Living the good life or die trying!

"if i'm having a bad day...and i feel the need to cry.
i want for you to be there, and wipe the tears from my eyes.
I wanna knooooowwwww looooooooovvvve.....
i'm willing to try love.

i want to see the sun shinning...through the pouring rain.
i wanna feel your sweet kiss, on the side of my face.
I wanna knooooowwwww looooooooovvvve...
i'm willing to try love.

i wanna hear the birds singing... in my ear for a while.
i wanna feel my heart beat fast.... when i see you smile.
I wanna knooooowwwww looooooooovvvve....
i'm willing to try love.

well can you make love... something i can feel.
something so beautiful, that it wouldn't seem real.
I wanna knoooooooowwwwwww loooooovvee....
i'm willing to try love.
yeaahhhaaa....

i wanna knoooowww loooooveeeee....
i'm willing to try love
yeaahhhaaa."

That song moved my heat and soul before I fell in love.  Now....well, yeah...it's just like it says!  It's so beautiful, it doesn't seem real!

I just received this email from a friend, and found it rather entertaining.  Just wanted to share these interesting facts!  Course, I could be opening up a can of worms here, as religion is a rather touchy subject with people.  But it also a sparks some interesting conversation.  And just so you know...I do believe in God, I just find it rather difficult to accept that I will be forever condemned because I have found love with another human being. 

"The Bible contains six admonishments to homosexuals and 362
admonishments to heterosexuals.
That doesn't mean that God doesn't love heterosexuals. It's just that
they need more supervision."



Dear Religious Fundamentalist:

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I
have learned a great deal from your self righteous speeches, and try to share that
knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend
the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that
Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate.

I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the other
specific laws and how to follow them.

1. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a
pleasing odor for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbors.
They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in
Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair
price for her?

3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in
her period of menstrual cleanliness - Lev.15:19-24. The problem is,
how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offence.

4. Lev. 25:44 states that I may indeed possess slaves, both male and
female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend
of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can
you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?

5. I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus
35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated
to kill him myself?

6. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an
abomination - Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than
homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this?

7. Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I
have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading
glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room
here?

8. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair
around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev.
19:27. How should they die?

9. I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes
me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

10. My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev. 19:19 by planting two
different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing
garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester
blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really
necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town
together to stone them? - Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to
death at a private family affair like we do with people who sleep with
their in-laws? (Lev.20:14)

I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident
you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is
eternal and unchanging.

Your devoted disciple and adoring fan,
Jack

So I cried like I'd never cried before.  I felt pain that I'd never felt before.  And I never thought I'd make it through that aweful time.  But then...as it always does, life went on.  And I went on.  I realized that I wasn't going to die.  In fact, I actually found myself having fun.  For the first time in forever, I was having fun.  I was enjoying being me.  I wasn't worried about who I was suppose to be or how I was suppose to act.  I was me.  For the first time in a long time, I was just me being me.  I had found my strength again and god it felt good! 

I had forgotten who I was.  I had forgotten that I actually liked me.  I became so wrapped up in the world of another that I lost me.  It was my own fault really.  It was of my own choosing.  I guess I thought that is what love was all about.  How mistaken was I, as it only helped to kill the love that I once shared.

But now...I've healed.  I've moved on.  I am stronger, wiser, and healthier.  And most importantly, I'm no longer afraid.  I have found myself and I even found love again.  And this time it's so very different.  I never knew that this kind of love existed.  It's amazing and she is incredible.  She is showing me the kind of love I've always dreamed of.  The kind of love I thought I'd never have.  The kind of love I really didn't think existed, except maybe in the movies.

Thank you Baby, for loving me the way that you do.  For accepting me for me.  And for allowing me to love you the way that I do.   Last night you put my hand on your heart and said it was mine.  You also have my heart in your hands.  I will be good to it, I promise, as I know you will be good to mine.  I trust you completely. 

I love you completely.  

i've never felt so much pain in my entire life.  i still can't believe that this is my life now.  i can't believe that all the promises to love each other forever have faded.  i can't believe our love is dead, but it is.  it's just so damn hard to admit.  11 years is a long time.  and it's hard to close that chapter.  but we've been pretending for too long now.  fooling ourselves that we were good and things were right.  but they were not.  they haven't been for a very long time.

you are my best friend, and that's what makes this so hard.  you broke my heart and i think it will never heal again.   when you left me, i thought i would die.  and a part of me did die.  you introduced me to the most intense pain of my life.  i have a perminant scar.  but time went on, and i found myself again.  i grew strong.  i liked myself again.  and then you came back.  you didn't want to be my girlfriend, but you didn't want me to go away either.  so i tried.  i lived in your limbo that was slowing killing me.  and killing my love.

then i felt like i was slipping back to the old me.  losing myself again.  it was happening.  we were slipping back to the way things were.  i would forget that you were not my girlfriend, and then would be unexpectedly reminded in some way...bringing back all the hurt and pain again.  i was dying, again.

so i decided to leave this time.  i had reached the end of my rope and had nothing left to hang on to.  so i've let go.  now i'm falling into the unknown.  and i'm terrified.  but what hurts the worst, is that now that i couldn't hang on anymore and finally let go...now you say all those things i had long to hear for so long.  now you realize that you never stopped loving me.  now that its too late and my love is gone.

you asked if i remembered all those wonderful memories we made together.  of course i do.  i will always cherish those.  and i will always love you too.  and i will never regret the wonderful times we had together.  we are just no good anymore.  and i don't believe we can ever overcome that.  it's been too long.  it's too hard.  it's too painful.  and i just don't want to die again.

but it still hurts.  and i still cry.  and i still miss you.  and i'm sorry you are sad.  but i just can't do it anymore.  it's just too much.  so this is it.  this is the end.  it's just so hard to say goodbye.

I have a confession to make...

I absolutely, passionately, intensely despise the Minivan!  So much so, that the mere sight of one throws me into fits of road rage.  Now, being in the profession that I am, am able to keep these fits under control, and do not act on them.  But there is a physical reaction that I have upon the sight of the minivan.  I can feel my blood pressure rising.  I become tense and irritable.  I can feel the rage building up from deep inside.  It's quite amazing really, because no other vehicle will do this to me.

Now, I'm not exactly sure where this pure hatred came from.  I've never owned a minivan, never been in an accident w/ a minivan, parents never had one, nothing.  But, I think it has something to do with couples feeling the need to lose all sense of style upon the news that they are expecting.  I see it all the time.  They run out and sell the sedan and buy the dreaded minivan.  Not to mention that it's almost impossible to see around them.

And, I've heard all the arguements for minivans.  They are so spacious, so safe, so convenient, so comfortable, blah blah blah (or as the innercity kids I deal with would say, "woo woo woo".).  But have you ever noticed how many minivans have the Soccor ball stickers on them.  Or the Jesus stickers.  Or the "Marriage = 1 man / 1 woman".  Or even worse, the dreaded Bush stickers.  Dear god, how could this not cause a physical reaction of nausia when stuck behind one of these at a stop light!

Not to mention, everywhere you go...there they are.  Have you ever found yourself at a stop light and discovered that you are surrounded!  They are in front, on both sides, and behind.  And you can't see a damn thing, because they are so big and ugly, they completely block your view.  There is no escape!  I counted 29 minivans on my way to work this morning, and I only drive 10 miles.  Now, I'm sure this number is low, as it was dark and I was half asleep so I kept forgetting to count. 

I almost feel sorry for the poor minivan driver.  Not only have they lost all car style, but they can do no right with me.  If they drive too slow, I'm completely pissed off because they are in my way...slowing me down and I cannot see around them and have to read their stupid stickers!  If they are driving too fast, I'm completely pissed off about them because there are probably kids on board, and they should be more careful!  Plus, I'm still behind them and have to read their stupid stickers and still can't see around them!

What it comes down to is this.  There are just way too many minivans in this world.  The madness needs to stop!  Someone has to take a stand and knock some sense into these minivan purchasers!  Does anyone out there agree???  Is it just me????  Am I completely alone in my rage against the minivan????  Probably.

Anyway, I just needed to get this off my chest.  It's been bothering me for a while now.  Hopefully this "confession" will help me to deal with my problem.  Thanks for listening.

Below is the email I sent out to all my close friends and family on 08-03-05, a Wednesday.  The day after Cleo and Harley died.  It is a day I will never forget...  

This email comes with a great deal of sadness and tears shed.  Last night, Deb and I had to make the horribly difficult decision to put Cleo to sleep.  This awful decision came after Cleo had been playing with one of our friend's dog (a 5 pound Yorkshire Terrier), and got a little too rough.  Apparently, a toy was in the middle, and Cleo has never been very good at sharing toys.  She snapped at Harley and killed him instantly.   As you can imagine, we were devastated.  Not only are we grieving for our dear friend's loss, but now our own. 

Cleo was never a vicious dog or mean.  She was a wonderful and gentle dog.  Unfortunately, she sometimes didn't like to share or know her own strength, and 70lbs against 5lbs doesn't fair very well.   It was a difficult decision to make, because we did not believe that Cleo had intended to hurt Harley.  However this isn't the first time she has snapped at a dog over a toy or food.  And with three little ones of our own, we just felt as if we couldn't trust Cleo around ours or anyone's dog again.  

Cleo was 10 years old and really starting to have a difficult time getting around.  She loved to swim, and spent all day Sunday swimming after a tennis ball.  Then Monday morning, she was so stiff and sore, she couldn't even walk to her food bowl.  Her arthritis was very bad, and she often had to have pain pills.  She had a really good life though, despite the signs of aging.  Our dear friend Kathy and I held Cleo until she was gone and whispered what a good girl she was in her ear the entire time.  My only comfort is that now she is not in pain from the old age. 

Harley was an amazing little Yorkie, too.  He was just over a year old and even though he was only 5 lbs, thought he was as big as Cleo.  They had played together since Harley first started coming over last summer and were best of friends.  Anyone who saw him commented on how incredibly cute he was.  He seemed more like a stuffed animal than a dog.  Thank goodness it was instant and he did not suffer.  

I've attached a couple of pictures in their memory.  It still just seems like a horrible nightmare that I just can't wake up from.  But I felt that I needed to let everyone know.  Please keep Krista and Tracy, Deb and I, and Kathy (who loved "girl" the best) in your thoughts.  

May Cleo and Harley forever be playing together at the big lake in the sky! 

Chris
OIIIIIIO

People always want to know what it’s like being a cop.  This is an impossible question to answer.  It cannot be explained, only experienced.  But I am going to try and answer that question as best I can (which probably isn’t very good).

Being a cop is the best thing in the world.  There is nothing like it.  Its’ the hardest, most challenging, most difficult, most rewarding, most honorable work I’ve ever known.  It’s the most fun I’ve ever had, the most pain I’ve ever experienced, the most fear I’ve ever felt, the most everything.  From extreme boredom at 4am when everyone is asleep, to extreme adrenaline at pointing your gun at another human being and being prepared to shoot. 

I’m very proud of my chosen career.  It’s the most honorable thing I feel I can do in this society.  After 911, I considered joining the Armed Services to defend my country.  Then my friends and family reminded me that I am needed here.  I defend our country from inside.  Someone needs to keep the peace here at home, and that is what I try and do.

But not everyone can do this job.  Cops are a very strange breed of individuals indeed, unlike any I’ve ever known.  We care very deeply about what we do, however will not show it.  We make crude jokes at gruesome homicide or suicide scenes, and those on the outside may think we are sick.  But it’s not because we don’t care.  It’s how we cope.  It’s the only way we know how to go on.  It’s how we keep going to bring justice to the victims.  I will not cry at work.  But I can tell you there are many, many times I got home and cry my heart out.  We all do.  Then we get up and start all over again.

Being a cop does change you, for better and for worse.  We see the parts of society that people should not have to see.  We see the realities of the evil that exists in the world.  And yes, to quote a movie, “I see dead people.”  And that does change you.  Each one stays with you, frozen in your mind forever.  And unfortunately, reappears when you least expect it.  Granted, after time, the images fade, but they are always with you.  Always a part of you, forever. 

And my first was one of the worst.  A child.  A 10 year old boy who had drowned in his bathtub.  Talk about surreal.  There I am, my partner and I pulling the naked body of this young boy out of the bathtub onto the floor to begin CPR.  And in the background, all we could hear were the chaotic screaming of his mother and two sisters.  And through all this, I am the one who has to be calm.  The one who has to respond correctly.  The one who has to be the hero.  Who is expected to make everything all right.  Only I couldn’t.  He was gone, and nothing I could do would bring him back.

Once the paramedics took him away, I then had to be strong and speak with the mother.  Get the facts.  Just the facts, ma’am.  When did he last eat, what medications was he on, who saw him last.  These are such hard questions to have to ask a woman who has just lost her 10-year-old boy.  But that’s my job.  That’s what I do.  Then I go home, curl up in a ball, and cry my heart out while the image of him floats above me, haunting me.   

There have been many “hauntings” since, the faces and circumstances all different.  The more you see the easier it gets, but it does still mess with your head.  Changing you a little more each time.  As proud as I am of my profession, I often shy away from telling people what I do.  Everyone has a “bad cop story” they want to tell me, or the time they got the ticket for no reason.   And all I can think is, “I deal with the scum of society and take care of the unpleasant parts of life so you don’t have to.”  But then I just smile and nod and think, “If you only knew.”

“Chris Cook died this morning”, she told me over the phone.

I was frozen.  I could not believe the words I was hearing.  Similar to the same phone call I had gotten only two short weeks ago, when she told me that he had cancer.  It was like I was floating above my cubicle, looking down at myself on the phone.  Disbelief.  I truly understand what that word means now.

How could this be?  Cancer?  He was my age.  Perfectly healthy.  Worked out fanatically.  Always ate right.  Competed in body building competitions.  He was the healthiest person I’d ever known.  Sure, we sneaked an occasional cigarette here and there and loved our beer.  But cancer?  I just could not comprehend what had happened.

Chris Cook was my friend.  He was a good man.  We met 7 or 8 years ago at Meijer.  I was the Check Investigator for all of Southwest Michigan and he was the Loss Prevention Manager at the Gull Road Store.  After I first met him, he had a mutual friend call me and ask if I would be interested in going out.  I was flattered, then explained that I didn’t think my girlfriend would appreciate that.  Turns out, he was pretty cool with that.  Then again, what guy isn’t!  We used to tease him that one day, we’d give him the green light.  He’d giggle like a little boy and get the biggest smile over that.

The commute from Grand Rapids to Kalamazoo eventually got old, and I ended up transferring to his store as a Store Detective.  He was great to work for.  A natural born leader.  He liked to get the job done, but was never too busy to be plotting his next practical joke.  And very giving, always offering me his high calorie protein shakes.  “Next time”, I’d say with a smile! 

It was Chris Cook who helped me get where I am today.   He was the one who approached me about becoming a manager.  He believed in me.  He had confidence in me.  That is a powerful thing to realize someone else has such faith in you.  It gave me the courage to go even further and pursue my eventual career in law enforcement.  He was so proud of me.  I tried to encourage him to come with me.  To cross the line from private security to public servant.  But he was happy where he was and what he was doing.  I had to admire that.

When I learned that he had cancer and was in the hospital, I’m ashamed to admit I did not go see him.  He had finally married, after years of being a player, and we had started to drift apart.  Straight women don’t often understand their husbands having close female friends.  So our evenings of drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and just listening to the Dave Matthews Band was over.  I understood.  Life goes on after all.  But still, I could not bring myself to go see him.  The strong, great man I had once considered asking for his sperm had now been reduced to a weak, sick, bed-ridden man.  How could I be strong for him?  I couldn’t.  I just didn’t have the courage. 

After he died, I had this dream.  I was upset and crying, no doubt overcome with guilt at the choice I had made to stay away.  He came to me and extended his hand.  I reached out to him and held it and we began to walk.  We didn’t speak, but he just smiled at me.  It was so real and at that point, I knew everything was ok.  He was telling me that he understood and that he was all right.  He was not in pain anymore and that life would go on.  It was one of the most amazing dreams I’ve ever had.