not willing to talk about much, even with Mom. We all ate dinner together and then shortly after that, when Bryce and Mom went upstairs, Beatrice walked over to me.

"I'm sorry I was mad, Dad," she said. "I'm thankful for you."

She gave me a hug. My heart swelled and lifted me into the air. Sometimes this little human is mature beyond her years with an empathic awareness that so many adults woefully lack today.

"Thank you, Beatrice. I'm sorry I didn't listen. I'm grateful for you."

In fact, we've all been practicing purposeful thankfulness for well over a year now, where each week we make time to share compliments, gratitude, appreciation and "noticing" -- something nice we notice about each other and/or ourselves that we share as a family. Where we detach from our egos and empower the now again of mutual respect, love and understanding. We also write them down in a family journal as a remembrance of our gratitude.

Nothing will ever be the same again today or tomorrow or the next day. I will no doubt not listen again to my girls, and we all will have future misunderstandings, and yet, each and every day with my family is a love letter I mail to my heart, open with glee, and read again and again and again. Amen.

I am so grateful for them.

The Family Shop Talk Time

"I'm thankful for mommy, daddy, Beatrice...and...the shelf elves," said Bryce, giggling when she said shelf elves.

This was the kick-off of yet another weekly family meeting (what we lovingly call The Family Bhive Club), where we share compliments, gratitude, appreciation and "noticing" -- something nice we notice about each other and/or ourselves that we share as a family, like being brave in everyday situations. I'm the scribe who keeps all our meeting notes in a journal and the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) and the girls write the agenda each week on a small dry-erase board.

The Mama started these family meetings back at the end of October as a way for us to take the time to talk family shop each week about the above and other things such as:

• practicing safety skills wherever we're at, 
• homework that needs work like math and/or reading, 
• everyday self-care, 
• chores that need to get done for the allowance monies, 
• the distributing of the allowance monies (which are always asked for way before we're done with the family meeting), 
• the giving of the monies and/or related volunteering, 
• what's coming on the calendar for the week ahead for all of us, 
• and of course, at this time of the year, talking about the Christmastime -- 
• all of which we empower the girls to help with solutions.

"Christmas!" both girls will shout.

Then both girls will rattle off something new they want, more than something actually -- all the things actually -- and then they bask in the afterglow of sugar-plum want.

Then we wrap up the meeting with open sharing about whatever else is on our minds and then it's fun time. Each week fun time rotates to one of us to choose what the fun time will actually be. Usually it's in the form of playing a game together like Monopoly, Sleeping Queens, HeadBanz, etc.

No matter what's on the family meeting agenda, each one starts with the compliments, gratitude, appreciation and the noticing. It's our family holy day where we not only share with each other the reasons of why we're thankful about each other and others outsides our family, but also what we're thankful for about ourselves. This to ensure at a minimum a modicum of self-worth and love in such a sometimes hateful, self-loathing world.

For us, this is the most important of the family shop talk time, and I'm so thankful for these moments that bind us together and empower each other.

Stink. Stank. Stunk.

This Hopeful Romantic I Am

"If only I don't bend and break
I'll meet you on the other side
I'll meet you in the light
If only I don't suffocate
I'll meet you in the morning when you wait..."

-Keane, Bend and Break

It was just another game of Life with our girls. We got the game for them at Christmas and it was an instant hit, something the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) and I played as children.

This time I was the yellow car and I took the college route and became a secret agent, making $100,000 per year. And when I landed on buying my first house, I bought a houseboat. Super cool.

The Mama arrived at the get-married "stop" first.

"I'm going to marry a girl this time," she said.

"You can marry a girl?" our oldest Beatrice asked.

"Yes," I said. "And boys can marry boys."

"Yes, I knew that," said Bryce, always wanting to be the one in the know.

When I arrived at the get-married "stop", I said, "And I'll marry another man, please."

"You can marry a boy?" Bea asked.

"Yes, he can," answered Bryce before I could.

We went on with Life, spinning the wheel and moving our cars forward. When it came time to have a family or not, we all chose having children.

"How can you have children?" Bea asked us both, having a basic understanding of biology since the Mama had already had an early "talk" with her because she had asked specifically where babies came from.

"Because we can adopt children," the Mama said.

"Yes, you can adopt them," Bryce echoed.

Life moved on and we played as long as our attention spans held out, just like we do every time we play the game, and each time our lives having their own unique experiences and nuance along the way.

Then we were off outside in between the rain, letting the girls ride their bike (Bryce) and scooter (Beatrice) down the small hill above us super fast to the street below, of course watching out for cars coming down our one way street, because we're good parents like that, and because life moves pretty fast, a Ferris Bueller reference that will be lost to future generations (unless they watch the movie, which our girls will someday).

I looked at the Mama and loved her more in that moment than ever before. I've found that, over time, I fall in love with her over and over again, something that continuously reinforces the spiritual connection we share, and the expanding interconnected growth we've experienced for over 20 years now.

We both share a greater belief in a spiritual plane that interconnects everyone and every other living thing -- me believing more in a benevolent God (force) than her, but she's coming around. We've been talking a lot more about God of late, listening to Oprah's Super Soul Sundays and taking the non-traditional Christian path to our "two halves make two wholes" spiritual truths.

I grew up an evangelical Christian, the Mama did not, and even though we've never seen eye-to-eye on how to approach the subject, we are now talking about what God means to us with the girls, and the concepts of love, gratitude, acceptance, forgiveness, mindfulness and much more. Certainly not my mother and father's conservative Christianity, but it still conveys the essence of that progressive New Testament love, the one where we are all each other's brothers and sisters, regardless of race or gender or social status.

We also believe we've been proverbial soulmates for many lifetimes, something that's not everyone's cup of relationship tea. It's our cup of tea though, and we've come and gone out of each other lives over a millennium (or more), sometimes as husband and wife, and maybe other times in different relationships as different races, genders and having varying social statuses, helping each other and empowering our spiritual growth.

Shake your skeptical head if you must, but mercy me, I've had a lot of crap to work through life after life (maybe I was really a secret agent, too). We've made it this far...and sometimes I daydream about what may happen later in our lives this time...

There's a song by a band named Keane called "Bend and Break" that was released in 2004, the same year the movie The Notebook was released (we did read the book first). While the song isn't a traditional love song, not like the many others the Mama and I share, the movie is heart-wrenching love story about a husband reading their life journals to his wife who suffers from dementia.

Ever since then, and every time I hear that Keane song, I have this recurring daydream about 30 years from now when the Mama suffers from dementia (just a fantastical daydream folks), and the spiritual visions I have, that if I get her to the place we met that one day on the beach 50 years earlier, where she came up to me and said, "So, do you always come here alone?" -- that she would remember the first moment of us (this time) and all that we've shared together, and only then could we move on to the next life together.

Our girls in this fantasy future, now women, one married to another woman and the other to a man, and both with children of their own (it doesn't matter who is who in the daydream; the iteration changes every time) -- they both believe that I'm losing my own mind the more I rant about taking the Mama to the beach, that I can save her and the memory of us.

Then a rare but fierce October storm makes landfall on the anniversary of the day we met (and the same day when we were married in 2003), and the storm surge has swamped the beach where we met. I sneak out from my eldest daughter's house, who I live with at that point, and I get the Mama from her assisted-care facility. I then bring her to the cliff above where we met on the beach all those years ago. The sky is bruised with heavy clouds and the wind howls and the rain pelts us like water bullets. The Mama looks at me for the first time in years and smiles. I start down the rickety stairs to the beach below.

Our girls discover what I've done and call the police and there's a climatic scene of sirens and flashing lights atop the cliff along West Cliff Drive. Someone is shouting from a bullhorn.

"Dad! Come back here! Don't go down there! You'll drown!"

It's our daughters. We can barely hear them now that I'm near the bottom of stairs and the wind and rain are so loud. The beach is being washed away over and over again with crashing waves. I struggle to stand straight while carrying the Mama.

"Dad! Don't! Please stop!"

"Mr. Grossman, please stop where you are and we will come get you!" shouts someone else from the bullhorn.

I hesitate, but I have to move on, because I know it's the only way she'll remember it all; all our lives together and our future that relies on this one seemingly suicidal action; this redemptive baptism I'm compelled to give us both to keep our love alive; this hopeful romantic I am.

A wave washes back from the spot on the cold sand where we met and it begins to glow gold like the banished sun above. The Mama hold me tighter and smiles again. The glowing gold spot grows bigger and bigger, swamping us like us like the frigid sea, but it's more warm and inviting, almost hot like the day we met.

"So, do you always come here alone?" the Mama asks, her voice again vibrant and young.

"Yes, yes I do," I answer. "Except this time I brought a bunch of people with me." I nodded my head to the cliff above.

Her eyes fill with tears and then the rain washes them away. "Damn, Sweetie, you're supposed to be the crier."

"I know. I still am."

"What about the girls?"

"They'll be fine, Mama. You did good."

"So did you."

"Yeah, but I certainly wasn't perfect."

"No, you weren't."

"Hey, c'mon."

"Just kidding, neither was I."

"Well, what do you say -- let's do it again."

"Yes, let's do it."

And with that, I step into the light with the love of my life.

Happy Birthday, Mama! I love you!

The Lightness of Us All

"Memory strumming at the heart of a moving picture..."

-Rush, Workin' Them Angels

The very weight of her unsettled me. She was small and light in life, with creamy brown fur and a streak of white between her eyes and down her nose.

But death brings on a heavier mass. Once the final breath and heartbeat flees the body, what's left increases in gravity dramatically, affecting everyone around it. I tried to wrap her in a cloth towel, and although I thought I could do it quickly, I struggled with it for over five minutes.

"I need help," I told the Mama, what I affectionately call my wife.

"What can I do?" she asked.

"I got her," I said, finally wrapping up one of our two pet guinea pigs that had died earlier that morning.

The guinea pig that died was three years old and it had been her birthday. She didn't know that, but our girls did. Our youngest Bryce cried and our oldest Beatrice kept it together, telling her sister it would be okay. We knew that Dandelion Clover, the full name of the guinea pig that died, was very sick and it escalated quickly over a period of 24 hours. On average guinea pigs have a lifespan of four to eight years, but poor little Dande as we called her wouldn't make it that far.

Earlier that morning we sat with Bea and Bryce and explained to them that Dande was very ill and would probably not make it through the day. Bryce cried and Bea eyes and mouth twitched a little. We continued that we could either bury Dande in the backyard, or that I would take her away to be "taken care of."

"I don't want to bury her," Bryce said in between tears.

"Do you want Daddy to take care of her then when it happens?" the Mama asked.

The girls both nodded. Bryce kept crying. Bryce and I are the criers of the family, that' for sure. I didn't cry then, but got choked up watching her.

The Mama ran some errands and I worked on my laptop while the girls played. What I didn't know was that sometime during the next hour, Dande had taken her last steps in the cage, fallen over and died. What I also didn't know was that Beatrice saw it happen, but didn't say a word to me or her sister, not until the Mama got back home and we announced that it happened.

I put Dandelion's wrapped, lifeless little body into a ziplock and carried her out into the garage. Her weight seemed to increase with every step I took. "Taken care of" can mean many things to many people, and for us it literally meant disposing of the dead pet without burying her in the backyard, and without sharing the details with your kids. They thought I would take Dande to the vet to be taken care of, and that's one of those parental lies we were fine to live with.

The girls loved the guinea pigs (and still love the other one we have that is still alive and squeaking). They don't fetch things, or chase balls of string, or laser pen lights for that matter (and trust me, our girls have tried), but they are cuddly, squeaky eating machines. And they're fun to dress up, especially when the girls dressed them up as Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader right before Christmas.

Prior to the getting the guinea pigs last March, we had had two pet fish in two years. The first real pet the girls ever had, named Jumpy Tree Summer, was a handsome Betta that lived for over a year and half before he passed. We'd been at my sisters for Thanksgiving, and prior to leaving Jumpy hadn't been looking so good. Lethargic and listing, all his usual deep burgundy flowing fins were fraying and he looked more and more sickly. Then he'd stopped eating. We were only going to be gone for a few days, but just weren't sure he'd make it.

Which he didn't. The Mama saw him floating as soon checked out the tank, and while I continued to unload the car from our trip and the girls were playing in the living room, she took care of him.

And before we had Beatrice and Bryce, we had three pets between the Mama and me -- I had an adopted black and white Shih Tzu named Joshua, and the Mama had two cats from the same litter, a black and white boy named Charlie and a Calico girl named Chelsea. All three lived pretty long lives, with Chelsea living to be 22 years old. She was still living after Bryce was born and Beatrice was constantly pulling Chelsea's tail, something no cat ever likes. But in the end we had to put all three to sleep, an emotionally draining experience for anyone who's ever had to say goodbye to a beloved pet. Each time it was me taking them to the vet's office, holding them in the cold, white vet examining room, holding them in their final moments, balling my eyes out.

The gravity of it all crushes me every single time. Because they are like family, and no one likes to lose a member of the family. Our other guinea pig, Sweetheart Watermelon, the mother of Dande, is much bigger and so far seems to be healthier than her daughter was. The girls held her fast in their laps after I took Dande away.

In the garage the weight of Dande increased exponentially. I remembered when I had to carry my father to the bathroom the week before he died, his frail body still buoyed by a little lightness he had left. I remembered the weight of my mother's arm as I held it the moment the machines keeping her alive were turned off. And then I remembered another heaviness, that of holding my own children the night I had to go to the hospital, not sure what would happen next.

But I didn't cry then. No, I didn't cry until my next weekly beach workout at Natural Bridges State Beach. As soon as I saw one of the last of the natural bridges, formed millions of years ago, the local iconic image I get to see each and every week; my spiritual anchor and gateway to God; that's when I cried. I was full of intention and gratitude, thankful to be alive, thankful to make a difference, thankful for my family, and even thankful for a fat squeaky guinea pig called Sweetheart Watermelon, one that may get another new friend at some point.

God bless the lightness of us all.