Thomas F. O'Neill

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By Thomas F. O'Neill

I was one of the participants at the unity gathering at the Kahillat Israel Nondenominational Christian Church in Shenandoah on Saturday, August 30, 2008. It follows the July 12 beating and subsequent death of Luis Eduardo Ramirez Zavala, 25, of Shenandoah, PA — about 75 people, mostly Latino and many non-borough residents, filled the small church, listening to several speakers, singers and musicians.

Some who attended commented to me afterwards that they felt as if they sat in on an evangelical political rally. Their comments seemed to have been made sarcastically though because of the religious and political undertone of the main speakers.

Leaders from various state and Hispanic organizations spoke to show their support for our town's Latino's, and to gain the media coverage.

The gathering did bring members of our community together though in a positive way. People left the event knowing that they are not alone in their frustrations with the racial tensions in our town.

At the same time a group calling themselves 'the voice of the people' was rallying across town. Their rhetoric seemed counter productive and their actions spoke louder than their words. They seemed angry and bitter towards immigrants in general. Their arrival was divisive to the community and in no way have they brought about healing.

The anti-immigration rally on the most part was taking advantage of our town's economic condition. Poverty has gripped our region in a severe way. The Hispanics simply became the rally's whipping-board for everything that is wrong with our society.

It is true that our town is impoverished and that is one of the reasons why the Hispanics are moving here. They are here because of the low cost of living. They are also willing to work hard manual labor jobs that the average person will not work.

We also have to realize that most of the Hispanics that immigrated to our region left behind in their native countries the most impoverished conditions imaginable. I have seen this kind of extreme poverty first hand. In the early 1990's, I lived in Ecuador, India, Malaysia, and Australia. People living in the hills of Duran in Ecuador are living in sugarcane huts. They have no electricity, indoor plumbing, and they wash with rain water. They eat only what they can gather for that day because they have no way of preserving their food. Water must be boiled prior to using it to prevent an outbreak of cholera. Cholera is a common ailment in that country that can kill you. When I returned to the United States I was grateful for what I had and the little inconveniences were just that--little inconveniences compared to how the poor live in Ecuador.

When I look at life in terms of my experiences, I realize how our beliefs are a major part of who we are in terms of how we relate to others. I also realize, more so now than before, how the people living in those impoverished conditions rely on their community for their survival.

The individual cannot place themselves above their community because it is the welfare of the community that is vital for their survival. In America we rely on our rugged individualism. In Ecuador in the hills of Duran where I lived for three months there is no such concept.

The people in Ecuador looked at me with such curiosity and they were the most loving people. I washed my clothes with them, ate with them, and we had to communicate in body language because I could not speak their language. There was one thing that they loved to do however and that was laugh. They were not aware of what they did not have in terms of technology because they were pretty much isolated from the rest of the world. On the most part they are content to live in their community because the community is their family. They could rely on one another in times of need.

That is how most of the Hispanics in Shenandoah would like to live. They would like to reach out to their neighbors and to their community free from racial bias, bigotry, and hate. They understand implicitly what we give to the members of our community we give to ourselves.

Our town might be ailing but the cure is in the people. Whenever we enhance the wellbeing of a person in need we in turn enhance our own lives. This type of living is becoming lost in our modern, high-tech society, but it is something we can learn from the Hispanic population.

Most of the Hispanics have the same values our ancestors brought with them when they emigrated here. Some of our ancestors settled down in our coal region to work the manual labor jobs that most of us today could not imagine working. Some of our ancestors made little financial gains in life but they implicitly understood. You can save anything in life but life itself, and what you give to others makes your life worth living.

Some of those same immigrants did not strive like fools for the possessions they did not have. Instead, they wisely developed what they already possessed within themselves. Today's immigrants will pass on those same values to the next generation. Those values are what made our nation great and an example for other nations to emulate.

The foreigners are coming to our country because they want their children and grandchildren to have better opportunities and a better life as Americans. That is what makes our country the greatest nation on earth and a beacon of light and hope for the other nations of the world.

As for the group calling themselves 'the voice of the people' they seem to have an unenlightened voice. Especially, when you consider that our community is trying to come together to bring about change for the better.

With love,

Thomas F. O'Neill

(800) 272-6464

introspective7@hotmail.com

Yahoo Screen Name for chatting online: introspective777

Other articles, short stories, and commentaries by Thomas F. O'Neill can be found at the links below.

http://thomasfoneill.blogspot.com

http://pencilstubs.com

http://www.livejournal.com/users/thomas_f_oneill

http://www.myspace.com/thomas_f_oneill

http://thomasfoneill.spaces.live.com

http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/authorbio.asp?AID=412

 

By Thomas F. O'Neill

I was one of the participants at the vigil last week for Luis Eduardo Ramirez, the young man who died, the police say, from a severe beating at the hands of Shenandoah teenagers. His candlelight service was very moving and a lot of wise words were spoken. It revealed that we must take responsibility for the community. We can't, however, return bigotry and prejudice with hate. We must rise above by extending an understanding hand to our neighbors and to the community as a whole.

We all tend to have condescending dismay for our town's condition. We live from day to day, wishing for the community to change. We rarely take responsibility for our own lives by becoming the change that we would like to see in others. People spoke openly and honestly at Ramirez's vigil, without fear. They chose to attend not just to bring about a positive change for our community but to bring about healing. These values are not for the few. They are rooted in our ethnic heritages and family trees.

The violence and killing of Luis Eduardo Ramirez is extremely painful for his immediate family, his friends, and shocking for the entire community. This tragic hate crime should be a wake-up call for the adult community. We cannot rely on schools whether they are private or public to instill values in our neighborhood children. Those values must be instilled in the home. Bigotry and prejudice beget condescending hate and eventually violence against our own humanity.

If we want to live in a better world we must take responsibility for the condition of our neighborhoods, and our community, by becoming the change. We as individuals must change for the better. It is easy to sit by and point the finger at others. It seems also that the biggest bigots rarely live up to what they believe is society's standards and principles. Rather than being a positive force in their community, they tear others down with racist remarks or, in extreme cases, with violent attacks.

The immigrants in our communities may not look like the majority of us. They may or may not speak our language, and they may not fit into the prejudicial world that some in our community would like to live in. It wasn't that long ago when segregation was the norm, but it took forceful and enlightened voices to put an end to that extreme racial discrimination.

We also tend to forget that our ancestors, when they came to this country, were also abused and discriminated against. That is why we must reach out a helping hand, just as our ancestors reached out to members of their community when they arrived here as immigrants from foreign countries.

It is also unfortunate that the mining legends are becoming ancient history for Shenandoah's youth and that the Shenandoah Historical Society is not reaching out to our community's younger generation. We must help the youth understand that the immigrants who came to our region to work the coal mines provided our town and the region as a whole with cultural diversity. That cultural diversity gave our coal-mining towns a rich character.

Our ancestors, with their rich ethnic heritage, implicitly understood. What we give to our community we give to ourselves, and what we change in ourselves we change in our community. Our humanity whether we are aware of it or not is our greatest resource, in times of plenty, and in times of great need.

This community must realize also that if we truly want to see the town of Shenandoah become revitalized -- whether it is through Downtown Shenandoah Inc. or other endeavors -- we must reach out and become more accepting of the Hispanic business owners and to the Hispanic population as a whole.

We must also reach out to the town's youth. Perhaps what the town needs is a youth center. The teenagers complain that they have nowhere to go in the town.

This national news coverage of the beating death of Luis Eduardo Ramirez only goes to show that today's Hispanics have a voice and that voice was heard. Their voice is bringing about a change for the better, not only in their own lives but perhaps for our entire diverse community.

The Hispanics' cultural heritage is being instilled in their American-born children and their children will instill those same values to their grandchildren. They are contributing to our region's overall heritage, a heritage that can be proudly passed on to the next generation.

With love,

Thomas F. O’Neill

(800) 272-6464

introspective7@hotmail.com

Yahoo Screen Name for chatting online: introspective777

Other articles, short stories, and commentaries by Thomas F. O'Neill can be found at the links below.

http://thomasfoneill.blogspot.com

 

by Thomas F. O’Neill

I enjoy reading how modern scientists are striving to come up with a unified field theory. A theory that can comprehensively explain all of reality and how we as human beings fit into the evolving big picture that is within us and around us.

Most Scientists believe that Quantum Physics brings us closer to achieving that goal but there are still many unanswered questions. One major breakthrough in Quantum Physics was the discovery that matter can be broken down to its sub-atomic elements and that the energy at that level cannot be created nor destroyed. Sub-atomic energy is found throughout the universe, in living, and nonliving matter. The discovery of this energy brought us closer in understanding that sub-atomic energy is eternal.

Quantum Physics is a remarkable tool in understanding the universe’s building blocks but it does not bring us anymore closer to understanding the essence of life.

A recent scientific breakthrough was the mapping of humanities genetic code. We have learned more about the human genome in the last decade than in any other time in human history. We have also gained a greater understanding of the various genetic codes within other species. These various DNA signatures are essential for life to exist on our planet.

Scientist can point out the characteristics of what makes something a living being but science cannot fully define why we exist. The essence of all living things that continues to evolve to greater self consciousness cannot be fully comprehended on an intellectual level. But yet it is something we experience as self conscious beings.

Some scientist are beginning to intuit that just as sub-atomic energy cannot be created or destroyed so to is the essence of life eternal. It is not a matter of believing in life or placing our faith in life because we know life exists. Life is what we experience and are consciously aware of in ourselves and others. We come to recognize existence in existence itself.

For the spiritually aware, it does not take new mathematical equations to recognize and conclude that we are alive. Some would define life as being synonymous with god and with our own self conscious awareness.

The spiritually aware can also intuitively recognize the existence of all things as god’s outreach of love. Their spiritual understanding of life is not a matter of religious faith. It is merrily a matter of experiencing the spiritual core within their own being and within the existence of others.

Quantum Physicists recognize the internal energy that sustains everything. This energy can also be reduced or broken down infinitesimally. There is no starting point to this energy but at the same time it is an extension of what we understand as being god. There is also an internal balance within this energy. The spiritually minded would call this internal balance an intelligent design.

Our human minds however no matter how much knowledge we gain will always fall short of intellectually comprehending the awe inspiring reality of god.

This scientific attempt among scientists to come up with a unified field theory does not fall in the realm of theology. It is simply a scientific method to unify their understanding of the sub-atomic world with the cosmos in general.

The star filled skies and the human soul have intrigued the intellectually curious and the mystics for thousands of years. But in our more resent times we are gaining more of an understanding of the raw science behind the cosmos and of what makes us human.

We are also just beginning to comprehend the universes sheer vastness. Most scientist believe that the reason it can take Billions of light years for light to reach the earth from the farthest regions of our universe is because the cosmos is expanding at an accelerated rate.

Another way of viewing this expansion and outward acceleration is by perceiving it as accelerated growth within our evolving Universe. There are scientists that also believe that in some far off and very distant future the accelerated expansion will slow down and the Universe will begin to collapse in on itself due to a strong gravitational pull. The immense gravitational pull will cause the matter in our universe to breakdown to a sub-atomic ball of energy.

The sub-atomic energy will eventually explode into what scientist call the ‘big bang theory’ or a ‘rebirth’ of a new universe. This of course is just a scientific theory but it also makes sense.

The big bang theory is a reflection of death and rebirth on a cosmic level. Some scientists intuit that our universe is just one of an infinite number of universes like a single cell among numerous cells that make up a living body. That living body is evolving within a greater living reality and that reality is evolving within an even greater reality and so on and so on. This theory of an unending expansion of evolving life is not something we can prove scientifically but it is something we can come to understand intuitively.

When it comes to the infinite and the infinitesimal reality of the ultimate big picture; we recognize that the ultimate existence of all things is the sum total of unending possibilities. Our existence is interconnected and an intricate part of the ultimate reality which is defined as eternal life.

I have a deep understanding that all life is spiritual by its very nature. I do not however follow any particular religious path because I have an implicit and intuitive awareness of that spirituality.

Throughout history people have taken long and treacherous Journeys throughout the world and beyond. But the longest and most treacherous Journey that any person can undertake is the Journey inward.

The inward journey provides humanity with multiple paths to spiritual awareness because each individual must and at some point awaken to greater self awareness.

We must also keep in mind that a key to spiritual growth is not in imposing ones will or beliefs upon others but rather in living our life as we would want others to live their lives, in doing so, others will embrace and emulate our way of life. True spirituality leads towards authenticity and that is why the truly spiritual do not seek conformity from others.

Spiritual awareness frees people from imposing their will on others because they implicitly understand that the source of ones spirituality is at the very core of who we are as living beings. Life and god are synonymous we cannot separate god from the essence of life that sustains our very being.

The scientists’ attempts to come up with a unified field theory are in fact reflecting how science and spirituality are complimenting one another and merging towards a common objective. That common objective is to comprehend the essence within the totality of its whole.

However, in order for science to unify humanities comprehension of the ultimate reality of things, we must first unify our understanding of what makes us human.

We must gain a deeper understanding of our own evolving self consciousness, the interconnected life around us, and ultimately the living universe in its totality.

The unified field theory is also a race for both science and spirituality to unite the infinite with the infinitesimal. The ultimate objective is to unravel and comprehend the mysteries of consciously evolving life. This is not a modern day objective because the wisest of the wise have sought to do this since the birth of humanity.

Life is an ongoing quest with greater self awareness as the means to greater spiritual growth within us and in all that we touch. This interrelationship will ultimately lead towards a greater comprehension of the Universe and humanities role as intricate living beings within an evolving and consciously growing universe.

It is when we discover and recognizing our spiritual interconnectedness which is the sustaining essence of all things that we become a living, breathing, and ever so subtle revelation of the altruistic outreach of god’s love. 
 

With love,

Thomas F. O’Neill

(800) 272-6464

introspective7@hotmail.com

Yahoo Screen Name for chatting online: introspective777

Other articles, short stories, and commentaries by Thomas F. O'Neill can be found at the links below.

Link: http://thomasfoneill.blogspot.com

Link: http://pencilstubs.com

Link: http://www.livejournal.com/users/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://www.myspace.com/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://thomasfoneill.spaces.live.com

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/MagPage.asp?NID=2993

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/authorbio.asp?AID=412

by Thomas F. O’Neill

There was a time when Robert Forner had it all, a good paying Job, a nice home, and a reliable car. But the news of the outsourcing of the industrial plant where he worked hit him hard. The company moved their plant to Ecuador for a higher profit margin and Robert found himself without a job. The unemployment checks barely kept him above water and it didn’t take long for all his savings to dry up.

In order to get by he cut corners, he let his homeowner insurance, and his auto insurance laps. He found himself without health insurance and he felt as if he was on a downward spiral to a place called ‘rock bottom.’

He only had one more biweekly check from his unemployment compensation which added up to six hundred and twenty three dollars. The night before the money was to be directly deposited into his bank account. He watched his entire world go up in flames. The fire fighters were unable to save his home or his car that was parked in his garage. The photographs of the life he once lived were consumed in the flames as well.

Now he was homeless.

He answered the fire marshals questions the next day but the cause of the fire was not yet known. It was learned in a matter of time though that it was caused by a faulty circuit breaker that Robert installed a month earlier. With no insurance to fall back on he found himself in dire straights. The road ahead of him looked bleak and he was constantly thinking about his uncertain future.

Embarrassed for being in the situation he found himself in, he also did not want to burden others with his misfortune. He did not turn to others in his community for help. He put the entire matter on his own shoulders. He also considered the fact that he was never married and he did not have a family to support. But at the same time he felt very much alone with nothing more then the clothes on his back.

There was nothing holding him to his hometown because everything he ever owned, all his material possessions, were now gone. With the little money he had left he boarded a Greyhound bus. He was now hitting the road. He had no particular destination in mind. His money unfortunately did not last long.

He tried finding employment with temporary agencies but not having a phone or a permanent address. He did not have much luck securing a job, a job he desperately needed to survive.

Eventually Robert found himself living with society’s unseen, the so called down trodden people, who live, day to day, on the street. He went from shelter to shelter and at times he waited in the back of restaurants in order to root through their garbage for scraps of food. The clothes on his back became worn and dirty. The hair on his head and face became knotted up from being unkempt. He took on the appearance of the shadow people, the street people, the so called bums. He was no longer recognizable from the man he once was.

He began to view his situation as some sort of punishment but in a way he was simply punishing himself. He at times went to various churches for help but they all seemed to have the same rhetoric. He continuously heard the same words, “we do not have the resources or the funding to assist you at this time.” In a way he felt he was being served right though for foolishly losing everything he once owned.

As his days on the street moved into weeks and months, he found himself more and more being part of society’s forgotten souls. He spent many nights under an overpass with others who were down and out. They used a large medal drum as a makeshift stove. They washed their clothes in a river which was also their toilet. Robert hung out with these colorful characters that were fending for themselves. He tried to pass some of his time away by keeping a daily journal of his day to day activities.

The police one night came through with flashlights and threatened to have them locked up for vagrancy. The vagrants moved on and Robert found himself sleeping alone behind dumpsters.

He was told by other homeless people about the dangers of sleeping inside the dumpsters. Some of the homeless in the past were accidentally killed by being crushed to death by the sanitation trucks. Robert on the other hand chose those locations because in the darkness of night, no one sees him, or bothers him while he sleeps. One dumpster in particular that he inhabited was behind a flower shop.

The flower shop is owned by Lillian Snodgrass a divorcee and mother of a two and a half year old girl named Megan. They also love and care for a six year old golden retriever named Lacy.

Lillian’s former husband left her shortly after she became pregnant with Megan. She is struggling now to make ends meet through her flower shop. She chose to start the business on her own because it gives her the freedom to spend her days with her daughter. She also enjoys making her customers happy and she gets great satisfaction in knowing that she is working for herself.

Her little daughter Megan is a curious child who loves placing the flowers into the jars and smelling them. She also enjoys the attention she receives from the various customers. She is her mother’s little helper and co owner of their very own flower shop.

Twice a week in the early morning Megan would watch the garbage truck lift their dumpster in the air and empty the contents into the back of a sanitation truck. Lacy their golden retriever protects little Megan by growling and barking at the sanitation workers.

Being two and a half years old it didn’t take Megan long to figure out how to unlash the screen door behind their flower shop. One morning Megan and Lacy went out back to the dumpster. Robert was then awakened by something warm and moist moving across his nose. He soon realized that it was a golden retriever licking his face as he slept.

He quickly took notice of the toddler looking at him as the sanitation truck began to back up in order to lift the dumpster. The golden retriever growled and barked away at the truck. She was simply protecting her territory and little Megan. Lillian distracted by a customer was completely unaware that Megan was outside behind the shop.

The sanitation workers continued backing their truck. They were unaware that little Megan was directly behind them. The sanitation workers ignored the barking dog so Robert quickly ran over and grabbed the little girl.

Lillian went out to see what the commotion was all about. She saw the sanitation truck back up over the homeless man who was cradling her daughter, Megan, in his arms.

Letting out a gut wrenching scream as she began pounding on the sanitation truck, Lillian yelled for the sanitation workers to stop. The truck slowly moved forward. Lacy also concerned for Megan ran underneath the truck and began licking the little girls face.

“Who the hell are you?” Lillian asked Robert looking past his disheveled appearance and bad odor.

“The little girl was about to be pinned between the dumpster and the truck,” he told Lillian, “and that is why I grabbed her the way I did.”

She immediately said to him almost without thought, “let me help you,” the thought of a homeless man saving her daughter was playing on her mind. Her daughter’s life, after all, was worth more to her then all her worldly possessions.

“I don’t want to burden you,” he said, “not with my problems.”

The sanitation workers saw nothing more then a bum in Robert.

”Look,” said one of the sanitation workers, “if we see you here again we will call the police.”

As Lillian looked upon Robert’s disheveled appearance. She saw something, deep within. What she saw was compassion and a deep caring warmth. It was something she hasn’t seen in a person in a very long time and her heart went out to him, “I can’t bear it,” she said, “seeing you sleeping on the street.”

She took him in, cut his hair, shaved him, and found some of her former husband’s clothes for him to ware. They were a few sizes to big but they were at least clean. She let him shower as she prepared something for him to eat. As the warm water cleansed Robert’s body, “I haven’t had a shower in eight months,” he thought to himself, “How could I ever repay her for her kindness.”

“Wow, what a big difference,” she said as she gazed at the cleaned up Robert. “You can sleep on our couch until you get back on your feet.”

As he ate he told her his life story,

“Couldn’t the churches help you?” she asked him.

“They told me that they didn’t have the resources to help,” he told her.

“What about social services?” she asked.

“Well not being a resident from this county. I was told there is a long waiting list,” he said.

“That’s nuts, so you are then forced to live on the street,” she said, “You have no family or friends that can help you?”

“I don’t want to burden them, just like I don’t want to burden you,” he told her, “not with my issues.”

“Families help one another,” she said, “when my husband left me I had no choice but to turn to my family, for help, and they helped me.”

“I got myself into this mess,” he said, “It’s not other people’s problem.”

“Well I can’t have you living on the street,” she said, “I wasn’t raised that way, especially, after you grabbed and pulled my Megan out of the way of that sanitation truck. If you weren’t there she would have been crushed to death.”

As she poured her daughter and Robert a glass of Ice tea, “she’s my entire life,” she said referring to her daughter with deep emotion, “she’s the reason I get out of bed in the morning. I couldn’t live without her. I will help you get back on your feet. This is the least I could do for what you did.”

Little Megan walked over to Robert and worked her way onto his lap as he drank his Ice tea, “well she doesn’t have a problem with you here,” Lillian said to Robert.

She was surprised to see her daughter take to Robert so quickly. Even Lacy who is very protective of them took an instant liking to him. She was far from being well off with her business. She was struggling to provide for her daughter and she had very little. She shared everything though everything she had with Robert.

It didn’t take her long to realize that Robert was truly a good person. He was bright and a caring person. He was not the bum that he appeared to be in his past. She was glade that he no longer had to fend for himself, day to day, on the street. As far as Lillian is concerned that life is behind him now.

To show his appreciation for her kindness he began to help her with her flower shop. She also goes out of her way for him. She purchases the little things that he needs, like razors, and shampoo. She also buys him clothes but most importantly. Her daughter, Megan, adores him and he adores both of them in return.

He enjoys taking Megan for walks at a nearby park with lacy. It was just one of his ways of being there for them, completely there; it was also a way of retuning the kindness.

Lillian’s former husband is always in the back of her mind. As far as she’s concerned he is truly the bum not Robert. The former husband has always been full of himself and he is never there for them. She felt pretty much abandoned but her and her daughter went on with their lives.

Robert on the other hand seemed down to earth. It was as if his experiences on the street humbled him in many ways. He has a much deeper understanding and a deeper appreciation for what he now has, which is a much better life.

As Robert was walking through the park with Lillian, Megan, and their golden retriever,

“Weren’t you scared at night living on the street?” Lillian asked him.

“Well it wasn’t so much fear that bothered me,” he said, “it was the memories of what I once had, my home, my car, the roof over my head. I was constantly reminded of what I lost. Not having a place of my own was worse then fear.”

“I can’t imagine having to live like that,” she said, “no one should have to live like that.”

“But through your kindness and through your generous caring soul,” he said, “I have gained much more then what I have lost.”

“You saying that makes me feel as if we are supposed to be together in someway,” she said, “almost as if I am supposed to help you.”

“Every human being enters the world like a tourist,” he said, “with mystical baggage,” he then threw a stick for Lacy to retrieve, “some simply come into this world with more luggage then others.”

“I never heard it put that way before,” she said laughing.

“In order to truly live,” he said, “we must discard our baggage.” Lacy quickly ran back with the stick, and as he threw the stick once again, he said, “the baggage inhibits us from truly finding joy in life. I am just beginning to understand that now.”

“Do I have a lot of baggage,” she asked him laughing showing off her girlish figure.

“No I think you have it all together,” he said with humor in his voice.

“So what do you mean by baggage?” she asked him.

“We are the sum total of all our experiences,” he said, “I don’t think we come into this world like a clean slate. I think there is residue from past lived experiences.”

“Past lived experiences,” she said, “you mean past lives?”

“It’s a possibility that makes sense to me,” he said, “we all come into the world with issues that must be resolved in order to grow and move on.”

“That makes sense,” she said, “so do you believe in soul mates,” she asked.

“Soul mates grow from one another,” he said, “and live in each others hearts.”

“I guess that is a ‘yes’ answer,” she said laughing, “I like how you put things together so that I could even understand.”

She enjoyed their daily walks together and their daily conversations. He made her think about the things she rarely thought about. But most importantly they were learning more about each other and the two life paths that are now merging into one.

He continued his daily journal writing as well of his day to day thoughts. The writing helped him gain a deeper grasp of his lived experience. As the day’s progressed he grew closer and closer to his new family.

The customers have grown to like Robert as well because he goes out of his way to please them. Lillian began to notice that many of her customers are going out of their way not just to buy flowers but to talk to Robert.

One day Lillian saw Robert placing a large picture of a Rose on one of the walls in the flower shop, with the quote, “Some see the world as a beautiful Rose, while others focus on its painful thorns.” Robert experienced many painful thorns in his life but now he is recognizing the beauty of the rose.

He was truly grateful for the fact that the pain from his past was healing with time. Through the healing process he has been given a much greater appreciation of the beauty that surrounds him.

It was out of compassion that Lillian rescued Robert from his life on the street. But that compassion soon turned to a deep love for Robert. He was different from the men in her past. He seemed to go out of his way to find ways to accentuate all that is positive in their relationship. But at the same time he was a human being working on ways to resolve his issues. Those issues are, “the residue from the past,” as he preferred to put it.

He felt he should be contributing more to his new family life which was instantly provided to him. His kind gestures were also continually playing on and resonating with Lillian’s heart strings.

She was constantly being reminded as she cared for Megan about how her former husband was driven by ambition and money. Robert on the other hand was simply enjoying the moments with her and her daughter. She grew to rely on him and she simply enjoys his company. Those deep intimate conversations with him lacked in her marriage with her former husband. She also cherishes Robert’s sensitivity to her needs and his brightness. He brought out things through their conversations in ways that she never thought about. He wasn’t just caring; he had a spiritual side to him. She simply wanted him around because they both drew the best out of one another.

Robert for the first time in his life is simply enjoying his new and instant family life. He also finds enjoyment in pleasing the customers at the flower shop. He enjoys the daily conversations with the regulars that come there to just talk. The flower shop in a way has become therapeutic for him. Without realizing he is reaching out to the customers and in doing so he is accentuating all that is positive within him. He was no longer, unseen, undetected, a down trodden homeless person. On the other hand he never forgot where he once was, and how far he has come in life.

“You seem content, Robert,” a young female customer said to him.

“Well,” he said, “I am.”

“Can you purchase it here,” she asked with a smile.

“Well it’s kind of a secret,” he said teasingly.

“I won’t tell a soul,” she said.

“Well,” he said, he then playfully leaned up close to her from across the counter. With a soft sincere voice, he said, “in order to find happiness, joy, and love, in this world. You must bring it to others. Then and only then will you be truly content.”

“That makes sense,” she said, “so what is the charge,” she said with a smile.

“You already paid me,” he said.

“That was for the flowers,” she said teasingly.

“You paid me with your presence,” he said, “when you enjoy the company of others, others enjoy your company.”

“Well,” she said, “I will stop by again to pick up your pearls of wisdom,” as she left the flower shop, little Megan worked her way up on a stool behind the counter.

He was now a surrogate father to Megan and he loved her very much. But he also began to think more and more about the friends he made from his life on the streets. He began to go out a few times a week and visit them in the evenings. Some of them returned to living under the highway overpass. He would bring Megan along with him and he would sit and talk with them about the issues of their daily lives.

He grew more and more determined due to his own past experience of having lived on the street. He wants people to know and understand that there is a deep segment of society that is being overlooked and virtually ignored. That segment of society is America’s homeless, a life that he once shared.

Every evening he copied down passages from his journal. He was compiling them for a book he began to write. It was through those written accounts of his experiences that motivated him to become an advocate for the homeless.

It was through the success of his book that drove him even further. He went out and organized with civic and local church groups to establish halfway programs. The programs are geared to help individuals who lost their homes due to lack of employment, to find temporary shelter, training, and jobs.

That inner drive and determination on his part not only made those programs a reality but it increased the sales of his book. He and Lillian continue selling flowers though and they continue sharing their life’s Journey.

He finally moved off of Lillian’s couch so that they could continue to share their lives together. With his now adopted daughter, Megan, and newborn baby girl. They are happily married. He may have lost everything he once owned in his previous life. But he now feels he gained the world in the process.

As Robert was signing his books in a bookstore, Lillian was sitting next to him, “You certainly have come a long way Mr. Forner,” a man said waiting for Robert to sign his book.

“I never would have come this far if it wasn’t for the kindness and generosity of this woman,” Robert said referring to Lillian.

“That kindness was returned in greater fold,” Lillian said, “besides if he wasn’t a good person I would have thrown him out long ago. But we decided to keep him,” she said with humor in her voice.

His published account of where he was in life is important to the readers. But where he is now and what he gained within is far more important to him. He may have lost everything he once owned. But through that experience he has come to a greater understanding that his present moment with those he loves is all he truly needs.

Robert has put his past behind him by embracing the here and now with all the important people in his life. For Robert losing all his material possessions, everything he ever owned, gave him a much greater appreciation of the important and significant matters of life. Because what he possesses within and what he gives to others can never be lost. But most importantly what he possesses within is far more precious then the fleeting images of his past.

Robert and Lillian are continuously learning from their shared lives. When you give of yourself abundantly you gain an abundance in life, which can never be lost. Because soul mates grow from one another and live in each others hearts.

With Love,

Thomas F. O’Neill

(800) 272-6464

introspective7@hotmail.com

 

Other articles, short stories, and commentaries by Thomas F. O'Neill can be found at the links below.

Link: http://thomasfoneill.blogspot.com

 

Link: http://pencilstubs.com

 

Link: http://www.livejournal.com/users/thomas_f_oneill

 

Link: http://www.myspace.com/thomas_f_oneill

 

Link: http://thomasfoneill.spaces.live.com

 

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/MagPage.asp?NID=2871

 

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/authorbio.asp?AID=412

 

E-mail: introspective7@hotmail.com

by Thomas F. O’Neill

He seemed to go through life the master of his domain. He provided others with an image that he was a man of superior stature. He was a prominent Attorney and through his law practice he discovered that wealth had its rewards. Melvin Spruce, enjoyed the freedom that came with his wealth it was his way of showing others that he was a cut above the rest.

His large house, expensive cars, was also his way of proving that he was of a higher status set apart from the working class. He was not, after all, what you would call, a nine to five man, nor did he live by an hourly wage. But he did however charge his clients five-hundred dollars an hour for his services.

He was also extremely charismatic and effective in the courtroom. “If the jury likes you,” he told a client, “it makes it much easier for them to perceive the world through your eyes.”

He sat down behind his large mahogany desk and continued his conversation with his client, “I will paint the jury into the big picture,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. He looked at his client with that self assuredness, “the outcome will be positive.”

“How can you be so sure?” his client asked, “I killed a man shot him dead cold.”

“How many others have you killed,” Melvin asked him.

“Well none,” his client said.

“The man you shot,” said his attorney, “raped your Daughter. There will be more then one person on the jury that would have done the same thing.”

“The Jury can acquit someone on emotion?” his client asked.

“If we don’t win this case outright,” Melvin said, “I can assure you a hung Jury. There will be members on the Jury that will vote ‘not guilty’ and dig in their heels.”

“Then the case will have to be retried,” his client said.

“If it turns out to be a hung Jury the District Attorney’s Office will most likely retry this case. But I will do my best to get a unanimous ‘not guilty’ verdict,” his attorney told him.

“I will help the jury perceive the reality,” he told his client as he got up from his desk, “the reality that I want them to see.”

He looked over at his client with a deep self confidence that instantly won him over. He then walked over to a large liquor cabinet. “I learned early on as a young Attorney,” he said, “when the jury likes you as a person they become more receptive to the reality that you create for them.”

“How do you get the jury to like you?” his client asked.

“Humor is a powerful ice breaker,” the attorney said as he poured his client a drink, “I simply make the Jury laugh early on in the case. I then paint them into my reality or the reality I create for them.”

He then poured himself a drink while saying, “I do this in order to sway them over to my side. Everyone has a cynical side and that is where I draw the humor from. The average person has preconceived notions on life. I simply draw on that with a bit of jest and humor. I utilize their preconceived notions and their cynicism to my advantage.”

“I heard you are the best defense Attorney,” his client said, “a master of your craft.”

“I do what I am paid to do,” he said, “and I draw on human psychology to aid me in winning cases. Knowing the law is not enough. You have to add the human factor, the psychology, into the equation. It starts with the jury selection. You have to read the jury, their body language, how they answer the questions, and win them over before the trial ever begins. That is why you hired me.”

He then sat back down behind his larger then life desk. He leaned back in his leather chair, “you have nothing to worry about,” he assured his client once again.

He then told his client with a deep sincere voice, “the men and women that will be on the Jury will sympathize with you. They will understand what was going on inside your mind when you shot him. You did what you did out of compassion for your daughter. No one will sympathize with the dead rapist. Believe me before this case is over the Jury will know what the rapist did to your daughter. When this case comes to an end people out there will applaud what you did.”

His client before leaving his office noticed the photographs that covered his walls. They were Photographs of politicians and celebrities that Melvin Spruce posed with. The photos were merely props to solidify that he was no ordinary attorney.

He was in deed highly successful and Melvin Spruce won that case after two hung Juries. He had a knack of turning ordinary cases into media sensations. That is what he lived for. He got a rush from being in the spotlight. The man he represented in that murder case could not afford Melvin’s retainer fee. But Melvin took the case anyway. The case drew on the average citizens’ interest but most of all it had that vigilante appeal.

His client on the other hand looked more like an accountant in a bowtie. He was not the ‘Charles Bronson’ from the movie ‘Death Wish’ type. But Melvin knew how to play the media to his advantage. He went on to win quite a few other high profile cases as well.

There was one draw back to his success though as he became more well known and prominent in his profession. The more self absorbed he became in other aspects of his life.

He lacked, empathy, and the compassion that was needed to truly bond with those less fortunate. He would take on pro-bono cases only if he knew it would draw the media and give him air time.

In his mind, if the less fortunate people, the wage earners, the so called nine to fivers, could not afford the five-hundred an hour for his services they were not worthy of his skill and expertise.

He had what you would call an inflated ego. His ego assisted him well in the courtroom but it inhibited his ability to relax at home with his family. He was married three times over the years and by his forty-sixth birthday he was divorced three times. He spent his time and money on both clients and mistresses. But he rarely found the time to get to know the life of his children.

In the reality he created for himself his mistresses are the side product of his wealth and success. As for his clients they provide him with the fancy houses and cars. It is through his clients that he could enjoy the material things that come with money. Including the fancy gifts he gave his former wives, over the years, and his various mistresses.

The divorce settlements only put a minor dent in his monetary portfolio. He simply moved on with his life living the high life from day to day.

His life though was drastically about to change.......

On a night of a major thunder storm; Melvin Spruce took a short cut to a former client’s home. He did not want to miss the party or the young female regulars that normally attend these special occasions. On a dark back wood road as he headed to the party. He noticed the bolts of lightning lighting the ski followed by loud thunderous booms.

He came across a large tree that obstructed the road. He stepped out of his vehicle to examine the situation. He has no memory of what came next. He cannot remember the paramedics that worked on him and them rushing him to the hospital.

“He’s toast,” said one of the paramedics in route to the hospital, “he must have been struck by lightning,” said the other paramedic.

Melvin was dead as a door nail as the two paramedics wheeled him into the emergency room.

“He’s DOA,” one of the paramedic said to a nurse.

“Dead on arrival,” the nurse said as she slowly saw Melvin’s chest rise.

He began to take small slow breaths but he would lie in a hospital room for the next six months in a coma.

One day Melvin felt something warm moving across his body. It was a warm washcloth. A female orderly was washing him in his hospital bed. The warm cloth felt good on his body and it soothed him. He immediately discovered though that he was unable to see or hear. He could not move any part of his body or speak. What he did have however was a heightened sensation of touch through his skin.

He was immediately overcome with fear from feeling trapped in his own body. Frustration soon followed from his inability to communicate. He was unaware of where he was or what happened to him. His thoughts seemed clear enough but no matter how hard he tried he could not move or speak.

He constantly had an eerie feeling of people being around him but he could not see them or hear them. As time went on his sense of touch through his skin became more and more intense.

He had a heightened sensitivity and he was able to feel the presence of others as they approached his bed. But he had no way of communicating with them. The hospital staff approached him as they would any other comatose patient. To the staff he was simply unconscious totally unaware of his surroundings.

“What happened to me?” he asked himself, “where am I?” as his mind was gripped in fear.

“I can’t see or hear” his mind cried out, “why can’t I move?” his body was simply incapable of complying with is minds commands.

The days turned into weeks as he lay in his dark and silent world. But he began to differentiate night from day by the hospital staff that was caring for his physical and medical needs. He did not know their names or their personal life story but he knew them by how they cared for him.

He knew which staff was simply going through the motions for a pay check. He knew this by how they rushed through the cleaning of his body and the changing of his sheets.

He knew also who genuinely cared for the patients by how they gently maneuver him in bed to relieve the pressure on his bed sores.

He knew it was morning by the sponge bath and which orderly was washing him by the simple motion of the washcloth. One orderly in particular seemed to take her time when washing him. The warm cloth had a soothing effect on his body.

He was constantly thinking about his current condition.

“A stroke? - perhaps, - Brain tumor? - maybe, - maybe an aneurism?” he was constantly speculating on what the physical condition was that afflicted him.

“Is this hell,” he would constantly say to himself as the days progressed.

He knew deep down inside though that he was in a hospital. He did not know the circumstance that led him there but he knew he was a patient. He knew also that those who where cleaning him and adjusting him in bed each day were the paid staff.

“Do they know I am aware?” he would ask himself as he lay there helpless.

“I want them to know I am aware of them being in the room,” he would constantly tell himself with deep frustration.

“What happened to me?” he would ask himself gripped in self pity.

His mind was crystal clear but no matter how hard he tried, he could not speak or move his body. He could not hear a sound or see those who entered his room. He was living a trapped existence. He was trapped within his own body. He was living with the fleeting images of his thoughts and memories.

“If there is a plug to pull?” he would say, “they can pull it now. I don’t want to go on living this way.” But in his nightmarish existence no sounds emanated from his lips.

The words were simply his thoughts that bounced around in his head. The thoughts and memories were proof that something inside was living. He had conciseness but his body refused to acknowledge his mental commands. “My thoughts are my words but I have been entombed in a dead body. My mind is buried alive in a place where I cannot be heard.”

He went on living day after day as an imprisoned mind, locked away, deep within his body. “A punishment perhaps,” he would say, “for what moral crime?” He prayed for death but his prayers went unanswered.

“I still have memories,” he mentally cried out, “to entertain me in this lonely place. This isolated hellish silence of a place. I can yet feel, Ah yes what I feel now is more bed sores. Has this become my purpose? Has the purpose of my existence been reduces to bed sores?”

His memories are in deed with him but not all of his memories are of happy times. He could no longer distract himself away from his failed marriages. The pain the messy divorces caused for his former wives and children, those memories were there with him as well.

His condition forced him to come to grips with the reality of the situation. His greatest fear now is being forced to live with that reality. He was now living and seeing who he truly is not the image of what he wanted others to see. He now had to contend with his own mind. The reality that he is being faced with is that his mind is all he truly has.

He now believes as he lay there feeling the pain from his raw bed sores. That he has been reduced to his memories whether they are of good times or bad. Those memories are of the life he lived.

He found ways to occupy his time by reliving his trial battles almost like in a dreamlike state. His clever victorious trial maneuvers entertained him and distracted him from his nightmarish condition. But when he would fall asleep he would dream about the other life he lived. The self absorbed life that destroyed the personal relationships in his life. Those are the memories that he preferred not to conjure up. All of his legal know how, his brilliant psychological understanding of others can not help him now. He feels as if he has been sentenced in someway by a higher power for some past immoral injustice that he may have inflected on some poor soul.

He never believed in or thought much about heaven or hell. In his mind the current condition he was now being forced to live is a hellish existence in itself.

He began to contemplate on the meaning and the purpose of his existence. “Why am I here?” he would ask, “for what reason?” It was thoughts such as these that began to occupy his waking hours. He knew he was alive because he had the consciousness of being alive. The question he began to ask himself though was why was he conscious? Why was he living at that particular moment in time? He was consumed with his own thoughts of being alive. But he was unable to adequately reach out and connect with those who enter his room each day. The hospital staff was taking care of his physical and medical needs but unaware of Melvin Spruce’s awareness of them being in the room. In the staffs minds he was simply a mindless body lying in the hospital bed.

He also began to live for the contact from the hospital staff. He looked forward to the morning sponge baths. The physical maneuvering of him in bed as the staff cleaned him up and relieved the pressure off of his bed sores. He looked forward to the physical contact. The staffs contact was limited though to his physical and medical needs. But their contact provided him with proof that he was not alone.

In his past he felt he was a cut above the rest a man of high stature. But now he is simply a man limited to his own thoughts. He is trapped in his own mind, incapable of connecting with those around him. “I would gladly give it all up,” he said to himself as he lay in self pity. “I would give up everything I ever accumulated to just simply embrace and feel an emotional connection. All I need is to embrace another human being.”

He began to think more and more about how he lived his life. Morality for Melvin Spruce has always been a human norm a societal standard. Those who go against what society puts in place for our normative behavior will soon need the expertise of a lawyer. After all that is why he had clients. But now he was wondering if there is a higher moral code that he broke and was now being punished for.

He wished he lived his life differently now because it wasn’t his clients that were entering his room. He realized also his former wives and children were not there either to visit him. He did not feel the touch of his various mistresses as he lay helpless in that darkened silence. The people he was having contact with on a daily bases were being paid to do so. “I wish things can be different with my children and former wives,” he would say to himself as he lay with the burden of the life he was now living.

His sensitivity through his skin became increasingly heightened as time progressed. He knew when people entered and exited his room. It was as if he could feel their vibrations in the room. He could also feel their deep thoughts and their emotions at times as they administered to his medical needs. He at times was able to know things about the staff as they touched him. He could pick up tidbits about their character and emotional wellbeing.

He began to hear a loud buzzing sound as the months moved into the next year but it wasn’t an external sound he heard. It was in his head keeping him up all night and throughout the day. It wasn’t a pitch or a tone he heard just a loud buzzing that was driving him to the brink of insanity. He had no way of mentally ignoring it and it would not let up. He tried with every mental fiber of determination to yell out to the outside world but no sounds, thoughts, or words were being delivered through his body. He wanted desperately to communicate to others his emotional needs. It was at that moment that a female orderly noticed a tear roll down his cheek with his lower lip quivering.

“Can you hear me,” the orderly asked but all Melvin could hear was that relentless buzzing. But the gentle touch of her hand instantly calmed him. It was at that moment in time that his soul revealed to him that their two paths were now merging into one.

Days turned into weeks and the buzzing continued its relentless assault on his sanity. Then one day he thought he heard what sounded like a voice but it was being drowned out, silenced, by what seemed like a loud vibration of sound in his head.

What he did not realize is that his auditory nerves were causing that buzzing sensation. The lightening that struck him the year before damaged his entire central nervous system along with his auditory and optic nerves. He also had no sense of smell. He was cut off from all of his senses. There was the exception of his heightened sense of feeling through his skin. But for Melvin he felt as if his brain and mind was cut off from the rest of his body. He was unaware that his body at that very moment was slowly healing his central nerves system.

The healing seemed to be coming in stages. His sense of touch was restored to him early on and now his auditory nerves were slowly being restored. It was only a matter of time that he was able to hear the pitches and tones of voices and the other sounds emanating from the hospital corridor.

The staff was still completely unaware of Melvin’s awareness. When it came to the hospital staff that attended to his needs he was simply a comatose patient in a mindless body. They saw him as simply being unaware of his surroundings.

The hospital staff spoke openly around him. He learned their names and their personal issues from overhearing their conversations. He also learned how he was struck by lightning, pronounced dead, and miraculously bounced back to life.

He continued dealing with his bouts of frustration, “will I be in this state for the rest of my life,” he continuously wondered to himself. He was becoming more aware of his surroundings but still unable to communicate.

He learned that most of the staff that entered his room hated their job and their pay. They felt unappreciated by their employer. He felt their anger and emotional detachment from their job. They went through the motions of getting what they needed to do out of the way.

He simply wanted to die but he had nothing at his disposal to end his life. “If there is a higher power that could free me from this wretched existence,” he mentally cried out, “please do so now.” He was simply tired. He was tired of living and wanted his life to end. The days continued to turn into weeks and months and Melvin continued on living with a sense of dread and mental anguish.

“Please free me from this life,” he said once again but this time he was asking his higher power for healing. “If you can do so, I promise, I will change. I will live my life for the serves of others. I will be a much better person.”

A week went by and in Melvin’s mind there was very little change but he began to feel a painful discomfort in his eyes. A female orderly noticed that his eyes were bloodshot and tears were flowing from them. A physician did not see any dilatation of the pupils as he shined a small light in them. Eye drops were added to his medical treatment but the discomfort persisted.

His optical nerves were now beginning to heal and he became more and more hypersensitive to the light in his room. He could not make out any forms or shadows just the light itself which caused him pain.

He also began to feel the tingling of the muscles in his face. But he was still unable to control or move his muscles.

One day the same female orderly saw the twitching of his facial muscles and a physician told her that it was simply involuntary movements. Melvin at that moment tried desperately to communicate in some way but his body refused to cooperate. He was consumed with a deep despair as mental anguish once again welled up within him. He was desperately crying out inside. But his emotions and pain was unable to reach the surface of his being.

Once again he felt the gentle touch of the female orderly as she placed her hand on his arm. At that moment something inside of him knew that she was a special soul.

One morning he heard the jibber gabber of the hospital staff talking away in his room. They were talking, small talk, gossiping about so and so sleeping with so and so. It was at that moment Melvin felt the tip of his nose itch and he would have given everything he once owned to simply scratch his nose and relieve that itch.

The pain in his eyes was becoming more and more intense with each passing day. It was from the light in his room. But at the same time he could not make out any forms or even see for that matter. But the light itself was excruciatingly painful for him. He wanted desperately for his eyes to be covered by a blind fold to block out the light.

He did not understand that his optical nerves were slowly being restored. At the same time the tingling in his facial muscles were becoming more intense because his body was slowly healing itself.

His sense of smell also started coming back to him. He was now able to differentiate the various hospital personnel not just by the sound of their voice and how they touched him but by how they smell.

Weeks later as Melvin awoke from a deep sleep the female orderly saw his mouth move as if he was mouthing out a word or a name. The physician once again told her it was simply an involuntary movement.

A few days later the same female orderly watched a News program about a former comatose patient. The former patient remembered a family member reading his favorite books to him while he was in a coma. The familiar voice helped him come out of the coma.

She then realized that Melvin never had a visitor since she started working at the hospital. She wondered why, “if someone familiar read to him perhaps it would help him come out of his coma.” She mentioned the program she saw to Melvin’s Doctor the following day.

“Melvin is like in a deep sleep his mind is to far buried to hear anything,” the Doctor told her. Melvin over hearing the conversation became angry, very angry, “let her read to me you damn fool.”

She on the other hand had a gut feeling that there is much more going on inside of Melvin then was being revealed on the surface.

At the end of her shift she went into his room and read him some of the get well cards he received from his former clients. The cards were a year old. He was not aware that the cards were in his room or that his former clients came to see him when he was in his coma.

The female orderly’s kind jester lifted Melvin’s spirit that day and for the first time since his accident. He felt he had connected with another human being.

She continued to talk to him each day and she also took extra time when washing him with a warm washcloth. She told him her name is Allison and that she just started working there. Over time Melvin learned a great deal about her.

The other staff viewed Allison as bit of a flake and that she is way into her job. In their minds, she was taking to much time with the patients and that she needs to speed it up a bit.

He on the other hand enjoyed the extra attention from Allison. She was different from the other staff. She had a youthful and upbeat voice that seemed to genuinely care for him. He also liked how she smelled whenever she entered the room.

One particular afternoon at the end of her shift she read old newspaper clippings to him. The articles described in detail what happened to him and the high profile clients he represented over the years.

“I don’t know whether you can hear me or not,” she told him, “but I thought about becoming a lawyer but my family could not afford to send me to law school. I am working here during the day and hopefully I will be able to go to night school someday.” At that moment Melvin would have given her all he ever owned to fulfill her dream.

He deeply cared for her he did not have a clue what she looked like on the surface but deep inside she was a compassionate and caring person.

The woman in his past were physically attractive that is why he married them. They were simply a status symbol for him, another means of communicating his success. Those women were simply used by him to show his colleagues and clients that he was a cut above the rest.

His past relationships with women were superficial and a bit shallow. It was unfortunate though because there was a point in time when those women actually had feelings for him.

His children became casualties as well through their parents divorce proceedings. In many ways his former wives and his children became emotionally abandoned. He became more and more self absorbed in creating an image of his self importance and superiority as he moved up the social ladder. In all three of his marriages his family in many ways was pushed to the side like much of the other material things in his life. They were there as props to boost the image he created for himself.

On the other hand as an Attorney and as a professional that part of his life was well attended too. There is no doubt; he is an extraordinary lawyer especially in the courtroom. When it comes to a jury he could make ‘white’ appear ‘black’ and ‘black’ appear ‘white.’ He has extraordinary gifts as a sharp lawyer, especially, when it comes to the art of persuasion. He will leave his legal opposition scratching their head, wondering, “What the hell happened to our case?”

Allison was now having a positive affect on Melvin as she began to read to him after each of her shifts. He looked forward to her visits and her washing him each morning. She became a living bridge to the outside world.

One morning as Allison was giving Melvin a sponge bath. He spontaneously almost without thought said, “Thank you.” She heard those words as clear as day. But once again the physician described it as simply an involuntary response perhaps gasses being released through the throat. She heard what she heard though and each day she continued talking to him. If it happened once it could happen again.

The pain in his eyes only worsened and Allison began to notice that he was mouthing out words as if he was saying, “cover my eyes.” She brought the doctor in his room so that he could witness what she was seeing. The Doctor complied and went into the room in order to humor Allison. As he walked up closer to Melvin’s bed, “It is simply involuntary muscle movements.”

Allison once again placed her hand on Melvin’s arm and he once again mouthed out, “Cover my eyes.”

The Doctor then looked at him more closely and shined a small light into both his eyes. His pupils were very large and did not contract when the light was shown on them. The light caused Melvin immense pain and if he was able to. He would have belted that Doctor.

“Can you hear me?” the Doctor asked.

“Yes,” he mouthed out very slowly without the sound of his voice.

The Doctor then looked at him with a stunned look on his face, “did your eyes hurt when I shined the light in them,” he asked.

Melvin slowly mouthed out, “Yes.” But in his mind he said, “of course it hurt you damn fool.”

The Doctor ordered a large pare of sunglasses that completely surrounded Melvin’s eyes to alleviate the pain from the light.

Allison placed her hand on Melvin’s arm and once again he mouthed out, “thank you.”

Over the next six months Melvin’s body continued to heal. Through physical therapy and excruciating determination on Melvin’s part his unused muscles began to slowly cooperate with his brain. But he would become fatigued quickly from the exercises and the pain was excruciating. Allison came to visit him often during his physical therapy and the physical therapist allowed her to work with him on his physical exercises.

The pain was overwhelming for him each time the therapist worked with him. But when Allison was there he drew his strength from her. She encouraged him on with each small mile stone in his recovery. She patiently helped him and talked him through the physical exercises.

His optical nerves continued to heal as well and one day during his physical therapy he began to see Allison for the first time. Through the pain of the physical exercises he slowly began to see Allison’s form come into focus.

“You are beautiful both inside and out,” he told her. He was now able to put a face with her voice and pleasing smell.

He continues to wear his sunglasses though because the light still causes him discomfort.

It would take another three years before he could walk on his own. He must use a Cain due to dizzy spells and for his own security when standing and walking.

“You have come a long way Melvin,” Allison said to him as they slowly walked around the outside of his home.

“My experiences changed me in many ways,” he said, “but in a way I am more appreciative of who I am now because of what I experienced.” He felt comfortable with Allison and he was grateful for her being in his life. She was the first person since being released from the hospital that he truly cared about.

“What you experienced would have changed anyone,” she told him, “you must have an incredibly strong mind.”

“I wanted to die in that hospital,” he said, “but now I am grateful I went on living. I have much more of an appreciation for what I have. In the past I was full of myself and I took everything I have for granted. I overlooked the simple things, like the simple pleasures that life brings our way.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“I overlooked the natural beauty that surrounds us,” he said, “I overlooked the emotional bonds that we humans need to be fully human. I simply overlooked the people in my life. I have a much greater appreciation for people now and the human contact that is needed to be fully alive.”

“It sounds like you gained more then what you lost physically,” she told him.

“Well if it wasn’t for you I would not of comeback as far as I have,” he told her.

“You did all the work,” she said, “I was just a cheerleader on the sideline,” she said with humor in her voice.

“Thank you,” he said to her once again like many times before, “for being there for me.” She was the light in a dark tunnel during his long recovery.

He has come a long way from where he was but his body has never completely recovered. He feels his body is still healing and that he is changed for the better, especially, when it comes to his human psyche.

Since his release from the hospital he tried to heal the damaged relationship with his children and former wives. But the wall of separation was too great. He was not aware though that Allison also spoke to his children and explained to them that their father was a much different person. One afternoon she arranged a meeting and Melvin and his four children met at his home. The open communication started the healing process. Allison was now a moral and holistic companion for him. She kept him grounded towards a more fulfilling life

The lightning that struck him five years ago changed him in deed, it completely changed him. He is not the man he was before that tragic event. He found that he is still hypersensitive to the communication of others. There are times when he can still pick up peoples thoughts and emotions. He can also zero in on a person’s character traits that others can overlook. When people enter a room Melvin at times can still pick up their vibrations.

With a simple touch he found that he can gain extraordinary insights about a person. His heightened awareness can also have its draw backs though because there are times when he must retreat. He does this in order to quite himself away from his day to day activities. When around to many people for long periods of time he becomes emotionally and physically drained.

He returned to the courtroom five years after he was released from the hospital on a pro-bono case. He was representing Allison’s brother who had somewhat of a checkered past. He unlike Allison had a mean streak in him. But Allison knew her brother Greg was not the killer the District Attorney’s office was making him out to be.

Allison’s brother was at a party on the night that someone was found stabbed to death in a bathroom. Greg saw the victim, Spuggs Brandy, lying on the bathroom floor. He leaned down to see if the person was still alive. Unfortunately when he did so his palm print was left at the crime seen and with his criminal record and his past dealings with the victim. The police in a rush to solve the case arrested Greg and charged him with murder. The public defender wanted Greg to plea bargain for a lesser sentence. Allison pleaded with her brother to plead innocent and went to Melvin Spruce for help.

He immediately took the case but wondered in the back of his mind if he is physically and mentally up to defending a man charged with murder. He hasn’t stepped foot in a courtroom in five years and he tires easily. He is not physically the man he used to be five years ago.

He wasted no time though in tracking down everyone that was at that party. He put in more man hours and worked harder then he ever had on any of his previous cases. He had everyone who was at the party subpoenaed.

He instantly knew they were men of low moral character. They all had run inns with the law and each served time behind bars. But with his charm and cunning he gave each of the witnesses the impression that they were being subpoenaed as character witnesses. When they showed up at the courthouse Melvin asked the judge to have those witnesses sequestered. The ten men were separated from each other outside of the courtroom.

The prosecution on seeing the so called list of character witnesses became convinced that the lightning that struck Melvin five years earlier permanently scrambled his brain. They were sure it was a slam dunk case that would be over in a matter of days. But as each witnesses was called up to the stand Melvin said to the Judge, “Your honor I would like to approach this person as a hostile witness.”

For three weeks the Jury learned of the wheeling and dealing of Spuggs Brandy. Each witness started out telling Melvin and the Jury of Greg’s good character. Then slowly Melvin had the witnesses defending their own character as he revealed motives and opportunity for each of the witnesses to personally get rid of Spuggs Brandy.

He showed the prosecution and the Jury how the ten other people at the party had a greater motive and adequate opportunity to kill Spuggs Brandy. With his charismatic flair and sense of humor he threw the prosecution and his hostile witnesses completely off guard.

The prosecution had no recourse but to recall each witness to cross examined them. But with Melvin’s skill the prosecution's case became weaker and weaker with each passing day. Melvin simply re-questioned the same witnesses after the prosecution crossed examined them and punched wholes in the prosecution's case. The witnesses, after all, testified under oath to Greg’s good character and how he was incapable of killing Spuggs Brandy.

“As I have shown you here throughout this trial,” Melvin told the Jury in his closing argument, “Spuggs, was not a very nice man and his associates are relieved that he is no longer around.”

Melvin then walked up to the Jury box wearing the sunglasses that completely cover his eyes and as he leaned on his Cain. He said to the Jury in a low but sincere voice, “My client is no choir boy he has a criminal record but you as a Jury can see here that there are ten other individuals that testified throughout this trial. They have stronger motives and they had plenty of opportunity to kill, Spuggs Brandy, - on the night of that party. I ask that you acquit my client of these trumped up charges and find him not guilty by reasonable doubt.”

It turned out that nine out of the twelve Jurors voted to acquit Greg. It was a hung Jury but the case was never retried. The District Attorney’s office later dropped the charges against Greg due to some of the witness testimony that came out during the trial.

If it wasn’t for Allison asking Melvin for his help he would have never stepped foot in the courtroom. When he left the hospital he felt he was no longer fit to be an effective Attorney. Allison believed in his skill though and she knew of his history of being a great Attorney. He took the case pro-bono in order to return the favor for Allison’s kindness towards him.

Melvin is also helping Allison get her law degree. He is paying her college tuition and he put her up in an off campus apartment. That is the least he can do for her because, after all, it was her kind jesters that helped him along in his recovery process at the hospital.

Over the past five years since his accident with that bolt of lightening. He has become more aware of his past mistakes, especially, the mistakes he has made with his former wives and children.

He is still finding ways to reach out to them with the hope that he could develop deeper relationships, especially, with his four children. They are much more receptive to him now because the story of what happened to Melvin and his remarkable recovery has become common knowledge.

Everyone who ever knew Melvin Spruce prior to that tragic event that nearly killed him can now see a very different person. His experiences at the hospital and his long road to recovery have made him more receptive to the needs of others. He is no longer preoccupied with his grandiose opinion of himself and his money. Those same experiences have also humbled him in many ways.

He now realizes that he is not a cut above the rest. Without the compassion and caring warmth of an average human being, like Allison, his recovery process would have been much longer and much more arduous. He is now much more receptive not only to the needs of others but to the important people in his life.

He is also taking on more pro-bono cases to help those he truly believes are innocent. With the hope that after Allison passes her bar-exam. She will work with him on pro-bono cases as well and in assisting him in starting their own law firm.

His mental attitude is much more positive then it was prior to being struck by lightning. There are still however those physical complications that have slowed him down a bit. He finds that he doesn’t have that same energy and vigor he once had. He still has problems with his eyes. He must walk with a Cain. That buzzing sensation from his damaged auditory nerves returns at times as well.

Over all, though he still knows he has been changed for the better. What he has gained in life is a greater appreciation of being alive. There is no doubt that his long road to recovery has humbled him in many ways. It has also made him more effective not only as an attorney but as a human being.

On July 16, 2007 Allison and Melvin exchanged wedding vows. Melvin is now finding a balance between his professional life and his life as a ‘husband.’ Allison who is pregnant with their first child is also studying for her bar-exam. They are a happy couple and Melvin is filled with the hope that he will be a much better ‘father.’

With Love,

Thomas F. O’Neill

introspective7@hotmail.com

(800) 272-6464

Other articles, short stories, and commentaries by Thomas F. O'Neill can be found at the links below.

Link: http://thomasfoneill.blogspot.com

Link: http://pencilstubs.com

Link: http://www.livejournal.com/users/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://www.myspace.com/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://thomasfoneill.spaces.live.com

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/MagPage.asp?NID=2849

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/authorbio.asp?AID=412

E-mail: introspective7@hotmail.com

This story is dedicated to a very dear friend of mine, Mr. Henry Zale. He will only be ninety-one years young this upcoming month. His kind and encouraging words of wisdom have inspired this writer to keep on writing.


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When Love Came To Call

by Thomas F. O'Neill

The Yuletide Season is not a time for a common courtesy, to receive and provide family, friends, and neighbors, with material gifts. This special season is for heart felt acts of gratitude for having people in our lives. When keeping the true spirit of giving close to heart. We find that it enables us to give from the heart all year round.

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Our life’s path is paved by the choices we make and whether those choices are good or bad - we must live with them. Harry Brooks has made many choices throughout his life and he is now haunted by the decisions he has made.

He would be the first to admit that he never put others before his own self absorbed wants. He was selfish when it came to the needs of others and it is reflected in how he turned out in life. He was not entirely to blame though because as he put it, “I didn’t have that picture perfect upbringing.”

There is no doubt that he was abused as a child, physically, emotionally, and psychologically by his abusive father. Harry’s life decisions were somewhat obscured by his emotional pain. He was unwilling or incapable of getting over his emotional hurdles. The emotional turmoil within not only affected his life but the lives of those around him.

He married young and not having a high school diploma made finding a decent paying job virtually impossible. Five years into his marriage he gave up and he abandoned his wife and five year old daughter. His wife was forced to raise their daughter on her own and she struggled to make ends meet.

They say time heals all wounds but the abandonment psychologically affected Harry’s former wife, Aggie, and their daughter, Alicia. They never completely recovered and over the next thirty years they didn’t hear from him. As far as they were concerned he was dead and out of their lives completely.

As for Harry he spent those thirty years finding his solace in a booze bottle.


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The years of drinking had its toll on Harry and he now lay dieing from cirrhosis of the liver. The hospital staff sees Harry as a downright mean and nasty patient. He constantly belittles the Nurses, and to their dismay he throws his bedpan.

They despise entering his room because of his rants and fowl language. The only reason they continue caring for him as one Nurse put it, “he is on deaths doorstep and soon a higher authority will take over.”

One morning Harry Brooks sat in the hospital corridor in a wheelchair waiting to have further tests done. A little boy was wheeled up next to him.

“Are you sick too, Mister?” the little boy asked him.

“No I come here every morning for tea and biscuits,” Harry said sarcastically.

“I don’t like tea,” the little boy said, “what kind of biscuits do they have?”

“All sorts,” he said, “they leave them out for weeks and weeks and when they get all moldy and discolored they give them to little kids to eat.”

“Well, that’s OK Mister, my mommy brings me cookies. I will save some for you,” the little boy said, “she makes them for Christmas every year.”

“Don’t bother kid not in the Christmas spirit,” he said in a grumpy voice.

“If I get well enough I will be home for Christmas,” the little boy said, “If I can’t be home Santa will stop by here.”

“Hate to break it ta ya kid but it’s been all over the news Santa doesn’t exist,” said Harry.

A nurse overhearing the conversation stopped what she was doing and stared at Harry in disbelief. She was shocked that such a person could be so mean.

“That’s just a rumor that was started by the Grinch,” the little boy said, “he’s a mean one that Mr. Grinch.”

Harry was not a person to take the Holliday spirit to heart. He never cared for Christmas. One reason in particular the Bars close down on Christmas day. Harry is then forced to drink his blues away alone.

“My Nana said that rumor has been going around for years,” the little boy said. He then looked at Harry as if he felt sorry for the grumpy old man. In many ways the old man reminded the little boy of that other anti-Christmas character that lost his Christmas spirit – the Grinch.

“How can someone not believe in that jolly old soul,” a Nurse said to the little boy, “he’s known by so many names,” she continued on with a smile, “such as – ‘old Saint Nick,’ ‘Chris Kringle,’ and the most popular of all, ‘Santa.’”

“I know,” the little boy said, “some people are just dopes when it comes to rumors.”

That evening as Harry slept he was awakened from his sleep by the little boy. The boy was determined to help Harry out; after all he knew first hand that there’s a Santa. The jolly old soul after all has been leaving presents under his Christmas tree every year.

“Hey Mister,” the little boy said, “I want you to see something on TV.”

The little boy turned the TV on, a Christmas movie appeared on screen, with the Grinch as its main character, “see he’s the one who started those rumors about there not being a Santa. He’s just downright mean.”

“Not as mean as I’m going to be,” he yelled, “if you don’t turn that TV off and get out of my room!!!!!!!”

“Are you mad because you’re not going to be home for Christmas,” the little boy asked.

“No, I don’t celebrate Christmas,” came the angry reply.

“Why?” the boy asked.

“Because I don’t,” said Harry with anger in his voice.

“I will ask my Mommy to bring you some cookies.”

“Ask her to bring me a bottle of scotch while you’re at it,” Harry said sarcastically, “now go watch the green guy in your own room and leave me the hell alone!!!!!!!” he yelled.

A Nurse’s mouth dropped when she heard what Harry said to that cute little boy, “he is the foulest, nastiest, grungiest, and downright meanest person that ever stepped foot into this hospital,” the Nurse said to her coworker.

“I have big dog, he’s a Rottwhiller,” her coworker replied, “and let me tell you, my dog is a pussycat compared to that patient.”

The next day still determined to convert Harry into believing in the season of giving, “Hey Mister,” said the little boy waking Harry up from a deep sleep, “I brought you some cookies my mommy made them.”

“What,” said Harry in a confused voice, “oh that is awfully nice of you,” he said to the boy in a perturbed manner.

“My Nana helped me write Santa a letter letting him know you are here,” the boy said, “my mommy said he comes by the hospital to visit the sick on Christmas. My Mommy and my Nana will be back later. I will introduce you to them.”

“Look kid that is not necessary!!!!!!!” he yelled.

The following day, “Hey Mister,” the boy said waking Harry, “I brought a picture I want you to see.” He handed him the picture of Christmas past. “That’s me last year with my Mommy and my Nana. We put that Christmas tree up. You see those boxes with the shiny paper; those are presents that Santa left me.”

“This kid is destined to be an evangelical Minister,” Harry thought to himself. He was now sorry he ever mentioned to the kid about Santa’s nonexistence.

“Well that was certainly worth waking me up over,” Harry said, sarcastically. He then took a closer look at the photo, “that woman is your Nana?” he asked pointing to the little boy’s grandmother in the picture.

“Yep” the boy said, “and that is my Mommy, “pointing to the other woman in the photo.

“Thirty years,” Harry said to himself, he recognized immediately the lives he left behind. He then became visibly uncomfortable, “look kid,” he said, “that is a nice Christmas picture but I need to be alone” for the first time in many years Harry’s past was racing in on him and it was about to collide with the here and now.

He began to see the little boy as some sort of living bridge linking Harry’s past with the present moment. The sarcasm and cheap shots drained from him he was at a loss for words.

He didn’t want to dredge up the family’s history so he never mentioned that he was the boy’s Grandfather – the person who abandoned the boy’s Mother and Nana many years ago.

Each day the boy came to see Harry and the meetings slowly began to change him. It was a long time that a child entered his life, thirty years to long. The boy in someway was now having a positive affect on that grumpy old fool.

“I hope he is not bothering you,” said Harry’s daughter Alicia as she walked into his room.

“That is my Mommy,” said the little Boy.

The boy then turned to his mother, “I gave him some of your cookies,” he said.

“I didn’t get your son’s name,” Harry said to her.

“He’s name is Harvey, and my name is Alicia.”

“My name is Harry,” he said, “so how old are you Harvey?”

“Five,” came the reply.

“She is all grown up now and a Mother,” he thought to himself, “she was the same age as her son is now when I saw her last.” He was relieved in a way that she didn’t recognize him.

He could not bear to tell her who he was in her past. He let her talk and he listened. He learned that she is going through a rough divorce. When Harvey got sick it put a strain on her marriage. Her husband eventually left her for another woman. It was then that Alicia’s Mother moved in with her to help them get through the rough times.

“My son has a rare form of cancer,” she told him, “he needs bone marrow in order to live but they are unable to find a suitable donor that can match his type.”

“I need a new liver,” Harry said, “I am on a transplant list.”

Their meeting was unexpected and it jolted Harry in many ways. He was glade to see her but the guilt of what he did so many years ago consumed him. He did not want to open up his past so he decided not to reveal it.

He simply absorbed the present moment with his daughter and grandson. The circumstances’ surrounding their meeting is beyond his comprehension. He believes there is a reason for their coming together. What that reason might be is beyond his understanding.

His grandson continued to visit him everyday and he began to look forward to the boy’s visits. The nursing staff slowly began to see changes in Harry. His rants were less frequent and he stopped throwing his bedpan. At times he even appeared to take on more human like qualities.

His daughter soon realized that there is something unusual about Harry’s relationship with her son. One evening, out of curiosity, she went to Harry’s room to talk to him and to get to know him better.

“You are a very kind person,” she said to him, “my son has taken such a liking to you.”

“I like your son as well,” he said.

“You are a nice man,” she told him.

“No, I’m not,” he replied, “I did many mean and selfish things in the past, unforgivable things.”

“We have all done things that we regret,” she said, “you need to forgive yourself.”

“I caused others too much pain,” he said to her.

“Well, you know what you did in the past, and you know what kind of person you were,” she told him, “what you are now is what’s most important.”

“I was selfish and mean,” he repeated.

“I don’t know what kind of person you were,” she said, “but I see a good person. You are not a mean person, now.” She saw the pain in his eyes and her heart went out to him.

“I would do anything to change the choices I have made,” he said, “All those bad choices.”

“Accept yourself for what you are now,” she said, “don’t dwell on the past. You have to forgive yourself first before others can forgive you. You have to take the time in finding ways to mend yourself. Then you will be able to reach out to those you hurt.”

“I abandoned my family and I hurt them,” he said as if he could not bear to look at his daughter.

“We all made bad choices at one time or another,” she said but Harry’s words hit home. She did her best though to put aside her own emotional pain and anger from being abandoned as a child - by her father.

“What I did is unforgivable,” he said.

“We find ways to live with the bad choices,” she told him, “life is full of choices and those choices are part of who we are as human beings. You mustn’t dwell on your bad decisions, pick yourself up, brush yourself off, and move on.”

“I can’t change what I am or what I did,” he said, “that is what I am being forced to live with each and everyday.”

“You have to move on,” she said once again, “your greatest opportunities are within you not in your past.”

“You did alright for yourself,” he said, “and you have a good head on your shoulders.”

“My Mother struggled raising me,” she told him, “it wasn’t easy. My father left when I was five years old and we never seen him or heard from him.”

“Are you angry with him,” he asked.

“Of course I am,” she said, “I would like to know why he left and why he never tried to contact us. For years I thought it was something I did or there was something wrong with me. It took a long time to get over it and it still affects my relationships with men.”

“I have done the same thing,” he told her, “I left my family and there isn’t a day that goes by that I wish I could change that bad decision in my life.”

“Well, you don’t know how much longer you are going to be around,” she replied, “I would try and mend whatever is broken before it is too late.”

“Too much time has past,” he said.

“You are not the man you make yourself out to be in your mind,” she told him; she could see how guilt was consuming him and the only words she could muster up to ease him in someway, “you need to forgive yourself,” she told him once again with a soft sincerity in her voice. “You are inhibiting yourself from finding peace in your own mind.”

“What would you say to your father if he showed up in your life?” Harry asked.

“If he was in the room here with me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, “if you were given the opportunity to talk to him……..”

“I would want to know why he left,” she said, “it would be hard at first but I would want to let him know how I feel, about the anger I feel. I would want to know what he did all those years. I would tell him how he hurt my Mother and what she went through.”

“Can you forgive someone like that?” he asked.

“I have gotten over it,” she told him, “if I felt he was truly seeking forgiveness I would forgive him.”

“Would you let him back into your life?” he asked.

“I suppose I could do that,” she said, “but these are all hypotheticales. You need to take positive control of your situation and mend the relationships in your life.”

The next day Harry met with his grandson’s physician and they talked in Harry’s hospital room.

“Well, first we will have to see if you are a match,” the doctor said, “do they know?”

“They don’t know anything and promise me you will not tell them,” Harry said.

“Your health is weak,” the doctor told him, “your immune system is weak due to your failing liver. If you give up some of your bone marrow it will weaken you even more. It could shorten the time you already have waiting for a healthy liver.”

“My whole life I thought of no one but myself,” Harry said, “I made all the wrong choices. I want to make the right decision for a change. I want to make a positive choice for my grandson. When I die I want to know that I did something positive for someone.”

A few days later Harry gave up some of his bone marrow.

“Hey, Harry,” said his grandson waking him from a deep sleep, “my mommy said they found some bones for me.”

“Bone marrow it’s called,” Harry said in a frail voice, “it will make you better.”

“When will they make you better,” the boy asked.

“When they find me a liver,” he said in a low weak voice.

Dear, Santa

My mommy helped me with this letter because I am only five years old. I hope you get this letter in time because my friend Harry really needs your help. He needs a new Liver for Christmas so he could get better.

I love you Santa,

Harvey


A few days after his grandson was operated on Alicia visited Harry. She brought her mother along. As Harry slept his former wife recognized him immediately she became visibly irate.

“I hope he suffers,” Alicia’s Mother said with anger in her voice. Harry was asleep unaware that they were in his room.

“What is it Mom?” Alicia asked her.

“That is your Father,” she said to her daughter.

Alicia looked at Harry she was surprised but not entirely surprised. The conversation she had with him days before eased her transition from their past to the present moment, “I can’t hate him, Mom,” she said, “he’s not the person you hate. I spoke to him, he is truly remorseful for what he did to us and he is a good person.”

“A good person doesn’t abandon their family,” her Mother said, “he is a selfish, selfish, man.”

“He’s changed and I forgive him,” Alicia said.

The Bone Marrow transplant was successful and Harvey slowly began to recover. Two more weeks went by and Harry was running out of time. He was growing weaker with each passing day.

Alicia came to visit Harry once again before taking her son home for Christmas.

“Thank you,” she said

“For what,” he asked

“For what you did for Harvey,” she told him, “I put two and two together and I figured it out. I know you gave Harvey your bone marrow. I also know you’re my father.”

“Does your Mother know?” he asked her.

“She’s the one who told me that you’re my father,” she said, “and of course she is angry and that is why she’s not here.”

“She has every reason to be angry,” he said.

“I will talk to her some more,” she said to him, “I was given permission to bring Harvey home for Christmas. I have to bring him back though before the New Year.”

His former wife, Aggie, came to see him later that afternoon. She was alone and Harry saw her hesitate before entering his room.

“Hello,” Harry said.

“Thirty years, is a long time,” she said in an angry voice.

“Yes it is,” he thought to himself. At that moment, he was at a loss for words. He just didn’t know what to say or do. He looked at her as the emotion moved through him like a large ocean wave.

“I understand if you never forgive me,” he said as he broke down and wept, “what I have done to you and Alicia is unforgivable.”

“We went on with our lives, Harry,” she said, “it’s not a matter of forgiveness. I am angry that you showed up after so many years.”

“My coming back into your lives was not planed,” he said, “I believe it was meant to be.”

“We moved on with our lives,” she said once again, “you are no longer part of the picture. I am still angry, Harry, for marrying someone as selfish as you.”

“I am selfish in many ways,” he said.

“You can go on being selfish, Harry,” she told him, “it makes no difference to me because you are not part of our lives anymore.”

“I understand,” he said.

“Do you Harry?” she asked him, “do you really understand what you did to us?”

“I know I hurt you,” he said, “I know I hurt our daughter.”

“Alicia said you are not the same person,” she told him with anger in her voice, “but I don’t care one way or the other.”

She became visibly upset and with a clenched fist she said, “you giving Harvey your bone marrow was a kind jester. Now you can die in peace. As far as I’m concerned you died a long time ago.”

“You have every right to be angry,” he said, “what I did is unforgivable,” he said once again as the tears flowed down his face.

“Why did you do it, Harry?” she asked him while desperately trying to contain her emotions, “why did you abandon us on Christmas?”

“I was young and immature and I was unable to support my family,” he said as the tears continued to flow, “I had no money. I had nothing to give, Alicia, on Christmas morning. I had nothing to give you. I gave up, I just gave up,” he repeated, “and then I started drinking. Now my liver is destroyed. I drank my life away.”

“You left because you couldn’t afford Christmas presents,” she said in an angry condescending voice, “we needed you Harry not presents. While you drank, I raised our daughter,” she said, “she still has problems, Harry, she is going through a divorce because of issues that stem from you abandoning her.”

“I can’t change the past, and I know the choices I made were bad choices,” he said, “I have to live with that for the rest of my life. But I can start making the right choices now with the little time I have.”

“Harry, take the time to asses your life and come to an understanding of the damage you caused,” she told him.

“I don’t think us being here now is by sheer happenstance,” he said, “I think it is for a reason that is beyond our comprehension.”

“Well you made the right choice for Harvey,” she said, “Alicia and Harvey are grateful for what you did,” she then took one last look at him before leaving the room, “I said what I had to say to you, take care Harry.”

“Thank you for coming to see me,” he said as his world crashed in on him.

“Have a good Christmas, Harry,” she said as she left.

Harvey looked at the sparkling crystal angel on top of their Christmas tree,

“I hope Santa got my letter,” he said to his Mother on Christmas Eve.

“I am certain he got your letter,” his Mother said to him.

“I want Harry to get better,” Harvey said as he was helping his mother make eggnog for Christmas Day.

“He looks so sad being sick,” Harvey told his Nana as she was taking fresh baked cookies out of the oven, “he needs Christmas to make him happy.”

“You think?” his Mother asked him, “that Christmas will make him happy.”

“Let’s bring him Christmas, Mommy.”

On Christmas Day as Harry slept he was awakened by his Grandson.

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” his grandson said. Harry slowly opened his eyes he then noticed a Christmas tree in his room.

“Merry Christmas,” Alicia said to him.

“This was Alicia and Harvey’s idea,” Aggie, said, “they didn’t want you spending Christmas here alone.”

“Merry Christmas, Aggie,” he said in a surprised voice.

“Yea well Merry Christmas to you too,” Aggie said.

“Well thank you,” he said, “but I didn’t get you guys anything.”

“Well you being here with us is enough,” said Alicia.

“We put that tree up, and you never woke up, not once, the whole time,” said Harvey.

“Thank you for bringing Christmas here,” Harry said to them.

“We brought you some eggnog, and cookies,” Harvey said, “I helped my Mommy make the eggnog and cookies.”

A Nurse came into the room as Harry was sharing the eggnog with his long overdo family reunion. Harry for the first time in thirty years felt better. The cloud of doom lifted from him and the weight of his emotional pain lessened. He felt exhilarated as the holiday spirit moved him closer to his reunited family.

“Merry Christmas,” he said to the Nurse in a jubilant voice. He slowly got out of his bed and poured the Nurse a glass of eggnog and handed her some cookies. “Merry Christmas,” he said once again giving her a big hug.

The Nurse stared at Harry in disbelief, she then looked at the Christmas tree, the two large jugs of eggnog, the large bowl filled with cookies, the people in the room, and then back at Harry.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Brooks,” the Nurse replied she appeared before Harry like a deer trapped by the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.

“Quick,” Harry said to the Nurse excitedly, “get some more glasses for the eggnog. There’s plenty of eggnog, and plenty of cookies,” he said jubilantly, he was unable to contain himself from laughing.

When the Nurse retuned with plastic cups, “get the other staff in here,” he said excitedly.

The Nurse just looked at Harry wondering to herself what medical condition could cause such a laughing binge, “perhaps the Doctor changed his medication and this is just some unforeseen side effect,” she thought to herself.

No medication though was behind Harry’s transformation. In that single moment in time, Harry freed the joy that was imprisoned, locked away, deep down inside of him. Now after many, many, years Harry has allowed himself to be happy.

With a large smile he told the Nurse with the utmost exhilaration, “this will be my way of sharing Christmas with the hospital staff.”

“Your way of sharing Christmas with us, Mr. Brooks,” she said in a shocked voice.

One of the Nurses forgot what she went into his room for as she drank some of the eggnog with the other staff. Some came by just out of curiosity to see the changed Harry.

“I wonder what changes his Doctor made with his meds,” a Nurse said to her coworker.

“Merry Christmas,” Harry said to the two nurses while laughing and giving them big hugs.

Two other Nurses mumbled, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Brooks,” while taking a couple steps back as he approached them with a warm embrace. Such a reaction from those two Nurses could only be expected. After all it wasn’t that long ago that Harry threw his bedpan at them.

Harvey’s eyes and face lit up when he saw the large burly man in the red suit. Old Saint Nick walked down the Hospital Corridor. He walked past Harry’s room and continued towards the pediatric unite.

“Hey, Santa,” Harvey yelled, “did you get my letter?”

Santa turned with a twinkle in his eye, “yep” he said, “sure did.”

Harvey walked up to him, “my friend is really sick, Santa,” the boy said, “he could really use your help.”

Santa picked Harvey up and sat him down on the Nurses station counter. Santa looked him straight in the eye. Harvey saw love emanating from those eyes and with a special warm glow Santa asked, “do you know why Christmas is so special?”

“Why?” came the reply.

“Christmas is a time when Love comes to call,” he said, “your letter called out to me, Harvey. It was a special letter; do you know why it was special?”

“Why?” the boy asked in a soft whisper.

“It was special because you didn’t ask me for something you want,” and with that special sparkle in his eyes Santa said, “you asked me for something your friend needs.”

“My Mommy helped me write that letter,” Harvey said, “I always knew you were real,” he continued on with a big smile on his face.

“Your friend’s gift is in the works as we speak,” old Saint Nick told him as he lifted Harvey and placed him back down at the Nurses station, “always remember, Harvey, and tell your friend Harry, Christmas, is when love came to call.......”

“Excuse me,” said the Nurse tapping the jolly old soul on the shoulder, “how did you know that little boys name.”

“His Santa,” said Harvey.

“I’m Santa,” said Santa.

“It comes with the territory,” Harvey told the Nurse laughing.

Santa winked at the boy and immediately Harvey’s face lit up with a big smile. Old Saint Nick then turned and walked towards Harry’s room. The jolly old soul then placed his finger on his nose as he continued on his way. Harvey excitedly turned and said, “thank you Santa,” but Santa was gone, “I knew he was real,” the boy said, “I just knew it the whole time.”

“Where did he go,” the Nurse asked Harvey, “he was here a second ago. I was going to give him a glass of eggnog.”

“Who was here a second ago?” asked Alicia.

“Santa,” said Harvey

“If I didn’t know any better I would say he was the real McCoy,” the Nurse said to Alicia, “he even knew your son’s name and about the letter he wrote.”

“I’m glade he came to see me. He liked the letter you helped me write,” Harvey said to his mother.

“I wonder who that could have been,” Alicia thought to herself, “I didn’t tell anyone about the letter.”

Alicia then turned to her mother. Her mother shrugged her shoulders to let her daughter know that she had nothing to do with Santa’s visit.

“I’m glade he stopped by to see Harvey,” said Harry

“Were you behind Santa's visit?” Alicia whispered to Harry.

“No” he said, “it’s been a long time since I wrote him, seen his helpers from time to time, but never met the real Santa.”

They spent the rest of Christmas day together and Harry thanked the higher power for showing its mercy and compassion in allowing him that moment of happiness with his family. “Thank you, for such a wonderful Christmas,” he said to them.

A few days later Harry’s name mysteriously moved to the top of the transplant donor list. He received what he was waiting for a new liver. He was truly grateful for getting a second chance at life and a second chance to make positive choices.

“You see there is a Santa,” Harvey said to Harry, “and you are going to get better now.”

“Thank you for writing the big guy,” Harry told his grandson, “and I will never listen to those stupid rumors ever again.”

“Santa told me to tell you, Christmas, is when love came to call.”

“Well I’m glade it came,” Harry said, “and I will always try and keep that love close to my heart.”

His former wife, Aggie, has accepted that Harry is now a permanent fixture in their lives. He is a permanent fixture because he wants to make a positive impact, not only in his life, but in his family’s lives. He knows he can’t erase the past but he can begin to take positive control of the life he is now living.

His life is now being lived the way it should be lived one day at a time but most importantly. He hasn’t had a drink of alcohol since receiving his new liver.

The following year on Christmas Day as Harry shared Dinner with his Family, “You have mellowed with age, Harry,” said Aggie.

“My life was never picture perfect,” he said to them, “but the choices I make now can develop into happier moments and fonder memories for all of us.”


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


It is never too late to change for the better and to make right whatever is wrong with our lives. Harry Brooks is a living example of how dire choices are not necessarily the ‘end all’ to our happiness. We have the power to pull ourselves together and correct our mistakes.

It was mostly out of fear and Harry’s inability to seek forgiveness that inhibited him from moving forward and taking control of his life. He has gained a better understanding though from those experiences.

What he gained is a deeper understanding of the importance of forgiveness. He can see more clearly now that he had to forgive himself first before he was able to find forgiveness from others.

Forgiving hearts enabled him to mend the broken person he was inside and his broken relationships. He in turn found the strength in his own heart to reach out to those he loves.

How they all came together that Christmas season is still beyond Harry’s comprehension. But he is grateful that those events took place because he has been given a second chance to live his life for the better.

He has also gained a much deeper appreciation for his family by putting their needs before his superficial wants. After all it was his selfishness in the past that did him in but he has learned from those mistakes.

Harry Brooks grandson is now a sophomore in college and Harry’s former wife is remarried. She is married to a restaurant owner and she is currently helping her husband with his business.

Harry is now living with his daughter and she tells people quite often. “Our lives came together after a thirty year hiatus. We came together during the Christmas Season and ever since then Harry has honored Christmas with his Family.”

Harry on the other hand tells people,

“There was a time when I felt the Christmas season was simply a common courtesy to receive and provide family, friends, and neighbors with material gifts. I now understand more clearly that the Season of giving is for heart felt acts of gratitude for having people in our lives. When keeping the true spirit of giving close to heart. We find that it enables us to give from the heart all year round. The Christmas season is when love came to call and that love gives Christmas its true meaning.”

With Love,

Thomas F. O’Neill

introspective7@hotmail.com

 

(800) 272-6464

Other articles, short stories, and commentaries by Thomas F. O'Neill can be found at the links below.

Link: http://thomasfoneill.blogspot.com

Link: http://pencilstubs.com

Link: http://www.livejournal.com/users/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://www.myspace.com/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://thomasfoneill.spaces.live.com

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/authorbio.asp?AID=412

E-mail: introspective7@hotmail.com

 

by Thomas F. O’Neill

In 1908 in a small village in Poland a child was born. How the child entered the world was no different then any other child’s arrival. He grew older but showed no exceptional gifts or qualities. He was simply a normal boy who enjoyed playing games with other children. But in his Mother’s eye he was exceptional and special.

She wasted no time in letting her son know just how special he is to her. In her mind and heart he was not like other children. “You are destined for something, something great,” she would tell her son.

When her son was born he was given the nickname ‘Staush’ by his Father and the name stuck with him throughout his life. It was an affectionate name that reminded him of the love his parents had for him.

On Christmas morning when he was seven year's old his mother gave him a painting. It was a painting of a beautiful female Angel with deep blue eyes and a gentle angelic face. “This is the Angel that is watching over you,” his Mother told him, “the Angel is watching over you because you have a special mission in life. You only have to believe in your Angel and everything will be alright.” He believed his mother because he had no reason to doubt her.

He also had found memories of his Father taking him fishing.

“You catch more fish then me,” his father said to him, “why is that?”

“Don’t know,” he replied.

“The fish must like you,” his father said.

His father always returned the fish he caught to the water.

“Why do you put the fish back,” he asked his father.

“Because I like the Fish,” came the reply.

He often told the story of how his world changed when he was nine years old. It changed tragically for him and his Mother. It was due to his father’s unexpected death. “His heart,” said the Doctor in Polish to his distraught Mother as she wept and sobbed, “no one knew about his heart,” the doctor said to her once again.

His father was laid out in their living room and he can remember the villagers coming to their home with food. “He was a good man,” said the Priest as he placed his hand on the dead man’s head. The Priest’s tone of voice lacked the sincerity that was needed to console his Mother’s grief.

He never forgot his Father’s burial and the amount of people that came to the cemetery because they too loved his father. His Mother’s brother stood next to them as his Father’s casket was lowered into the ground.

His Uncle stayed with them for a few months. He helped his sister convert the front part of their home into a bakery shop.

“I wish my Father was here to see what we did to the house,” he told his uncle, “why did he have to die?”

“His heart had so much love that it put a strain on his physical heart,” his uncle told him, “he loved immensely and that love is always with you. Your Father will always be with you - in spirit. When you talk to him he will hear you.” As a young child he accepted his uncle’s explanation after all the doctor told them it was his father's heart that stopped beating.

His mother baked and sold various pastries and bread to the villagers. His uncle attracted people to the shop by playing a small mandolin and singing songs. Staush was fascinated by his uncle’s talent and beautiful voice. His uncle eventually taught him the same songs and how to play the mandolin.

One night his Uncle came to him letting him know that he had to return to his own home. “I will be back to visit my favorite Nephew,” he told him. Before his uncle left he placed the mandolin on their kitchen table.

“Did he leave it for me,” Staush asked his Mother excitedly.

“I suppose so,” said his Mother, “he must love you very much because you know how your uncle loves that mandolin.”

The bakery shop paid off sustaining them financially. As his Mother baked throughout the day she listened to her son play the Mandolin to his heart’s content. He also sang the songs his uncle taught him.

He took his time as a child learning the Baker’s trade and the art of entertaining customers. This period in their life was short lived though because when he was eleven years old a flu epidemic hit Poland. He watched his Mother lying in bed pale and weak.

“Don’t die, momma,” he said to her in polish, “I don’t want to be left here alone.”

“You are never alone, Staush”

“Please don’t go,” he said with tears rolling down his face.

“There is an angel watching over you,” she told him once again in a weak frail voice, “you are a great person destined for great things. You just have to believe in your angel and everything will be alright.”

“I don’t want to be here alone,” he repeated.

“Trust and believe what I tell you,” she told him slowly, “great things will become of you.”

She held his hand, “You will never be alone,” she said in a slow whisper, “Your Angel and I will always watch over you.”

He laid his head down on his Mother’s chest as he wept. He felt the life within slowly leave her body. He cried until he could cry no more. The pain of his Mother’s passing consumed him. He was now an orphan and he was sent where orphans are sent.

The orphanage was very large and old and the building housed approximately four hundred children. It was located on a large hill approximately a mile from where he once lived with his parents. There was a section for boys and a section for girls and they slept in large dormitories. The only time the boys and girls commingled was during their meals in three large eating areas on the ground floor. During the day they went to school on the second floor where they learned to read and write. The girls stayed with the girls and the boys stayed with the boys.

The orphans were also assigned chores and Staush was assigned to the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” the cook asked him as he smacked him in the back of the head.

“I am spicing up the food,” he said, “it tastes like dry wood.”

“So you are a food critic,” the cook asked, “I cook for over four hundred people, little people, with no home’s, no families. This is no restaurant and I am no chef.”

“Well that doesn’t mean you can’t spice the food up a bit.”

“What do you know about spices and cooking? You homeless child,” the cook asked.

“I wasn’t always homeless, my Mother and I owned a bakery, before she died.”

“Well then show me how you can cook for four hundred people and still find the time to spice up the food.”

Well each day Staush went to work and the food never tasted better. In the evening he played his mandolin and sang songs. The girls heard his voice through the dorms open windows and many of them assumed they were listening to a phonograph record playing in one of the boy’s dorms.

The more he played his mandolin the better he got and the more he sang his songs the better his voice got. To keep his mind occupied, he wrote down some words that sounded good with his improvised mandolin chords, without realizing, he was writing new and original songs.

He also read books at night and he found that he enjoyed reading. But something was lacking in his life. He was lonely; he felt as if he was all alone and unloved. He felt forgotten by the people in his village.

At times he was picked on, and bullied by the older kids. He was just unhappy and depressed most of the time. He missed his mother and father. He missed his village where he grew up and the happy times he had working in the Bakery Shop. He kept a small black and white photograph of his parent’s. In the photo his Mother was holding him when he was just a baby. He kept the photo under his pillow at night to keep them close.

In his melancholy nights when he felt alone and depressed, he would be reminded by his Mothers memories that there is a special Angel watching over him guiding him along in life. The thought of that Angel gave him the strength to continue on. With the hope of a better future filled with love and companionship.

He was surprised one afternoon when his Uncle returned. It was shortly after he turned thirteen. “I kept your Mandolin,” he told his Uncle.

“That is your Mandolin,” his Uncle replied, “you play it much better then me.

His Uncle took his favorite nephew back home to the Bakery Shop and they made a fresh start at their business. Once again they were successful and Staush to his delight enjoyed entertaining the customers. He seemed happy most of the time but he never forgot his experiences at the orphanage.

At the age of twenty five he began to market his success and he eventually owned five other bakery shops in the surrounding villages. He hired others to run them but he visited the Shops often. He made sure that the products are baked and sold to his specifications so that the quality can never be lost.

“So what is your secret, Staush?” A female customer asked, “why is it that everything you bake tastes better then what the other shops bake? What is your secret recipe?”

“I have no secret recipes,” he said, “everything I bake is a labor of love. I put in a dash of this and a dash of that. I just whip them together as I go along. The things I bake are guided along with the ingredients. I just add the ingredients at the appropriate time.”

“Well you have to have some kind of recipe,” she said.

“I follow my gut and heart when I bake,” he said, “no secret recipes needed, and besides I never wrote anything down. I just add what needs to be added at the right time in my baking process. It is simply my labor of love. It is my way of reaching out and connecting with my customers. When my customers are happy I am happy.”

“Well I am a happy customer Staush,” she said, “I don’t know what your secret is but I will keep coming back.”

“My secret is this,” he said, “I don’t rush the baking process. I take my good old time. I make sure what I bake is just right because it is my labor of love,” he said once again, “I give a part of myself to my customers when I bake for them.”

When he was at the age of twenty seven he looked at the abundance he has gained in life through his success as a baker. But something was still lacking in his life.

He found himself thinking, more and more, about his experiences at the orphanage. That lonely place, he was constantly being reminded about the unhappiness he felt there.

“The children,” he thought to himself, “the ones who are living at the orphanage now perhaps I could make their lives a little better.”

He knew he could not change his past but perhaps there is a way he could make the children’s lives a little better. Baking, playing the mandolin, and singing were his ways of reaching out and connecting with others.

“I will share my gifts and talents,” he said out loud as he was making a loaf of bread for a special order, “with the children,” he said once again.

He hired more bakers’ helpers and they baked throughout the night. Very early in the morning they loaded the horse drawn carriages from his five bakeries with small loaves of bread. They then delivered the bread through the orphanage’s back kitchen entrance. They placed the small loaves of bread next to the children’s beds as they slept.

He continued this routine every night. He also would stop by the orphanage in the late afternoon or early evening and play the mandolin for them and sing them songs. The children grew to love Staush as he entertained them and baked for them.

He told them stories that reminded them of how special they are and how an Angel is watching over them.

“The Angel,” he said, “is placing small loaves of bread next to your beds at night. She does this so that you never go hungry because you all have a very special mission in life.”

“An Angel,” said a suppressed little girl.

“Yes,” said Staush, “a very special Angel. You are all loved and carried for. You only have to believe in your Angel and everything will be alright.”

The children looked forward to his daily visits and Staush grew more and more attached to the Children. He told them stories that made them laugh and smile. He wrote songs that corresponded with stories he told and the children loved singing along with him. Their face’s would beam and light up every time he entered a room. They would then run up to him so they could be close to him. The children pulled on his heart strings and he loved the children.

When Staush reached the age of thirty one, the Nazis invaded Poland and the Village were he was living became occupied by German solders. Many high ranking Nazi officers took over peoples homes. Staush was forced to bake and cook for the German Solders.

In December of 1940, he learned that the Nazi Hierarchy was going to move the Children from the orphanage and take over their building. But he was unable to learn where the children were going. He did not trust the Nazis and he knew in his gut that the children would most likely be abused or killed outright and he could not let that happen.

He went door to door and talked to everyone he met. He told them about the fate of the children.

“What can I possibly do?” said an elderly gentleman, “I am a poor man with very little means to support myself, let alone a child.”

“All the child needs right now is a roof over its head,” Staush told him, “right now your decision will determine whether a child lives or dies.”

The old gentleman stared at him, “and if this child is caught in my home, what is to become of me?” he asked Staush.

“You lived your life old man let this child have a chance at life,” he told him.

“I suppose I could give him chores to do around the property,” he said to Staush.

He jotted down names and addresses as he spoke to various people as if taking bakery orders.

“If you get caught,” his Uncle told him, “the Nazis will kill you.”

“This is something I have to do, Uncle,” Staush said, “I could never live with myself knowing I sat by and did nothing to help them.”

On Christmas Eve horse drawn Carriages from all five bakeries pulled up to the orphanage’s back kitchen entrance. They began secretly putting the children in the carriages and covered them up with canopies. They made ten trips that evening dropping children off at various homes throughout the surrounding villages. Some families took in more then one child.

He and his baker’s helpers had many close calls that night with the Nazi patrols.

“Let me see your papers” said the Nazi patrol officer in German but Staush nor his helper could speak a word of German. They just routinely handed over their papers that provided the Nazis with their name, address, and occupation. Staush then handed the two German officers two small loaves of bread. He told them in Polish with a big happy smile on his face, “shove this where the sun don’t shine,” the two German solders not understanding a word of Polish graciously took the bread from his hand. They went through that routine more then once that Christmas Eve and by early Christmas morning every child had a new home and a family to watch over them.

It wasn’t long before the Nazis discovered that Staush and seven coconspirators were behind the disappearance of four hundred children. They were quickly arrested and placed in a concentration camp. The only thing that saved their lives was their trade but their baking skills were never utilized.

He soon realized that his fate was most likely to die in that camp. The winters were brutal due to the bunks being unheated. The food rations were meager, a little water and some bread in the morning and that was it. The prisoners would pull the clothes off of dead bodies to give themselves extra layers to stay warm.

It wasn’t long before Staush’s well nourished frame took on that of the other prisoners, the skin and bones of the malnourished, the living skeletons, and the walking dead.

He soon discovered that some of the male prisoners would crawl under the bunkhouses towards the women’s bunks and lay with the woman at night. They did this in order to share the warmth of their body heat. One night he followed their lead and he too crawled into a woman’s bunk bed.

When the sun rose in the morning he gazed at the woman’s face and into her eyes. Her face took on the characteristics of the painting that his mother gave him when he was a child. She had the same deep blue eyes of the Angel in the painting and a gentle angelic face. Every night he laid with her, “we are going to live,” he said, “we will not die here.” That woman gave him the will and purpose to live.

“What is the purpose of all this,” she asked him.

“Sometime my Angel plays hide and seek,” he said, “when I think I am all alone in the world others come into my life. My Angel guides them, like you she brings them into my life. We need each other now and we will live, because goodness always triumphs over evil.”

One summer he noticed a young boy coming towards his bunkhouse. He quickly realized that it was one of the boys that he helped escape from the orphanage. He learned that the young boy was taken in by a Jewish family and being mistaken for a Jew he shared his adopted family’s fate. The young boy found some comfort though when he discovered that Staush would be there with him.

“Don’t worry,” he said to the boy, “we will get through this.”

“I know,” the boy said.

He tried to find the strength and the will to help the boy by engaging him in conversation. Staush’s health was failing though he was frail and weak. Each day more and more people were dieing in the camp from hunger and starvation. He was too weak to leave his bunk bed and one morning he heard the voice of the young boy speaking to him up close in his ear. “Staush,” the young boy said.

He slowly opened his eyes and saw a small peace of bread next to his bed. “An Angel placed it here because she wants you to live,” the young boy said with tears rolling down his face, “you have to complete your important mission in life,” said the boy as he handed him the piece of bread. Slowly Staush ate it and drank a little water.

He lived to see Poland liberated from the Nazis by the Russian troops. The Russians released the prisoners and he and his young friend survived. The woman who shared her body heat during those brutal winter months she too survived the inhumanity.

He adopted the young boy from the camp and gave him a home. The woman with the deep blue eyes and the Angelic face soon became his wife. The Russians after the war took over Poland and their country became part of the Soviet Union. The soviets had a brutal side to them as well. Life at the hands of the soviets was both cruel and harsh. But Staush went on baking well into his eighties. He and his wife had four children after the war. His granddaughter is now running the Bakery Shops.

He lived to see the fall of the Soviet Union and when he was eighty two years old an unexpected visitor came to the Bakery Shop. That unexpected visitor was Poland’s Prime Minister. He came to let Staush and his family know that their Government was converting the Old Orphanage into a School for the performing arts and the School was going to be named after ‘Staush’ the Baker.

“That is nice I can play my mandolin and sing there once again,” he told the Prime Minister, “I would like to perform there for the students and tell them about how the Angel helped me and the children during the war. My wife and my adopted son also survived the war.”

Shortly after the school opened he played his mandolin and sang a few songs for the students. While he was performing another unexpected visitor came to the school. That unexpected visitor was the Polish Pope, John Paul II. While the Pope was looking over the school one of the students had the painting that was given to Staush by his Mother. The painting of the Angel was placed on the wall in the school’s Dinning area. The student also placed a picture of Staush with Poland’s Prime Minister on the wall near the school’s main entrance.

“Well,” Staush said to the young student, “we are going to have to find a place to put a picture of me with the Pope.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” the young student said, as the sound of camera shutters and flashing camera lights went off around them.

“I wish there was a way I could get a picture of me with my special Angel,” Staush said to the Pope.

“That would be nice,” the Pope said to him in Polish, “from what I hear you have a remarkable way with children.”

“Well, when you enjoy the company of others, others enjoy your company,” Staush said, “it’s not rocket science or theology. It is merely being completely there for them.”

“You would have made a great Priest,” the Pope said

“I think my wife would disagree,” he said, “you are a great man and a great Pope. But I am not a religious man. I have a deep spirituality and I do my best to let it guide me. My Mother when she was alive told me it is an Angel watching over me and to this day I believe her. My mission in life was helping the children and I am still being guided along on my life’s mission.”

“I wish my Priests had that same faith and certitude that you have,” the Pope said, “we would have a much stronger church.”

“I believe my life’s mission is simply to love and to be loved,” said Staush.

“I too believe that,” the Pope said to him, “and from what I see you are truly loved.”

“Angels at times will help us along by guiding others toward us,” Staush said, “they guide others toward us because we are sharing the same path in life. We are never alone in the world; we may feel alone at times. We may feel as if we came into the world set apart from others but humanity is intimately part of us. In times of need humanity becomes our greatest resource. If we could just accept the fact that we are all here for one simple reason and that is to love and to be loved the world would be a much better place.”

“Yes it would be a better place,” the Pope said, “and from what I see here you are helping your corner of the world become a better place.”

“I met my wife in great time of need,” he told the Pope, “without her I never would have survived the concentration camp. My adopted son came to me in great time of need as well and without him I would have died in that camp. I believe an Angel put them on my path so that we can share that path in life, so that we could be there, completely there, for each other.”

“You are a good and kind man,” the Pope said, “you are also a man of great faith. The students are blessed for being in a school that is named after you. They are especially blessed for having met you in person. I am glade I met you as well.”

He lived to be eighty nine years old and toward the end of his life. He became frail in body but he was still strong in mind and spirit. His eyesight and hearing began to fail him but he was still able to play his mandolin and sing his songs. But most of all he maintained a great love and affection for his, family, community, and the students at the school.

His Mother was correct when she told him that he was destined for great things because his destiny was rooted in his kind actions. He also overcame the obstacles in life by simply believing that a special Angel was watching over him. She guided him along so that, “I could complete my life’s mission which is to love and to be loved.”

He could not believe the attention and the affection that was shown towards him in his old age.

“We all have the capacity,” he said to the students, “to do the right thing when the right thing needs to be done. Draw on what you know in your heart to be true, at that spontaneous moment in time. When the right thing is called upon follow through with it, simply do it.”

“Why couldn’t the Nazis do that?” a young girl asked him.

“The Nazis, believe it or not,” he said, “had in their hearts compassion, love, and kindness, but they ignored their heart and soul. They suppressed their own humanity but now we can learn from their inhumanity and their atrocities. We now know what not to do and we must never allow such atrocities to occur again.”

“Why is it that you survived and so many others died?” another female student asked him, “was it an Angel? If it was why then didn’t the Angel save the others as well?”

“I don’t have those answers,” he said, “for me I simply followed my instinct, my intuition, the small still whisper within. I was guided along on my life’s path.”

“Why you?” a male student asked, “what did you have that caused you to overcome and survive?”

“Why there wasn’t more survivors,” he said, “I do not know, and that has bothered me for many years. Perhaps it was the Angel my Mother spoke of in my childhood that helped me. But for those of you who do not believe in angels. The capacity for kindness, compassion, and love is an intimate part of our humanity.”

“A lot of good and caring people died,” a young female student said.

“Yes I know,” he said, “perhaps, I survived because I reached out to others and others reached out to me. In the end the inhumanity surrendered to our humanity.”

“Do you believe in survival of the fittest?” A female student asked.

“Yes of course I do,” he said, “we see it in nature and we see it around us. But the Nazis took that theory to an extreme. We must always come to an understanding that our humanity is an intimate part of who we are as human beings. Throughout history there have been madness and insane regimes that terrorized good and innocent people. But in the end our humanity and goodness triumphs over evil. Perhaps that knowledge and understanding helped me overcome the nightmare.”

“So you were more fit psychologically,” the young female student asked.

“Well, let me put it this way,” he said to the students, “I knew the Nazi regime would soon come to an end. It had to come to an end because throughout history the tyrants are destroyed. They are destroyed because they are tyrants. They are internally weak, unstable, and they crumble in the end. Our capacity to love, care, and our ability to reach out to those of the least influence is what keeps humanity strong. That is why I believe in survival of the fittest. My wife and adopted son who I met in the concentration camp also gave me the will to survive. I had something to hope for but most of all to live for.”

“You are a great man,” said a young girl.

“We are all great in our own way,” he told her, “you just have to believe in your greatness and live up to what you know in your heart to be true.”

“Play your Mandolin,” said a little girl as she placed her arms on his lap.

The music filled the room as the students smiled and sang along with him. Every Wednesday up to his eighty ninth year he met with the students to play his mandolin, sing his songs, and tell his stories. He enjoyed their company and in turn they looked forward to his company.

He cherished the attention and affection that the students, his family, and the community have shown towards him. He in turn returned that affection in greater fold. The reason being as he eloquently told the Pope, “my mission in life is simply to love and to be loved.”

With Love,

Thomas F. O’Neill

introspective7@hotmail.com

(800) 272-6464

Other articles, short stories, and commentaries by Thomas F. O'Neill can be found at the links below.

Link: http://thomasfoneill.blogspot.com/

Link: http://pencilstubs.com/

Link: http://www.livejournal.com/users/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://www.myspace.com/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://thomasfoneill.spaces.live.com/

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/MagPage.asp?NID=2789

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/authorbio.asp?AID=412

E-mail: introspective7@hotmail.com

 

by Thomas F. O’Neill

He is a barber by trade and for the past thirty years he made a comfortable living cutting hair. His barbershop is not just a place for haircuts though it’s a place where the old timers exchange stories and pass on the town’s gossip.

The town is pretty will known by the old folks and they enjoy talking about the local politics and about the various people who inhabit the town. They also enjoy telling stories of what the town was like during their youth; when the coal mines were in full production.

They take their time as well in the barbershop, to read the newspaper while others get their hair trimmed. Giuseppe the barber enjoys their company and their telling of the stories. The stories consist mostly of local legends that were past down from one generation to the other.

Giuseppe is also well known for his story telling and he enjoys telling his new customers the story of his Grandparents. It is his way of keeping their memory alive.

“So where are you from?” Giuseppe asked the young man in the Barbers chair.

“New Jersey” came the reply, “but I don’t think I will be sticking around here.”

“Why is that?” the barber asked, “and what is your name?”

“My name is, John,” he said, “John Cooper, and the reason I don’t think I will be sticking around is because it is a pretty depressed area,”

“Well Mr. Cooper, it wasn’t always this depressed,” Giuseppe fired back, “there was a time when this town had thirty thousand people. That is how many people were here when my Grandparent’s arrived in 1931. The main street was lined with various department stores and restaurants. They are all gone now and there is only about five thousand people living here.”

“Why is that?” John asked.

“In the nineteen fifties they closed the coal holes” he said.

“That many people came here to work in the coal mines?” asked John.

“Mostly the immigrants from various countries in Europe,” Giuseppe said. “My Grandparent’s came here from Italy in 1931 and my Grandfather was a Miner.”

“That is not the kind of work I would want to do,” he told the barber.

“Being a miner was a dangerous occupation, and my Grandfather quickly learned that the mules in the mines were more valuable to the mining companies then the miners. The miners were just expendable labor for the mining companies. They dealt with cave-ins, gas explosions, mine flooding and many miners died and suffered physical ailments from breathing in the coal dust,” Giuseppe said, “my Grandfather was no exception.”

“So your Grandfather died from being a Miner?” John asked.

“On a Saturday in October, 1938. There was a cave-in at the Maple Hill mine,” Giuseppe told him, “in the deep darkness of one of its mine shafts four miners were trapped. It was damp, cold, and the miners were frightened and unable to see.”

“That had to be terrifying for the miners,” John said

“They heard a voice coming through the cold darkness,” Giuseppe said, “it was in the dark damp chilled air, that the voice told them that everything is going to be OK and not to worry.”

“This is a true story so listen,” said Mr. Wascovage an elderly gentleman in his early 90’s. He laid the newspaper down on the bench that he was sitting on so that once again he can hear Giuseppe’s story.

“It was Alfonso, my Grandfather’s voice they heard,” Giuseppe said, “he told the Miners to un-strap their mining belts and to buckle all the belts together to make a long leather rope so that they have something to hold on to. By holding on to the leather belts they knew they were all together. It was also to prevent them from becoming separated in the pitch blackness of the deep mine. He told them to follow his voice and to continue holding on to the leather belts.”

“That must have been a horrifying experience for them,” John said while listening intently to his story.

Giuseppe went on cutting the young man’s hair while four elderly gentlemen once again had the privilege to hear the retelling of the story.

“The miners felt the ice cold water droplets falling on them in the pitch darkness. They heard the scurrying, screeching sounds, of rats and felt them running up against them and over their feet.”

“My father was one of those trapped Miners,” said Mr. Zabasky another elderly gentleman. He too enjoyed the Barbers retelling of the story.

While Giuseppe was unweaving his story John listened with anticipation as to what was to come next. “It was my Grandfather’s voice that guided them down that long winding dark shaft,” he repeated.

One of the Italian miners with frustration in his voice yelled, “Alfonso, how da hell do you know where you go, you get us more lost.”

“Shut you face,” Alfonso said, “I know what I do.”

Four hours passed and they came to a pile of large rocks, slabs of coal, and slate. He told them if they move them they will be able to work their way out of the mine shaft and he told them to hurry.

Once again with anger and frustration an Italian miner yelled out, “Alfonso!!!!!!! how do you know this? You, ah completely craze!!!!!!! How do you know this?”

Alfonso told him in Italian to quickly move the coal slabs if he wants to get out of the mine alive.

It was many hours later after laboriously moving, rocks, coal, and slate - in the pitch cold darkness. That they felt an opening and once again, Alfonso told them to stay together and continue moving forward.

They did move forward holding on to the leather belts that were strapped together. Sixteen hours after the initial mine cave-in the trapped miners began to see lights from lanterns and they heard the voices of other miners coming through the shaft in the opposite direction. One of the Italian miners yelled out, “thank you Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the holy Donkey, how da hell did you know what shaft we in?”

“Alfonse told us” came the reply “he told us to hurry and get you guys out because the shaft is about to give way.”

“You craze, Alfonso is here.” yelled one of the Italian miners, “tell him Alfonso you here,” but there was no reply from Alfonso.

As the miners exited the mine they could hear the loud rumbling of the mine caving-in behind them and the dust and suet rising from what was once the entrance to the mine.

“Jesus” said one of the rescuers.

“You gota that right” said an Italian miner, “I start praying Rosary and start Novena as soon as I get home.”

“Where is Alfonso?” said one of the rescuers, “he was with me.”

“He wasa right next to me whole time,” said the vociferous Italian miner, “you ah Craze.”

Alfonso’s disappearance remained a Mystery for about two weeks because eventually his body was found at the original cave-in site.

Giuseppe told the young man, “Miners swore they saw my Grandfather getting on the trolley each morning to go to work and getting off the trolley in the evening to enter my Great uncle Giuseppe’s Tavern at the end of a hard days work. That is where he went to wash the coal dust down, with an ice cold mug of Columbia Beer."

“Get out,” said the young man, “that is such a cool story.”

“Miners enjoyed singing songs they learned in their youth,” Giuseppe said, “many of the Italian miners sang their favorite songs in my Great uncle Giuseppe’s Tavern. They sang those songs covered with black coal dust, wearing their mining equipment that they leased from the company store. Miners swore they heard my Grandfather, Alfonso’s voice singing right along with them in that Tavern.”

“And every word of it is true,” said Mr. Markavage an elderly gentleman holding on to his Cain with both hands. He sat and listened to Giuseppe’s story. The four elderly gentlemen in the Barbershop heard the story numerous times and they always enjoy listening to the Barber keeping his Grandfather's memory alive.

“Years after my Grandfather’s death,” Giuseppe said, “my Grandmother told her children, including my father and I. That she hears the clanging of my grandfather’s mining equipment. She heard him each morning as if he was getting ready to go to work, with the exception of Sunday his day off.”

“That is such a great story,” the young man said once again.

“My Grandmother also told us that she heard him hanging up his mining equipment, each evening, as if he was getting ready to wash up for a hot meal,” Giuseppe said, “except for Sunday’s of course that was the Lords day.”

“I heard similar stories of dead solders appearing in battle fields,” John said.

“When my Grandmother was alive she told us that she could feel my Grandfather's presents and him lying down next to her at night,” Giuseppe said. “My Grandmother lived into her nineties and she talked about the miners up to the day she died.”

“That is quite a remarkable story,” John said.

“And it is all true,” said Mr. Wascovage patiently waiting for his weekly trim.

“From 1938 to the closing of the mines in 1954 there have been numerous sightings of my Grandfather warning the miners about the presences of gas in the mines, mine flooding, and impending mine cave-ins,” Giuseppe told them, “he has been a mining legend since his death in 1938 and the Italians who knew him told his story to their Children and they in turn told their Children the stories.”

“Well it was a different time back then and this town is quite different from the town your Grandparents lived in,” said the young man, “I personally don’t think I could have been a miner. The value system on work and family was quite different back then as well.”

“The miners and their families implicitly understood which I believe is becoming lost in today’s society. That it takes a village to raise a child. They brought a part of their villages from their native countries to this town and to the coal region as a whole,” Mr. Markavage told the young man.

“I do believe the time in which they lived and their beliefs were much simpler then. The times are changing fast, and our value systems are changing as well,” John said.

“It was their ethnic values in the mining communities that were instilled in the children within those communities and they in turn instilled those values in their children and their neighbor’s children,” said Mr. Wascovage. “The Italians and the other immigrants reflected that when they built their communities and their churches in our town.”

“I hate to say it, but the churches today especially in this area are becoming more and more, empty,” the young man said, “that is one reason the churches are being consolidated. It is just a reflection of today’s value system.”

“Well then if the churches are not the answer for today’s youth then perhaps the greatest gift that we can give to children are stories that will help them gain a deeper understanding and an appreciation of our nation’s history and ethnic diversity,” Giuseppe said, “they in turn will keep our history alive when they tell their children the same stories, because not all history comes from the history books. We must teach our children in the homes not just in the schools, by communicating with them, by telling them stories about their heritage. The stories of how the miners immigrated to America, settled down in our coal region, so that their children, grandchildren, and their grandchildren’s children can have a better life as Americans.”

“Not just the miners,” the young man said, “my Great Grandfather worked in a steel mill. He came from Poland, and like the miners he immigrated here for a better life. Those same values were instilled in our family as well.”

“You are right about that, young man,” Giuseppe said, “it is all the immigrants that came here and worked hard at various jobs so that their families can have better opportunities and a better life.”

“I don’t think I could have done the kind of work your Grandfather did - deep in the coal mines,” John said.

“I don’t think I could have either,” Giuseppe said, “it was hard dirty work but they sacrificed and worked hard so that their children could have a better life.”

“The mines here have been closed for 53 years,” said Mr. Zaloweski another elderly gentleman as he placed a magazine down on a seat next to him, “but those who know our areas history can learn from the miners work ethic, their loyalties to their families, friends, their communities, their churches, and their over all values.”

“The majority living here now are living on public assistance. That is just one reason why I want to get out of this area, it’s to damn depressing,” the young man told them.

Mr. Bombasko an old fellow with thick eye glasses and hearing aids said loud enough that Alfonso himself could hear him, “When my father was growing up, there was no such thing as public assistance. People back then could not just sit around and contribute nothing to society or the community and live off the government. People did not do that in my father’s time, they earned their keep. When they fell on hard times the entire community helped them out.”

“Some people need the help until they can get back on their feet,” John said.

“In my Grandfather’s day people helped each other out. The communities helped their own,” Giuseppe said, “you rarely see that today.”

“I have a problem with people out there getting money which is not being earned to do absolutely nothing. That to me is immoral, and a drain on the rest of us who worked. I worked for 42 years and to think that tax dollars are being used to give loafers a pay check,” said Mr. Bombasko, with such anger that he had to remove his eye glasses. The lenses in his spectacles were getting fogged up from his rapped rise in body temperature.

“Easy Bomby you’ll give yourself a stroke,” said Giuseppe

“It’s becoming generational,” said Mr. Bombasko, angrily, “their grandparents are on public assistance, their parents are getting paid to do nothing, and now the grandchildren are learning how to milk the system. It has become a way of life for some. I say take the loafers off public assistance or make them work for the money.”

“I don’t mind my tax dollars being used to help those who are truly in need,” the young man said, “but a lot of people just like you said are taking advantage of the system. We are paying for them to sit around, doing nothing. I agree with you that they should be contributing something to the community. It looks to me that the majority living here are on public assistance and that is why the area is so depressed and the poverty is so great.”

“I also don’t mind helping those who truly deserve our help through the taxes we pay, but the rest are a drain on our society and on our town,” Giuseppe said, “some use their free checks to by drugs and drink booze, while our tax money is supporting that activity.”

“All of their health care is covered,” John said, “my wife and I struggle with no health Insurance with a baby on the way, and I am working for my pay.”

“And is that right?” Mr. Bombasko asked, “you work hard in this country with no health Insurance, while deadbeat loafers are fully covered.”

John held back his anger about his lack of health coverage, “I enjoyed talking to you guys,” he said as he paid Giuseppe four dollars for his haircut.

“Come back again for a trim, anytime,” Giuseppe said.

The young man went home after he left the barbershop. He looked into his wife’s eyes as he put his arms around her. Her eyes revealed a deep warmth and a deep affection for him. He then placed his hand on his wife’s belly hoping to feel the baby’s movement. His wife was eight months into her pregnancy and she was carrying their first child.

He took notice to the well used furniture in his apartment. He looked at their old kitchen table with the old rickety chairs. He could hear the old clock ticking away on their kitchen wall running ten minutes behind the time. Their material possessions were a reflection of their poverty. They lived in a small run down apartment because they were a poor working couple. They worked and lived from paycheck to paycheck. In the back of John’s mind he was constantly thinking about how they were going to get by once the baby arrives. How difficult it is going to be for them but then he thought about how hard the miners must have worked to provide for their families. “I don’t work that hard,” he thought to himself, “not as hard as a miner.”

They have very little when it comes to the nice material things. The things that money can buy but what is more important to John is that he draws his strength from his wife. He would be unable to live without the feelings he gains from her, her gentle touch, her warm smile, and that self assured confidence in her eyes. But most important it is the love he has for her. That love cannot be obtained through the material world because it is something that is deep within, binding them together. The acceptance and the love she provides him cannot be gained from material wealth either because it comes from the core of her being. She on the other hand gains her strength from him. He without knowing filled a void in her life and his presence brings her great comfort. They are not just man and wife because before they were married and now after their marriage they are the best of friends.

He gets up at five o’clock each morning and works at a local plant. There he glues boxes for eight hours a day on minimum wage. His wife works as a certified nursing assistant at a near by nursing home for eight dollars an hour. They moved to that small town because of the low cost of living.

That night as they lay in bed he told her about the conversations in the barbershop about the town’s history and the miners. He wondered what the world would be like when their child is their age. What kind of values their child will have. “I will do everything I can so that our baby will never have to work as hard as us,” he said to his wife, Marti, “I want our baby to have a better life when it is our age.”

“Our lives will be better I know that deep down inside,” she said.

“We must pass on our values when our baby is born,” John said, “By telling similar stories like the stories I heard today in the barbershop.”

He told his wife some of the stories and she listened as they lay in bed.

“The time was so different then it was such an innocent era,” she said.

“When our child is old enough to go to school, we can’t rely on the schools or others to instill values in our child,” he told her, “like the elderly man said in the barbershop we must communicate those values in our home.”

“I can tell plenty of stories about my grandparents,” she told him with laughter in her voice. “You are just worried about becoming a father. We will get by and be OK.”

“I think we should make a go of this town,” John said, “it does have a rich history. We are not from here but perhaps the history of the town can provide us with great stories to draw from. Those stories will help us instill values in our family tree.”

“Whatever you decide,” she said, “but there are better opportunities out of this area. No matter where we are the values will be past down through us.”

“I just want to make sure that we raise our child properly that is all,” he said.

“I understand that it is our responsibility to raise our child properly,” she said, “but we can do that anywhere. We must definitely go where there are greater opportunities for us. I don’t think the opportunities are here in this town.”

“I did learn a great deal from those gentlemen in the Barbershop,” he said.

“What did you learn,” she asked

“What is being lost in the town is the appreciation for its rich heritage,” he said, “people are losing touch with the past. We can learn so much from the town’s history.”

“Yes, but you can’t live in the past. You must seize the moment and properly prepare for the future,” his wife told him, “most of the people living in this town are not aware of the town’s past because they are not from this town. The people who are from here are either dieing off or they are moving away.”

“I think that is sad because the children can learn a great deal from the town’s history,” he said.

“Yes, but my parents did all right raising me and my brothers,” she said, “they instilled the values as we grew up and they never stepped foot in this town.”

“Our parents and grandparents were not experts in child rearing but I agree they did all right. The values are there we just need to draw on them. We also need to become more active and participate in the community. We can help the community become a better place,” he said. “no matter where we go or where we decide to live. The values will come from us and what we give to the community will accentuate those values. We must become an example for our children, our neighbors’ children, and the entire community. I suppose telling stories is not enough we must become living examples for others to follow.”

“The stories are great stories but children will have to draw meaning from them and integrate the stories meaning into their own lives,” she said, “the past is gone we must utilize what we have now and build for a better future. That is what we are going to have to do as parents.”

“I agree with you, the stories we tell have no meaning until we give them meaning. Then like you said we must integrate the stories meaning and value into our own lives. We have to become the values that we want to see in others, in doing so, we help the community become a better place to live as well,” he said.

“Let us become parents first then we can work out the kinks as we go along,” she said with humor in her voice, “If you want to stay here that is fine, if you want to move that is fine too. We will learn how to be better parents by being parents. Then maybe our grandchildren will tell stories about us.”

There was a time when thousands of people moved to what was once a booming town. They moved there for better opportunities and for a better life. Now that town is a shadow of its former glory.

John and his wife Marti had a short stay in that small town but John’s encounter with Giuseppe’s barbershop helped him to understand that the values of yesteryear are not entirely lost. Those values are within; he and his wife need to recognize those values which they already posses and to accentuate them for others to emulate and embrace.

In the fast passed world which they are now living they are struggling to do their best. They understand that the responsibility to be decent human beings lie within not through the world around them. How they live their life will directly impact their child’s life and the community in which they live. They are trying to live up to the values that they would like to see in others and in doing so they are becoming better parents.

They eventually moved out of that small town shortly after their daughter was born. They moved to an area where they believe will provide greater opportunities for their family. They continue to struggle though but they are drawing their strength from each other and like most young parents they are learning from their mistakes.

They do believe their short stay in that former mining town was for the best. The conversations at Giuseppe barbershop got John thinking about the evolving world. He also has a clearer understanding of the responsibilities he has of making a positive impact; not only in his own life, but in his family’s lives, and within the community where they are now living.

They are continuing to do their best as young parents by living the values that were instilled in them by their parents. They are also focusing on their needs as a family unit and putting aside their superficial wants. In doing so they are getting by financially, and becoming more involved in their community. They are also continuing to build on the here and now, preparing themselves not only for a brighter future but a richer community.

With love,

Thomas F. O’Neill

introspective7@hotmail.com

(800) 272-6464

Other articles, short stories, and commentaries by Thomas F. O'Neill can be found at the links below.

Link: http://thomasfoneill.blogspot.com

Link: http://pencilstubs.com

Link: http://www.livejournal.com/users/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://www.myspace.com/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://thomasfoneill.spaces.live.com

 

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/MagPage.asp?NID=2754

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/authorbio.asp?AID=412

E-mail: introspective7@hotmail.com

by Thomas F. O’Neill

On a moonless night a car was traveling down a long winding dirt road, “will this dirt road ever end,” the driver thought to herself. Her headlights dimmed by dry mud.

It was in the early morning hours that she placed the few belongings she had into her car. She drove off leaving her home behind. She stopped several times for gas, for some food, and to relieve herself. Sixteen hours later she was still driving with no particular destination in mind, “I just need to get away from him he’s a low life, good for nothing, S.O.B,” she said to herself out loud.

She made several turns but she was clueless as to where she was or how she got on that endless dirt road. She didn’t particularly care where the road was leading her, as long as it took her far from where she was in life.

Her man or lack there of would describe himself as having a slight drinking problem. He would start drinking early in the morning and by evening he would be crashed out on the couch. When drunk, he is verbally abusive, extremely condescending, and just down right nasty. He can not hold down a job due to his alcoholism but yet he finagled his way into receiving government disability checks. She had enough of her now former boyfriend’s uncontrollable rants and drunken stupors. She had everything she needed in her car and she was now through with him.

He, on the other hand, was leaving numerous voicemail messages on her cell phone, cursing her for not being home to cook him something to eat. She ignored the ringing of her cell phone as she drove.

She can remember one particular Doctor’s appointment that her low life man kept in order to be approved for disability,

“Do you have a drinking problem?” asked the Doctor.

“Oh yes, Doc, do I ever have a drinking problem,” he said with a concerned look on his face, “my hand shakes so bad at times that I spill my beer when I try to drink it.”

“Well I think the shaking in your limbs is a result of the amount of alcohol you’re consuming, throughout your day. You should consider signing into a rehab clinic, to dry yourself out.”

“Is that required to be approved for disability?” he asked the Doctor.

“No, but it may enhance the quality of your life.”

“Well, Ralph,” she said out loud with her hands clenched to the steering wheel, “you may be collecting government disability checks, but you have no quality time added to your life, you low life drunk,” her mind and thoughts raising with anger as she continued driving down that long, winding, dusty road.

She is now hopeful though, with steering wheel in hand, that the quality of her life will be enhanced, far away from her former boyfriend as possible.

It happened quickly, due to her headlights being covered by dry mud. She barely saw the outline of the man that caused her to slam on the brakes. The car skidded; her vehicle then struck a pedestrian walking on the side of the road.

“Oh my God,” she yelled looking down at him lying there, “are you alright?”

“Ahhghh, my leg,” he said with his face grimacing from the pain.

“Jesus, I need to get you to a hospital,” she said, “is there one around here?”

“Thirty minute drive from here,” he told her trying to fight the pain in her car, “do you do this often?”

“You mean take people to the hospital? Well .......”

“No, run people over,” he said in a sarcastic tone of voice.

“Well look here,” she fired back at him, “first of all you were walking down a dirt road, in dark clothes, in the middle of the night. It’s not my fault you walked out in front of my car.”

“You ran me over,” he said trying to remain calm with the pain visibly on his face.

“Now look here !!!!" she yelled, "I could of let you lay there on the side of the road but I didn’t.”

“I don’t have any Insurance for a hospital.”

“Well, I will check and see how much damage you did to my car. Then you can claim the hospital bill against my auto Insurance.”

“How much damage I did to your car? You ran me over .......”

“Your leg is fractured” said the Doctor in the hospital emergency room, “it’s not displaced but you will need a cast on it for about three weeks.”

“Well at least it is nothing really serious,” she said to him.

“How did it happen?” the Doctor asked.

“She ran over me with her car.”

“Now look here…….” she fired back, “you are the one that walked out in front of my vehicle.”

“Domestic dispute,” the Doctor mumbled to himself as he wrote something down on a medical chart, “I am going to write you a prescription for your pain. The cast will have to come off in three weeks.”

When she was driving him home,

“How many miles do you have on this thing,” he asked her.

“Two hundred and fifty three thousand," she said, "two hundred and ninety two, and three tenths of a mile,” she rattled off in an exact tone of voice, “don’t even think about suing me because everything I have is in this car.”

“Where were you headed?” he asked her, “not too many cars travel to Millville or on this dirt road since the closing of the mill.”

"I needed to get away from, Ralph; he’s nothing but a real A-hole.”

“Did you run him over too?”

“No, but I sure felt like it,” she said.

“Who is he your husband?”

“No, not my husband and I never ran him over,” she repeated, “Boy, I sure as hell felt like it though, many times. He is nothing but a drunken loser. We never got married we just lived together for three years. He is the biggest mistake of my life.”

“Any kids?”

“I wanted kids, he didn’t, but I am glade we never had any because he would have been an abusive father towards them.”

“So where were you headed?” he asked.

“Nowhere in particular, this morning I packed up everything I own got in my car and drove off. I couldn’t deal with that drunken slob forcing himself on me again.”

“And you wound up here on this dirt road in the outskirts of Millville?” he said slightly perturbed.

When they arrived at his home she helped him out of the car and into his living room, “is there someone here that can help you,” she asked.

“I live alone; I have been here alone for a long time,” he told her. He was in pain from his broken leg but he became more concerned for her. In his mind, she seemed a bit scattered, like a broken child without direction.

“She was abused,” he thought to himself, as she helped him over to a chair, “abused by a person who put his own needs first. Her needs were of less importance in the hands of her abusive boyfriend.”

He watched her move through the room like a curious child, “a loser and an abuser, is not what she needs in life,” he thought, “I will help her get back on her feet.”

She moved a foot stool over to his chair and gently lifted his broken leg and placed it on the stool. “If you want,” he said, “you can stay here until you get an idea of where you want to go.”

“Thank you but I feel that I would just bother you,” she said, “but, I hate to picture you here all alone with a broken leg in a cast.”

“Is that a yes I will stay or a no I am hitting the road?”

She paused for a moment and then slowly said, “I really don’t have anyplace to go and I am partially at fault for your leg. I can stick around until your leg is better.”

It didn’t take her long to settle in, “I just realized something I never got your name.”

“Mark,” came the reply, “I gave all my personal information to the Emergency room nurse at the hospital don’t you remember?”

“I am terrible with names. I am much better with faces then names. By the way my name is Linda.”

“Well make yourself comfortable here, Linda,”

“There is something childlike about her,” he thought, “she is very open and trusting. She is to trusting perhaps; maybe that is why she got caught up in an abusive relationship with her Ex - Ralph.”

“This is more of a cabin then a house,” she said, as she began to look around.

“It is quite comfortable here and quiet,” he said to her.

She noticed beautiful woodcarvings on the fireplace mantle of various small animals and of a little girl, “they are quite beautiful,” she said referring to the carvings, “where did you get them?”

“I made them; I use the wood from the old abandoned Mill. That is where I was headed; I was going to the Mill when you hit me with your car. I used to work at the Mill before it closed. I now sell my woodcarvings at various craft shows a few times a year. People also mail orders to me of what they want me to carve for them. I will never get rich doing it but it gives me enough to live on.”

“At least you are doing what you enjoy doing,” she said as she admired the intricate details in the wood of a Bald Eagle. She then picked up a woodcarving of a little girl in a dress, “who is this little girl?”

“She is my daughter.”

“Where is she now?” she asked.

“She is with the angels, and at times here with me.”

“With the angels? you mean she died?”

“She went to visit the angels,” he said once again, “ten years ago, she accidentally drowned in the lake out back,” as he pointed in the direction of the near by lake he said with tears in his eyes, “she was only six years old.”

“Where was her mother?”

“Like your Ralph, my wife also liked to drink, but her choice and preference was vodka. After our daughter died, my wife’s mind deteriorated, and she was institutionalized in a state psychiatric hospital. I heard from the hospital a few years ago that she is living in a group home for the mentally ill.”

“I can’t imagine the pain of losing a child,” she thought as she listened to his story.

“I feel my daughter with me though and I made that woodcarving of her from memory. Sometimes when it is very peaceful and quiet here. I could see her standing and looking at some of the small baby animals, outside the cabin. She then looks over at me with a large happy smile.”

“I believe she is still with you here because she loves her father.”

They slept in the same bed that night but Linda seemed restless and she snuggled up to him in a somewhat childlike way. She trusted him and thought about the pain he must have endured from the loss of his daughter. She thought about what he must have gone through caring for his alcoholic wife.

The next morning as Linda was making a large pot of Coffee on a wood burning stove, she looked out of the cabin window. She saw a large beautiful bald eagle standing on the banister on the cabin’s front porch. She quickly woke Mark up to tell him about the beautiful Eagle. “That is Liberty,” he mumbled as he awoke from a deep sleep.

She helped him into the kitchen and he took some bread out of a cabinet. “I raised that Eagle when she was just a young hatchling. Her mother was killed by a hunter, when ‘Liberty’ was still in her egg,” he said. “When her egg hatched, I had to feed her from an eye dropper every twenty minutes. Now, she comes by every morning to see me and I give her some bread.”

Linda helped him out to the front porch and he held out the bread in his hand. The large female Eagle with its powerful beak, took the bread out of his hand. It then raised its wings, turned, and flew high into the air. She circled the cabin high in the sky with great majestic beauty.

With Linda’s help he went back into the kitchen and he drank a few cups of coffee with her. “He is such a sweet sensitive guy,” she thought to herself.

That afternoon he made a pair of crutches for himself out of wood, with Linda admiring his handiwork. That same afternoon Liberty returned with a large fish and dropped it on the front porch, “Well, it is not much but that is our lunch,” he said.

“That is so cool,” she said to him, “she does that everyday.”

“Yes,” came the reply, “I don’t eat meat but fish I eat. Somehow Liberty knows I like fish and she brings me one everyday.”

“Eagles must be really smart,” she said.

“She is very smart, and very strong. She can hear and see things from extremely far distances.”

“Its better then having a watch dog,” she said.

“Well, I never seen her attack anyone.”

“I suppose she could if she had too,” she said with curiosity and excitement in her voice.

Over the next few days Linda became more and more fascinated by what she witnessed through the kitchen window. She watched various animals around the cabin walk up to Mark and he would pet them. “They just run away when they see me” she thought, “he is such a gentle soul.”

They began to trust one another with deeper intimacy. She wasn’t use to being with a man that showed compassion and a deep caring warmth towards her. She didn’t know how to accept it at first. She opened up to him and he listened, completely listened, he was completely there for her.

The relationships she had in the past were mostly fueled by a sexual attraction but they were lustful passions that slowly fizzled out. Those short lived relationships were built on superficial foundations; they were shallow, with no substance. A person like Mark never entered her life before, he accentuated all that is positive within her.

One evening as they lay in bed, she explained in greater detail, what she lived with and endured, at the hands of her former boyfriend. “I can never return to that relationship,” she said with tears in her eyes, “I would rather die then go back to him.”

“You can stay here for as long as you like,” he said.

She was slowly putting her past behind her and she was accepting the fact that this was now a new beginning for her. The cast eventually came off Mark’s leg and she remained with him. The simple life that Mark is living was a bit difficult for Linda to adjust to. He has no indoor pluming or electricity. He has a ‘Well’ for water but before he could use the water, for washing, cooking, or drinking, he has to boil it. The boiling of the water kills off any contaminates that could make them sick. They cook on a wood burning stove and they have a makeshift fireplace for heat. Next to the cabin is an outhouse and for Linda it has an unpleasant order. But for Mark that is the life he chose to live. The food they eat always has to be fresh because they have no way of refrigerating or freezing food.

Linda has no way of charging her cell phone battery so she is unable to use her phone. She was unaware of the numerous rants of voicemail messages that Ralph was leaving for her. Her cell phone was eventually turned off for lack of payment.

Linda often made comments about how Mark is a leftover from a different century. But then she realizes he could never afford the modern conveniences due to his meager income from the woodcarvings. He once said to her, “when fools strive for the possessions they do not have - but wish to gain. The wise are developing what they already posses within themselves.”

When she would complain about their meager lifestyle, he would tell her, “what we have, is all we need, Linda.”

The little money that is generated from his artistic talent is used for purchasing hygiene supplies and various spices for cooking. The store they shop at is three miles from their cabin. Other then going to the store for purchases, they are isolated from the rest of the world. She stayed with him though because she sees a gentleness in him, a kind, and caring soul.

In the short time she was with him she never saw him frustrated or angry. She also never saw such concentration in a person especially when he is creating a woodcarving with intricate details. He would carve for hours without taking a break, to eat, drink, or sleep.

She is also continuously fascinated by Mark’s relationship with the animals near the cabin. How they walk over to him without fear. The birds do not fly away when he goes near them. Baby dear eat food out of his hand. She is also a bit amused with the thought of a large female Bald Eagle watching out for him. “He is different from other people,” she would continuously say to herself as she learns more about him.

He also understands her better then other people. Most importantly he helped her gain a deeper understanding of herself. He brought out an inner strength in her. She was beginning to realize why she chose to live with the abusive men in her past. She learned that she had a low opinion of herself.

She felt she needed a man for security but now she understands it is a false security. The life she is living now is by choice not by an insecure need. The security in her life now rests on a strong foundation of mutual trust, understanding, and love. She is also learning to put the past behind her and to move on with her life. She enjoys Mark’s company, his sensitive demeanor, but most importantly she wants to stay with him for the rest of her life.

He also enjoys Linda’s company, he enjoys their closeness, and their intimate moments together. In a short time they learned a great deal about each other and the paths in life that brought them together.

One morning as Linda sat in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee. She saw a little girl running near the cabin playing with a baby deer. She heard the little girl’s excited laughter. The baby deer seemed to take the little girl’s lead by chasing after her. When Linda went outside she continued to hear the little girl’s laugh. She went looking for her, down by the lake, but she was no where to be found.

When she told Mark about her,

“That’s Emily,” he said to her, “she has accepted you being around here.”

“Emily?” she asked.

“My daughter,” he said, “the one I told you about.”

“The one who died in the lake?” she asked in a slightly concerned voice.

“She likes you,” he said.

“The animals see her and play with her,” she asked in a confused tone of voice.

“She is very sweet and playful, she loves the animals,” he said.

“When you said she comes around, I didn’t know you meant she literally comes around,” she said with a shocked look on her face.

“There is nothing to be concerned about,” he said.

“That baby deer enjoys playing with her,” she said in a surprised voice.

“That deer was her pet. She really loved that deer,” he said, “she was devastated when a hunter shot her pet. She was crushed and cried for days. I think her coming around is her way of saying she is happy.”

“You mean that baby deer and your daughter are ghosts?” she asked in a surprised voice, “I heard of such stories about ghosts but I never thought they were true.”

“My daughter accepted the fact that you are here,” he said.

“How could that be your daughter?” she asked, “when you yourself said she died.”

“Well, I am not an expert on death,” he said, “I like to think of myself as being an apprentice in life.”

“She is really your daughter,” she said in a perplexed tone of voice.

“Emily is not a problem for us,” he said, “my former wife, on the other hand, can be more of a problem then Emily,” he said in a slightly concerned voice, “Agnes is very unstable and she would never accept you being here.”

“Should I be concerned about her?” she asked.

“She hasn’t been here in a very long time,” he said, “since she has been living in that group home.”

“How far is the group home from here?” she asked.

“A good three hours,” he said, “so I wouldn’t be that concerned about her.”

Unbeknownst to Mark and Linda, the former wife was planning a visit to the cabin in a stolen vehicle. Two weeks earlier Mark’s former wife, Agnes, stole a vehicle from a gas station. The purpose being, she was coming back home to Mark. In her reality their daughter Emily was her traveling companion.

She was delusional from being off her medication and in her mind her daughter was very much alive and Mark was still her husband. In her delusional thinking, she was simply returning back home from being on vacation with Emily.

She drove aimlessly but she talked to her daughter as if she was sitting in the passenger seat. She constantly told her, “Mommy and Daddy love you, and how happy Daddy will be to see us back home.” She asked total strangers for money for gas and they normally complied to help her out. Agnes was living a delusional existence while Mark and Linda were enjoying their life together at their cabin.

One morning, Linda, saw the little girl running near the lake and she followed after her. Emily pointed to shrubs and once again Linda heard the little girl’s laughter. When Linda looked down at the shrubs she saw a large female deer licking its newborn. “How cute the little baby deer looks,” she said to herself. The appearances of Emily shocked Linda at first because as quickly as she sees her and hears her excited laughter, she is gone.

“Is she physical?” she asked Mark, “or is she just an apparition? Can she physically be here with us?”

“I like to think, she is just visiting us,” he said to her as they walked through the woods together, “it has taken me many years to get over her death. Her visits might be her way of showing me that she is happy. It may have been my pain that kept her around and her coming around might be her way of trying to ease my pain.”

“I am not much into religion,” she said, “most of life to me is a mystery. I don’t really believe in miracles.”

“To me there are no miracles in life because life itself is a miracle,” he said, “look around and take a really close look at nature, it’s around you, and part of you. See the beauty of it all."

Mark slowly walked Linda over to a tree limb and showed her a beautiful Butterfly delicately moving its wings, “we as living beings, are part of life’s miracle, and part of god’s beauty. You and I and all of nature make up the beauty within the magnificent face of god.”

“I never heard it put that way before. I always saw god as being far away from us at a place called Heaven.”

“To me god is intimately part of us,” he said as they continued their walk, “we are intimately part of god.”

He then added, “the life of god is our sustenance, our essence; god is the life and the love that is within us.”

“What is death then?” she asked.

“Like I said, I am not an expert on death. I am merely an apprentice in life,” he said, “but I like to think of death as being part of the cycles of life. The cycles of life and death are part of god’s artistic symmetry. When we die we may rest for a bit, to assimilate the sum total of our experiences. I like to think that in time we return. We are reborn so that we can learn and grow with others. We gain greater self-awareness of ourselves and all of nature by living, growing, and sharing our lives with others. We are simply growing within god’s beauty and enjoying the gift of life.”

“So you believe in reincarnation?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, “but not in a traditional sense but I do believe we are reborn. I like to think also that when we die we simply wake up to a higher awareness. It is like waking up from a dream. We simply have a greater awareness of life.”

“Death is like waking up to higher awareness,” she asked in a slightly confused tone of voice.

“We simply become more aware of life - when we die,” he said, “we become more aware of the life that we are living.”

“Like waking up from a dream?” she asked

“When we desire to sleep our dreams become our reality and we participate in our dreams. When we wake up from a dream we become fully aware that we were dreaming. Some of our dreams are good and some of our dreams are bad but we can learn more about ourselves from our dreams.”

“And then we return?” she asked.

“In time we desire to return, in order to delight in the game of life,” he said. “When you play well with others - in this game called life - others will want to play with you. We are simply learning and growing with others, like children, we learn by playing with others.”

“Do we meet the same people as before with each return,” she asked.

“People come into our lives for a reason. They come into our lives out of our soul’s desire, which is to love and to be loved,” he said, “We need others in our lives, not just for our physical sustenance, but because they help us learn more about ourselves.”

“So we met for a reason,” she said, “so my running you down with my car was no accident,” she said laughing.

“I would have preferred meeting you in a less dramatic way,” he said with humor in his voice.

“So what you are saying is we are reborn in order to learn more about ourselves so that we can grow and become more aware of our self,” she said.

“Yes,” came the reply, “we are reborn so that we can become more aware of our self in relation to others. In order to grow in self-awareness we have to fully live and participate in life with others.”

“Then when we die we analyze the events in our lives like we do with our dreams?” she asked.

“Yes, sort of like that,” he said, “I like to think of death as waking up, becoming more fully aware.”

“I was always told about a place called Heaven, where good people go, and Hell where bad people go, but what you’re telling me makes more sense,” she said.

“Yes, it makes more sense,” he said, “we learn a great deal more about ourselves from the life that we live with others. We are growing and evolving with others. With each return we will continue to evolve, physically, psychologically, socially and in greater self-awareness. We participate with others because we desire to be with those we love and to learn, and grow, in the game of life.”

“So then what is the purpose of life?” she asked.

"The purpose of life is to become more actualized,” he said, “to become more aware of all that there is.”

He began to show her the natural beauty of the forest as they continued to walk and talk, “our purpose in life” he said, “is to become more aware of god, life, and love. We are evolving, physically, socially, psychologically and in greater self-awareness with each return.”

“But why?” she asked, “what is the purpose?”

“We are helping nature move forward because we are part of nature,” he said. “We are also helping humanity move forward because we are part of humanity.”

“In what way do we help humanity?” she asked.

“We are helping humanity and nature move forward,” he said once again, “we are evolving, collectively, and on a more personal level. What we give to humanity and nature we give to ourselves.”

“I think I understand but it still does not answer the question as to why we exist,” she said.

“We must eventually come to a greater awareness of all there is,” he said.

“All there is?” she asked

“God,” he said. “God is the intimate essence of who we are and what we are becoming in life. I do believe god is the reason we exist because god is very much a part of us.”

“But you still haven’t answered the question, why?" she said, "why do we exist, for what purpose?” she asked in a frustrated tone of voice.

“As we become more self-aware,” he said, “we come to a greater realization that the only thing we truly posses, is life itself. Life is also all around us. Life is the expression of god's love."

"That still doesn't answer my question," she said.

"The life within us is the life of god trying to become more actualized in our very being," he said. "With each return we are trying to refine our expression of life. We are sharing the life of god and the purpose being. God communicates its presents through us because the life of god is an intimate part of us."

"We are 'One' with God, is that what you are trying to say?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "God’s life is within us it is becoming more actualized through us. As we evolve in life god becomes more known to us and we communicate the presents of god more fully.”

“So what you are saying then Death does not exist, there is only life?” she asked.

“Death is just a recycling process, its nature’s way of recycling itself,” he said.

“I was told evolution goes against god’s intelligent design and creation,” she said.

“The intelligent design of our own being,” he said, “is a reflection of the intelligent design within all of nature. Empirical evidence has revealed to us that there is an evolutionary order to all life which some Scientists believe is an intricate part of nature’s intelligent design. Today’s Scientists recognize intelligent patterns within nature. That is why we continue to rely on Science and continue to develop scientific methods to help us gain greater insights in understanding nature’s intelligent design.”

“So evolution is part of nature’s intelligent design?” she asked

"Yes," he said, "all we have to do is look at our humanity. We are pushing to better ourselves with each generation. It is within that desire for self improvement that we have evolved to where we are today and will continue to evolve, socially, physically, consciously, and spiritually, for countless generations. With each new generation humanity is gaining a deeper self-knowledge and becoming more self-aware of the essence of who we are as human beings. We are also very much a part of the evolutionary process of nature.”

“So we are evolving out of our own desire to better ourselves?” she asked

“Yes,” he said, “we are collectively pushing nature and humanity forward.”

“So life is all there is,” she said.

“The gift of life is all that we truly posses,” he said, “that is why the wise develop what they already posses within themselves.”

“You said before that we are becoming more actualized,” she said to him in a slow tone of voice, “by evolving to a greater expression of life, I think I understand what you meant.”

“The life of god that is within us,” he said, “is becoming more fully expressed through us as we push ourselves forward and evolve.'

"Are you saying that God is part of our evolution?" she asked.

"I think you understand what I am trying to say," he said. "The life of god is evolving through us as we push ourselves forward with each generation. The purpose of life is to evolve, to allow the life of god to fully express itself through us. The life of god that is within us is our sustenance, our essence, and god’s love.”

When they were walking back to the cabin he turned to her and said, “the wise understand that there is nothing we truly have but life itself and we determine our life’s worth.”

“How do you determine your life’s worth?” she asked.

“By what I give to others,” he said.

“And what do you give to others,” she asked.

“My woodcarvings are one way that I have chosen to reach out and connect with others,” he said, “one aspect of my life’s worth is through my artistic expression."

“Your carvings are beautiful," she said, "absolutely beautiful.”

“My woodcarvings,” he said, “are my way of communicating and giving to others a part of my labor of love. What we give to others determines are life’s worth.”

“You are lucky that you found your nitch in life,” she said, “I suppose I haven’t found myself yet, but your certainty that there is only life brings me some comfort. My seeing Emily also brings me some comfort that we continue on in life.”

In time, Mark began to teach her a great deal more about nature and about the animals around the cabin. “They are much more sensitive then us,” he said, “they can pick up your vibrations, and your smell, but in time they will get use to you being around. The animals know me and they will get to know you as well.”

Their isolated world was about to be jolted by an unexpected visitor. From their kitchen window Linda was the first to see the dust rise from the dirt road. A vehicle pulled up close to the cabin.

Linda heard the unfamiliar voice,

“Mark we are home.”

Upon hearing Agnes’s voice, the former husband felt a knot in his stomach as if someone without warning punched him in the gut. He quickly yelled “Linda,” who was standing in the kitchen, and urged her to quickly move to a back room in the cabin.

Liberty perched herself high on a large tree limb as if standing guard. She somehow felt the uneasiness in Mark.

Agnes walked up to the porch before Mark could brace the door closed with a chair. She yelled out, “Mark, sweetie are you home?” He ignored her but Agnes walked into the cabin and saw Mark and Linda in front of the Fireplace.

“Mark aren’t you glade to see us home?” she asked.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her with a concerned look on his face.

“I came home with Emily she missed her Daddy.”

“Whose vehicle are you driving?” he asked.

“Ours silly,” she said, “are you alright Mark?”

Linda nervously walked over to a metal poker that was leaned up against the fireplace.

“Give your Daddy a hug, Emily, he missed you,” Agnes said.

In her delusional mind, Emily’s death was erased from her memory. Her daughter was still very much part of her life and Mark was still very much her husband. Mark however was not concurring with his former wife’s reality.

Agnes looked at Linda with a fiery temper and with sheer hatred in her voice said, “who is she, Mark!!!!!!!”

“She's my friend, and you need to get back to the group home, Agnes,” he said to her in a calm voice so that she would not violently go off.

An eerie feeling came over Linda as she picked up the metal poker. She felt she may need it for protection. Agnes walked up to her and quickly pulled the poker out of her hand. She swung it like a baseball bat whacking Linda across her arm. Linda cried out in pain and quickly ran out of the cabin.

“Run you little tramp,” Agnes yelled and ran after her. She whacked her again across her leg. Linda once again cried out in pain and Agnes was about to strike her a third time. Liberty with outstretched wings flew around Agnes distracting her from continuing her assault on Linda. Liberty then grabbed the poker with her clawed feet and Agnes quickly let it go out of fear. She watched Liberty fly off with the poker. She then quickly turned and began kicking Linda. Mark ran over to stop her but she quickly turned and began hitting Mark with her fists, “you’re a no good two timing cheating louse,” she yelled.

Liberty instantly flew down from her perch on a high tree limb and grabbed Agnes’s hair with her clawed feet. She pulled her forward causing her to fall to the ground. Linda was in terrible pain. Mark helped her up and slowly walked her to her vehicle. He drove her to the hospital and called the police.

She not only had a broken leg but a broken arm as well and they were placed in casts in the hospital emergency room. The police followed them back to the cabin from the hospital. When they arrived home Mark was first to notice Liberty standing guard from her perch high up in a near by tree.

Agnes was too scared to leave the cabin due to a large bird grabbing her hair and pulling her to the ground. The Police placed her under arrest and charged her with auto theft and the assault and battery of Linda. A judge involuntarily committed her to a psychiatric hospital, due to her being a threat to others. “She is to be remanded there until she is psychologically fit to stand trial,” the Judge said.

It was now Mark’s turn to care for Linda. He felt guilty and somehow responsible for what happened to her. “I should have reacted faster and got to her in time, to stop her from hitting you,” he said to Linda.

“It wasn’t your fault; I shouldn’t have grabbed the poker in the first place. I am just glade Liberty was there to help out,” she said, “she sure is smart.”

The next morning with Mark’s help she held some bread out with her good arm. To her surprise Liberty flew down onto the porch banister and took the bread from her hand, “thank you for helping me,” she said to Liberty, “you are one great friend.”

Over time Linda’s leg and arm healed and she remained at the cabin with Mark. Her former boyfriend is unable to track her down but even if he could find her. She feels safe knowing that Liberty is close by watching over the cabin.

It was shortly before Linda discovered that she was pregnant. That Emily stopped appearing to them, “Emily, is much closer to us now,” Mark said gazing at his baby daughter’s face. As he held her in his arms he smiled.

He continues to make his woodcarvings and he added a few additions to his personal collection on the fireplace mantle. One addition is a carving of Linda and their baby girl in her arms. Another addition is Liberty standing on a tree limb looking down at Linda, Mark, and their precious baby girl.

Linda remembered that the last time she saw Emily she was pointing to a newborn baby deer, “perhaps it was her pet retuning,” she said to Mark.

She then walked out to the front porch. She held out her hand with bread in it to see if Liberty would take it without Mark being around. To her surprise Liberty flew down and took the bread from her hand. Liberty turned, with outstretched wings, she flew high circling their cabin. Linda then noticed a much smaller Bald Eagle in the sky remaining close to her. She quickly called out to Mark so that he to could see the baby Eagle.

“It looks like Liberty is now a Mother too,” he said to her.

That afternoon Linda saw three fish lying on the porch. “I guess one fish is for me, one is for Mark, and the third fish is for our daughter,” she said out loud, “thank you, Liberty.”

Mark is a proud father and he increased the number of woodcarvings per week so that he could provide for the new addition to their family. Their lifestyle, perhaps simplistic to an extreme, especially, for our modern time, but their quality of life is rich and they are a happy family.

He is looking forward to the day his daughter can start school so that she can prepare herself for a brighter future. “She will learn, and grow,” he said, “she will learn much more then you and I will ever know.”

“Life is still a mystery to me Mark, but I suppose life is all we really have,” she said.

“Wherever there is life, Linda, there is love,” he said as he held his baby girl in his arms.

With love,

Thomas F. O’Neill

(800) 272-6464

Other articles, short stories, and commentaries by Thomas F. O'Neill can be found at the links below.

Link: http://thomasfoneill.blogspot.com/

Link: http://pencilstubs.com/

Link: http://www.livejournal.com/users/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://www.myspace.com/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://thomasfoneill.spaces.live.com/

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/MagPage.asp?NID=2748

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/authorbio.asp?AID=412

 

by Thomas F. O’Neill

Some people simply believe in angels and for others angels are the mere product of mythological stories. But there are still those people in the world that know angels exist because they intuitively experience an angel in their life.

_______________________________________________________

When he arrived home that evening he looked forward to having supper with his family. When away, he misses his Mother’s home cooked meals. His Mother always fusses over him worrying, “perhaps the Army is not properly feeding my son,” she would say to herself as she piled the food on to her eldest son’s plate. His two brothers, two sisters, and his father were also very happy to see him home. The topic of discussion at their Dinning room table was always about their local Church and the politics of the day. He heard his father’s politics before and in the back of his mind. He was just looking forward to a night out at their local dance hall to dance with the girls and listen to the popular tunes of the day.

When he entered the music hall in his clean pressed military uniform, the band was playing ‘shall we dance.’ He immediately caught the attention of a beautiful, bright eyed, impressionable, seventeen year old girl. She was sitting with her friends, listening to the music, drinking a malt soda. With an outstretched hand he said to her "shall we dance." Before she could say no she was on the dance floor, their embraced bodies moving with the music.

“I never seen you here before,” she said to him with a little excitement in her voice.

“The last two years I was away. I joined the Army after high school.”

“I will graduate this year,” she said to emphasize the fact that she is now a women but in a childlike way she began adjusting her hair.

“I graduated in the class of 1933. I am only two years older than you.”

“Do you like the Army?”

“Sure, I love to travel and see new places and meet people.”

“Aren’t you worried about a war breaking out somewhere and having to fight in a battle?”

“Our country is surrounded by oceans and we are pretty well protected, and besides our President said our country will remain neutral unless provoked by hostile forces. We will not go to war unless we are attacked first. No country will be dumb enough to attack us and start a war.”

“You sure look nice in your uniform,” she said, “what is your name?”

“Corporal, Lawrence Mattock.”

“My name is April Boyer.”

They drank malts that evening and talked until the music ended. Over the next three days they saw a movie together, went to a restaurant, and saw a play at their local Theater. When his leave came to an end he wrote her letters. She looked forward to them and he enjoyed reading her letters. A year after she graduated high school they were married.

He took advantage of the military and continued his education. He was honorably discharged from the service in 1937. Over the years they had four children. It was the middle of the great depression but he was able to provide for his family on a mail carriers salary.

The letters he wrote his wife during his military days were put in a shoebox that April kept. She enjoyed reading them from time to time. They reminded her of the innocent times and the youthful love that they once shared. Their love has matured with the birth of their children. They are now adults with financial responsibilities.

They were sitting in their living room when the Radio announced the horrific news of the bombing of Pearl Harbor. They were shocked to hear about the deaths of the American service men. The President announced that, “December 7, 1941 is a date that will live in infamy.”

America was at War and Lawrence was back in uniform. He was trained as a fighter pilot and he sent a photo of himself home to his wife. In the photo, he was standing in front of his fighter plane, ‘Fighting Angel.’ There was a small note with the photo, “I shall return to you on Angels Wings.”

She received three beautiful letters a week from her husband. They were extremely poetic letters expressing his deep love for her and their children. “He is truly a gifted writer,” April told her family. His letters expressed how much he yearned for his family.

She wrote him everyday as well telling him about her daily activities with their children and how much they miss him. She was frightened for his safety but she remained strong for her children. She did not talk about how dangerous his missions are because she did not want to frighten her children. In their eyes her husband is a hero.

It was before his 25th bombing mission in 1943 that he felt an unsettling feeling come over him. He quickly finished up a letter to his wife. He then did something out of the ordinary. He handed the ceiled letter to his friend Lt. Bob McCracken.

“If anything should happen to me,” he said to him, “can you see to it that my wife gets this letter.”

“Look,” his friend said to him, “I will give this letter back to you when you return.”

April’s husband never returned from that mission. His plane was shot down by the Japanese in the south pacific. His friend had every intention of getting the letter to April but he too was a casualty of war. The unopened letter was mistakenly placed with his friend’s belongings in a large box.

Lt. McCracken was unmarried so his belongings were hand delivered to his Mother but she was too distraught to deal with them. The box containing her son’s belongings with Lawrence’s unread letter was eventually placed in her attic and soon forgotten about.

April was still a young Mother and she never remarried. Over the years she became a teacher, a grandmother, and a great grandmother. On lonely nights she would read her husband’s old letters. Her great granddaughter once noticed a tear roll down April’s cheek when she was reading the old letters.

She knew her husband’s letter’s by heart. They made her feel loved. They reminded her how special she was to her husband. In many ways she feels she still is special to him. She enjoys showing her great granddaughter the old photograph of the fighting angel. With the small note, “I shall return to you on angels wings.” From time to time, her great granddaughter also read the old letters; deep down inside she felt that she knew her great grandpa Lawrence it was from reading his hand written letters.

Bob McCracken’s niece had signed the final papers on the sale of his Mother’s old home. The new owner soon came across a few forgotten boxes that were left in an attic closet. The owner’s son, Lawrence Boyer, was home on leave from the army. He was helping his Mother move into her new home. His curiosity got the best of him and he went through the old boxes to see what is in them. The one box had old Christmas lights that haven’t been used in a very, very long time. He noticed that the other box was never opened. Out of curiosity though he opened it and when he saw the old War World II leather, fighter pilot jacket, he excitedly yelled to his Mother,

“Mom, you are not going to believe this!!!!!!!”

He quickly brought the old dusty Box down stares to their kitchen. There were old photographs and letters from the war inside the Box. Her son excitedly tried on the leather Jacket, “it fits,” he said. His Mother noticed the unopened letter. She also noticed that the address on the envelop was different from the opened letters, “the woman that the letter is addressed to is probably dead,” she said, “the war ended over 60 years ago.”

When Lawrence held the letter in his hand he noticed the return address.

“Mom the return address is the Army barracks where I am assigned,” he said, “this can’t be just a coincidence can it?”

“I would just go to the post office and mail it,” she said.

“I want to deliver it in person.”

“You have always been a romantic,” she said, “but the address is about two thousand miles away. It would be easier to just mail it.”

“I feel it is the proper thing to do. After all he was a fellow solder.” While placing the letter in the inside pocket of that old but new leather Jacket, “she might still be alive and besides she was meant to have it,” he said.

April, 89 years old, and with her health failing, “I am not ready to die yet,” she told her great granddaughter as she lay in her hospital room.

She was uncomfortable with the thought of death and the unknown. She never really believed in heaven or hell. But the thought of angels has always brought her great comfort. Her husband named his plane ‘fighting angel’ so that it would ease her worry. She was uncomfortable about dieing and leaving her great granddaughter behind.

“I have unfinished business,” she told her great granddaughter, “dieing will have to wait.”

Lt. Lawrence Boyer hitched a ride on a Military Police cargo plane.

“So what is the urgency?” the pilot asked him.

“Well I am still on leave but I need to deliver this letter.”

“What? Are you trying to get brownie points with a general or something?” the co-pilot asked him while the pilot laughed.

“The letter was written during World War II and the woman it was written too never received it,” he said.

“How did you come across it? Are you a military historian or something?” the co-pilot asked him.

“I found it in my mother’s attic.”

“What does it say?” the Pilot asked him.

“I didn’t read it”

“Why not?” the co-pilot asked.

“Well, for one thing it is not addressed to me, and it really is not any of my business. I wouldn’t want someone reading my mail.”

“Hey dude,” said the co-pilot, “World War II ended in 1945 that is 62 freaken years ago. What could that letter say that has any relevance to now?” the co-pilot said to him.

“She might still be alive and it might be of some sentiment to her,” he said, “something deep inside tells me that I need to get this letter to her.”

As April’s great granddaughter was rushing out of her front door a young Army Lieutenant was walking towards the door.

“Look,” she said, “my great grandmother is very, very ill and I don’t have time to talk to an Army recruiter right now.”

“I am not a recruiter,” he said, “I am just hand delivering a letter.”

“Since when does the Army deliver mail?” she asked.

“Since the American Revolution,” came the reply.

“Who is it for?”

“April Mattock,” he replied.

“Well I am April, but my family calls me Angel,” she said, “I am not joining the Army, so it is no use talking. Besides, I am only seventeen and in my last year of high school.”

“I don’t think this letter is for you.”

“Well my nana’s name is April too,” she said, “she’s my great grandmother, and she is way too old for the Army, she’s 89.”

“Can I see her?” he asked.

“What for?” she asked him.

“So I can give her this letter,” he said.

“Look,” she said, “she’s in the Hospital is it really that important?”

“It might be to her,” he said.

“You can follow me there in your military Jeep,” she said, “if you want.” She walked past the military Jeep and got into a parked car and quickly drove away.

As they were taking the elevator to her great grandmothers floor at the hospital,

“What is so important about that letter?” she asked him, “that the Army would send someone to hand deliver it.”

“This letter was written to her over 60 years ago. It was found in my mother’s attic, unopened, it was never delivered.”

“Who is it from?”

“Lawrence Mattock,” he said, “the return address is my Army barracks where I am stationed now.”

“Really?” she said, “he is my great grandpa, we love reading his old letters. They are really beautiful. He really loved my Nana.”

The elevator door opened and as they stepped out in the corridor.

“So you are not here on official business?” she asked, “you went out of your way to deliver this letter?”

“I felt it was important that I deliver it,” he said, “I just felt it was the right thing to do.”

“That might have been the last letter he wrote,” she said, “he was killed in the war. I think it is sweet that you went out of your way to deliver it.”

“Hello, Nana,” Angel said to her great grandmother who was in her hospital bed.

“Who is this fine looking officer?” she asked Angel.

“He has a special letter for you from great grandpa Lawrence.”

“How do you do, mam,” he said as he shook her hand, “this letter is addressed to you, mam,” handing her the letter.

“How can that be?” she asked slightly amused, “it’s from my Lawrence?”

“Yep,” said Angel in an excited tone.

“Get me my glasses,” she said, “how can this be?”

Angel walked around the hospital bed and opened a drawer in a cabinet. She then handed her the eye glasses.

She opened the letter. Immediately she noticed it was her husbands hand writing. Tears welled up in her eyes as she began to read it,

My dearest Angel,

I know I may seem far away but I am with you. I will always be with you. Our love has no boundaries. It is a timeless love. I am waiting here, patiently, for your gentle touch, your warm smile, and loving embrace.

I will visit you and our children often on angels wings. When you feel a gentle breeze, I am there. When you feel a warm glow, I am there. When the babies cry, we will watch them grow and they will learn more then we will ever know.

I am letting you know, no matter the difficulty, or the circumstance, I am there with you. My gifts to you will always be loving thoughts and a gentle caress of the heart.

When you see the colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky, they will also be on the faces of Angels passing by. When friends shake your hand and say, 'how do you do,' they are really saying, 'I love you.'

Our love, April, is now timeless and eternal like an angel’s love.

Your fighting Angel,

Love always,

Lawrence

“It is truly from Lawrence,” she said as the tears rolled down her cheek, “he wrote me a letter. He is waiting for me now. He waited for me over all the years. He still loves me; he sent me one of his love letters, one of his beautiful love letters.”

Angel’s eye’s welled up with tears, when she saw how the letter touched her great grandmother.

“What is your name,” April asked the young Officer.

“Lawrence,” he said, “Lawrence Boyer.”

“Boyer was my maiden name,” she said.

She told them the story of how she met her Lawrence, her Fighting Angel, on the dance floor when she was seventeen. The age her great granddaughter is now.

“How did my Lawrence send you the letter,” she asked the young officer.

Angel interrupted Lt. Boyer because she didn’t want him to spoil the moment for her great grandmother.

“He was ordered to deliver it from people high up in the Military,” Angel said to her.

“I understand,” April said as she winked at Lawrence, “soon, very soon, I will be with my fighting angel.”

“We are going to let you rest now Nana,” Angel said to her.

“My Lawrence worked as a mail carrier before the war,” she said with a big smile on her face,

“like you, he delivered important mail.”

April once again winked at the young officer.

Out in the corridor Angel said to Lt. Boyer, “thank you, so much, that was really, really sweet of you. It made her so happy.”

“I feel as if I was supposed to deliver the letter, as if I was on some sort of important mission.”

“Well thank you, I can’t wait to read her letter,” she said, “I read all of his letters.”

A few days later April lay in her hospital bed without fear of death because she knew her fighting angel was waiting for her. She told her great granddaughter, “don’t let life pass you by, seize the moment, embrace the here and now. That is all we have, the here and now,” she repeated, “so take full advantage of it. Take advantage of all the opportunities that lie within you. The greatest opportunities in life are within us.”

“I remember reading that in one of great grandpa Lawrence’s letters,” Angel said, “I will keep his letters for you. I will show my children someday the beautiful letters he wrote you.”

As a Nurse was administering April’s medication she noticed through the window a magnificent rainbow in the sky,

“What a gorgeous rainbow,” the Nurse said.

April clasped her hands together and said, “I must see it.”

“Your very weak, April,” the nurse said.

“Oh, please,” she said, “I must see it”

The Nurse helped her out of bed and slowly and patiently walked her over to the window. April looked at the magnificent rainbow,

“When you see the colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky, they will also be on the faces of Angels passing by. When friends shake your hand and say, 'how do you do,' they are really saying, 'I love you,'” April said out loud with a tear rolling down her cheek.

“That is so beautiful are they the words to a song?” the nurse asked.

“It was in a letter my Lawrence wrote me,” she said with tears in her eyes, “he is waiting for me.”

That evening April quietly passed away, “tell great grandpa Lawrence that I love him too,” Angel told her. She held April’s hand, unable to hold back the tears.

Back on the Army base the young Lieutenant was unable to get Angel off his mind. He began to write her and eventually he started visiting her.

He went through some of April’s old photographs and letters that Angel took position of. He came across the photograph of Angel’s great grandfather, standing next to his fighter plane, ‘Fighting Angel,’ with the little note, “I shall return to you on Angels Wings.” He wondered to himself, “was he behind my delivering the letter to April. Was he behind Angel and I getting together.”

They came across an old photograph of Lt. Bob McCracken,

“That is uncanny,” Angel said.

“What is?” he asked.

“How much you look like him,” she said.

“You think?”

“Yea,” she said, “you really do”

In an open garden, with beautiful green grass, and flowers in full bloom, Angel and Lawrence exchanged their wedding vows. People began to noticed, including the bride and groom the beautiful rainbow in the sky.

“Look,” said Angel, “my Nana and great grandpa Lawrence is giving us our wedding gift.” With tears welling up in her eyes, she looked up at the beautiful rainbow, and softly said,“thank you for the beautiful gift.”

Angel’s husband is now a Captain in the U.S. Army. He and Angel have two children; one is a boy who they named, Lawrence, he has the nickname, Lance. They also have a girl, who is named after her great, great, grandmother, April; she also has her mother’s nickname, Angel.

Captain Boyer may feel that he cannot write like his wife’s great grandfather. But he still takes the time to write his Angel everyday. He also goes out of his way to tell people his story, with the utmost exuberance, how he met his wife on a very important mail carrier mission.

“There were forces at play in helping me deliver that letter on that faithful day. It was something I had to do,” he said, “and in doing so I got my greatest reward, my Angel.”

With love,

Thomas F. O’Neill

(800) 272-6464

Other articles, short stories, and commentaries by Thomas F. O'Neill can be found at the links below.

Link: http://thomasfoneill.blogspot.com/

Link: http://pencilstubs.com/

Link: http://www.livejournal.com/users/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://www.myspace.com/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://thomasfoneill.spaces.live.com/

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/MagPage.asp?NID=2712

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/authorbio.asp?AID=412

by Thomas F. O’Neill

A very young child will stumble many times when learning how to walk but the stumbling does not make them a failure at walking. Through their innate drive and determination they continue to pick themselves up so that they master the art of walking.
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The failures in life are not the ones who fall flat on their face; they are the ones who remain flat on their face. On the other hand, the champions in life are the ones who pick themselves up, brush themselves off, and through their determination they succeed.
______________________________________________________________________________________________

Throughout his life, Lamont Fargo suffered from bouts of depression that demobilized him for two to three weeks at a time. The depressions usually hit him in a two or three year cycle. He usually bounced back from these depressive states but shortly after he turned 46 he fell into a depression that landed him in a hospital.

In his dark periods he has suicidal thoughts, feelings of helplessness, worthlessness, and he will not get out of bed. He will try to sleep for days on end with no appetite for food. In the hospital he was given one on one therapy and group therapy to help him find copping mechanisms to deal with his depression more effectively.

The Psychiatrist told Lamont that there is a chemical imbalance in his brain that causes him to suffer with major depression. The medication that was administered to him slowly brought him out of the fog and helped him overcome his dark thoughts. After four months of hospitalization he was released.

After a time, he went against the advice of his psychiatrist and went off his medication. The dark thoughts eventually returned and he used every fiber of determination to overcome the depression but finally the darkness got the upper hand. In this period he found himself in and out of the hospital but something inside would not let him end his life.

He usually had enough leave at work to carry him through the dark periods, but the last depressive episode and voluntary commitment resulted in the loss of his job. After twenty years of being a police officer and even a detective he found himself unemployed. Through the help of his Psychiatrist he was placed on disability. The department classified him as unfit for duty.

He was never married and he has no children to support but the little money he received made his life a bit difficult. He learned to live on his monthly checks though after he moved into a small apartment. He describes his apartment as his cave of solitude. He's found he has more time to read and that meditating helps him relax. He tries his best to overcome his difficulties by controlling his thoughts.

As a police detective he had earned a reputation of being a highly gifted crime solver. Lamont told his superiors that throughout his life he was highly intuitive. His intuition came in the form of knowing things without reason. He explained his gift to his superiors and others as “flashes of intuition or flashes of knowing.” These intuitive flashes would just come to him, sometimes overwhelmingly. He at times would pick up others thoughts, emotions, and feelings; those inner communications, as he would describe them, guided him along when solving difficult cases.

He is also more receptive then the average person to his own inner communications. He told his psychiatrist that he would understand things and know things without reason or logic. He also had experiences of talking out loud as if he was witnessing the crime he was investigating. These beyond normal intuitive flashes always intensify prior to his psychological collapses.

His Psychiatrist wrote in Lamont’s file, “Mr. Fargo’s overly heightened internal sensitivity is due to his life long struggle with depression.” He told Lamont that his experiences are, “a combination of the chemical imbalance in your brain and your internal drive to overcome the unset of depression. What you describe as your great gift is also resulting in your depressive states.”

He told his Psychiatrist that alcohol dulls these intense experiences, “There were times I found myself late at night sitting in a bar drinking. Those late nights of drinking soon turned into early afternoons of drinking, but eventually depression would overwhelm me and consume me for weeks.”

He rarely leaves his apartment or as he would put it, “my cave of solitude.” Still classified as unfit for service as a police detective and living on disability. He was never completely forgotten by some of the members of the police department. They never forgot his remarkable gift of solving difficult cases and they continue to call upon him for help.

When the phone calls came he once again felt useful and he continued to go out of his way to help his old friends. His gift eventually caught the attention of other law enforcement agencies and they too called upon him for help. He did not meet with them in person, nor want his identity known.

With the help of his friends he was given an 800 number for anonymity. People calling him from other law enforcement agencies do not know his name or his location and he never accepts monetary compensation for his service.

Officer Lou Phillips, a former co-worker and friend of Lamont, was a true believer in his friend’s gift. He witnessed it first hand in two cases that were solved a decade earlier.

Officer Phillips' cousin Dan Morris lived in the state of Florida for many years. He eventually became an investigator with the Florida State Police. Detective Morris came to visit his Grandmother and he decided to go out that evening for a few beers at a local Bar.

Officer Phillips and Detective Morris struck up a conversation at the bar as they drank a few beers.

“I’m involved in a missing person case, the disappearance of a University student,” said Dan.

“We located her car near a ravine.”

“Do you think she was abducted?” asked Lou.

“Her car hit a tree but there is no sign of her,” Dan said, “The girl’s parents want me to call in a Psychic. I think those self proclaimed psychics are nothing but phony charlatans.”

“Of course there are people out there that are very skilled at separating people from their money through deceptive means, and charlatans will not hesitate to claim psychic abilities to accomplish that goal,” Lou said.

“I think they are all phonies,” Dan said.

“I know someone; he doesn’t claim to be a psychic. He describes his gift as intuition. I had long conversations with him,” Lou said, “He told me that the average person has flashes of intuition but they do not act on it due to their own mistrust or insecurities of what is being communicated to them.”

Lou took a drink of his beer as if searching for words, “its their own internal communications, that is communicated to them, but they don’t act on it,” he said once again, “There are also people who have learned over time to trust their instincts which can also be described as intuition. The more we come to learn about our internal communications. What we call flashes of knowing. The more we come to trust it because it is our truth at that particular moment in time.”

“Intuition and so called Psychic abilities are two different things entirely. I am talking about the New Age mumbo Jumbo,” Dan said.

“There is nothing New under the Sun, Dan. The so called New Age movement has been around for a long, long time,” said Lou, “My friend told me that intuition is the spontaneous act of the soul communicating its knowledge to the conscious mind; it can be a feeling, a symbol that pops into our mind when we are enjoying that relaxing moment. It can be a symbol that comes to us in a dream. For some intuition is knowing something about an event or a person without reason.”

“Sounds like Psychic mumbo jumbo put into scientific terms. What I see is what I believe,” Dan said.

“There is nothing supernatural about intuition it is simply natural. We all have intuitive moments in our lives. But we simply do not develop them to a higher degree,” Lou said, “We place more emphases on our intellect due to our early childhood education. We learn to memorize things from early on and our intellectual abilities become dominant in our lives. We need to develop a balance between our intellectual faculties and what we implicitly know to be true in our heart.”

“Next you will be analyzing my dreams,” Dan said.

“Dreams reveal our inner conflicts,” Lou said, “they give us greater insight into our interpersonal relationships, such as who has our best interest at heart, and who to watch out for. Our dreams can also give us insight as to the path we are on in life and they can guide us in making proper decisions.”

“Yes, on a Psychiatric level interpreting ones dreams is important,” Dan said, “but there is a difference between a Psychiatric interpretation of our dreams and the so called New Age interpretation.”

“I am talking about a holistic approach to dream interpretation,” Lou said, “as we delve deeper into our spiritual nature through meditation or various other spiritual exercises. We come to understand how important our dreams are in communicating knowledge. Our dreams are one way for the subconscious or soul to communicate knowledge to the conscious mind. When we come to a greater understanding of our dreams symbols we come to a greater understanding of ourselves and others.”

“I can agree with that somewhat but I still think we should leave the interpreting to the professionals,” Dan said.

“When we come to a greater understanding of how our dreams communicates knowledge to us. We will be able to understand the dreams of others more clearly,” Lou said, “we will be able to analyze dreams to the point where we can understand how the person thinks and what the person is feeling at that particular moment in time. We will also be able to guide them into gaining a clearer understanding of themselves and the people in their lives.”

“There is nothing wrong with getting to know oneself better,” Dan said, “the danger lies in taking advantage of vulnerable people through deceptive means because they believe in that nonsense.”

“I am not talking about the phonies. I am saying that there are people out there who are genuine,” Lou said, “the more in tune we become to our spiritual nature the closer we move towards altruism. Our motives in life become less egoistic and more altruistic. For the purpose of helping people develop a greater insight into whatever problems they are facing. I know a person like this and he goes out of his way to help people.”

“And how does one achieve these incredible gifts?” Dan asked in a somewhat sarcastic tone.

"Meditation will help you discover and gain a deeper understanding of your spiritual awareness,” Lou said, “as you continue to develop spiritually the lives of those around you become more enhanced. Spiritual development also enhances our understanding that in order for us to be true to others we must first become true to ourselves.”

“What you are saying kind of reminds me of ‘Gandhi’ but how much of the movie was Hollywood and how much of it was historically accurate,” Dan asked, “I just think you are reading too much New Age books.”

“Well I think ‘Gandhi’ would agree that the moment we become true to ourselves is the moment we find ourselves on a truly spiritual altruistic path in life,” Lou said, “it is also the moment we no longer seek financial or any other gain from those we help. We will have a deep spiritual awareness that what we give to others comes back to us in greater fold because what we give to humanity, we give to ourselves, and what we change in ourselves, we change in humanity.”

“I can agree with that in a somewhat way,” Dan said.

"Altruism is also at the opposite end of the egoist moral spectrum because those who seek gain from helping others are operating from their ego and they are the people we need to avoid on our spiritual path to discovery,” Lou said.

“That is absurd we have to make a living in life,” Dan said, “we can’t be purely selfless the economy would come to a screeching halt.”

“I understand where you are coming from but I was talking in reference to the people who claim to be psychic and try to separate us from our money for a reading. They are the people we need to avoid,” Lou said, “if my friend were here I think his advice would be to begin your spiritual journey on your own as you develop spiritually you will begin to attract like minded people into your life. However, you must begin by taking the time during the day or evening to quiet yourself and open yourself up to the essence that makes you truly you.”

“That sounds like sound advice,” Dan said.

“I think my friend can help you,” Lou said as he handed him an 800 number to call.

Detective Dan Morris spent the last twenty years with the Florida State Police, and he would describe himself as a realist. He is a skeptic when it comes to people with that self-proclaimed sixth sense. When it comes to investigating a case, he believes good hard police work is the best way to finding out what happened.

When good, hard police work came up empty in the case of murder victim Julie Houston, Detective Morris relented and turned to the mystical magic of a Coalville, Pennsylvania man.

Julie Houston was a graduate student at the Florida State University. she left the campus and the Police found her car wrecked against a tree on Shadyside Drive ten miles from the University campus. The car was empty, with a large limb resting on top of it.

The police looked everywhere for her. They had no way of knowing whether she was injured, had fallen, or if she'd been picked up by somebody. An extensive search, including helicopters with infrared scanners, boats equipped with sonar, dogs, divers, and more than 300 volunteers, failed to locate her.

Detective Morris was immediately assigned to her case but he had no real leads. The girl’s father kept in contact with him everyday. Julie’s Father and Mother told Detective Morris that they were considering contacting a psychic and wanted to know if he knew one.

"My Cousin told me about a Pennsylvania man who assisted the Police in the past,” he told Julie’s parents, “My cousin is a police officer and swears by this person’s abilities. I will telephone him."

When Detective Morris contacted Lamont, he did not waste time with introductions, Lamont was all business. Detective Morris, provided him with the basics of the case.

“There is a lady's body,” Lamont said, “She is in a cave-like setting with rocks above her. She is situated in the fetal position, and a current of water is running across her legs.”

Detective Morris’s, skepticism soared.

"Monroe is a lake, there isn’t a current,” he told Lamont.

Lamont became silent for a moment, “No there is a current of water running across her legs. She is hurt in a fetal position.”

Detective Morris called him again the next day from the Moores Creek picnic area, an area a short distance from the lake. He was a bit unsettled by how Lamont accurately described where he was standing.

Detective Morris was frustrated by Lamont’s insistence of the running water and the woman in the cavern. It was then that Detective Morris received a call from dispatch informing him that his "article" had been located near Salt Creek ramp, an area a quarter mile from the picnic area.

When Detective Morris arrived there he found an elderly lady laying in a fetal position in a deep ravine. There was a small stream of water running over her legs and a large outcropping of rock above her head.

It wasn't Julie Houston.

He immediately called Lamont, who was sitting in his apartment in Coalville, Pennsylvania. He stopped Detective Morris in mid-sentence and said, “Dear God, It is the wrong body.”

Once Lamont regained his composure, he told Detective Morris that he could help him locate Julie’s body. He instructed him to return to where the car had impacted the tree.

Detective Morris called the 800 number from the site and Lamont began speaking to him as if he was there with him.

"I'm driving down the road and I don't feel too good," he said. "I am with Jimmy he hit me,” he started to weep on the phone, “I am so scared, I lost control of the car. I ran my car into a tree and something has fallen on my head. I'm hurting.”

Detective Morris listened and thought to himself, “is this an act?”

“I'm running now down a hill. Jimmy is mad at me and he is going to hurt me again,” he cried out on the phone.

Lamont then told Detective Morris to proceed to the lake.

Detective Morris called him back from the lake.

“You are just off a small inlet,” Lamont said to him, “is there a large rock in the lake?”

“There is,” he replied.

“Is there a man standing next to a boat?” Lamont asked.

“There is,” came the reply.

At this point Detective Morris was somewhat intimidated and could not quite understand how Lamont with his coal cracker accent sitting in Coalville, PA the heart of the Pennsylvania coal region could accurately describe Moore’s creek in Florida.

“Is he really sitting there in Coalville, Pennsylvania?” Detective Morris thought to himself, “If so it is like he is standing right here next to me. He could see everything I could see."

After a few moments of silence, Lamont with his voice cracking with panic said,

"I want to come up but I can't. Somebody help me. I want to come up. Jimmy put me here I can’t get up."

Nearly a month after the day she crashed her car, Julie’s body was discovered floating near the inlet.

“She had been wearing a bulky sweater,” Dan told Lou on the phone, “and it appeared as if it had been snagged on an underground cable or some kind of projectile. We think the sweater eventually worked itself free, allowing her to float to the surface."

“Was my friend’s information helpful,” Lou asked.

“Very helpful,” Dan said, “But I experienced an eerie feeling each time I reminisce about the conversation with that man.”

“His gift is genuine,” Lou said.

“That man I spoke with on the phone,” Dan said, “has never accepted monetary compensation for his service.”

“He never does,” Lou said, “he talks to a lot of law enforcement agencies on the phone and to average people in need throughout the week. But he never takes money from the people he helps. He told me that the more he helps others the more they help him refine his gift.”

"I can't explain how he did it," Dan said, "he just knew things he shouldn't have been able to know.”

“Well I wouldn’t have put my cousin in touch with a charlatan for a 20 dollar reading now would I,” he said with humor in his voice.

The information that was given to Detective Morris also led to the arrest of Julie Houston’s boyfriend who pleaded guilty to second degree manslaughter in Julie’s death.

"I still don't have a lot of faith in Psychics, and I still believe good, honest work is the best way to solve a crime or find a missing person. But there's no arguing this man had some kind of gift. There's just no other way to explain it,” Dan said to Julie’s parents.

Dan called Lou on the phone after the judge sentenced Julie’s boyfriend to fifteen years in prison for Julie’s death. Dan and Lou’s conversation once again turned to Lamont.

“Perhaps those spiritual gifs are nothing more then what we are evolving to. Perhaps some people are more spiritually developed then others. Maybe those gifts are part of our genetic makeup but we just never took the time to develop them further,” said Lou.

“I believe his gift is real, because I experienced it first hand, and I find it a bit unsettling every time I think about it,” Dan said, “But I am glade he is out there using his gift for the service of others. Altruistically as you would put it or as you would describe his gift.”

"We can judge a person's true worth by what they give to others," Lou said, "not by what they charge for their services. My friend has a genuine gift because it is freely given but at the same time what he gives to others is retuned to him in greater fold. When we give of ourselves abundantly we gain an abundance in life.”

Lamont Fargo still has his bouts with depression but since he has been going out of his way in helping others, he has remained out of the hospital. His anonymity is still being protected and the people he helps have never learned his name or location.

He is still going against the advice of his Psychiatrist to remain on his medication. He told his Doctor that the medication dulls his Intuition and that he needs to develop his gift further in order to connect with others.

Without his bouts with darkness he never would have discovered the light or as Lamont would describe it, “my Intuition.”

He now understands that his life long struggle with depression has helped him, “I am more sensitive to the small still whispers of the soul.”

The strength he needs to overcome his depression has also helped him understand his ability to help others overcome their difficulties and the overall strength of the human spirit.

“Helping others is my way of refining my gift and they in turn give me a purpose to continue on in life.”

With love,

Thomas F. O’Neill

(800) 272-6464

Other articles, short stories, and commentaries by Thomas F. O'Neill can be found at the links below.

Link: http://thomasfoneill.blogspot.com/

Link: http://pencilstubs.com/

Link: http://www.livejournal.com/users/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://www.myspace.com/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://thomasfoneill.spaces.live.com/

Link: http://pencilstubs.com/magazine/MagPage.asp?NID=2691

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/authorbio.asp?AID=412 

 

This story is dedicated to Mrs. Diane Boczkowski, who as a great teacher helped this student to understand - How one chooses to overcome their difficulties is a reflection of their strength of character.

Emilio

by Thomas F. O’Neill

Some people live not in the present moment but rather they choose to embrace their past. They dwell on the fleeting images of their memories. These are the same people who seem to urgently move through life overlooking the here and now.

They do not understand that when you delight in the present moment, with those you love, time is not of the urgency. It is within these precious moments that we continue to develop memories to cherish.

Life’s Synchronicities
by Thomas F. O’Neill

There were significant moments in Rabbi, Shuman’s life that profoundly changed him - in ways that are beyond comprehension. They could be described as spiritual unexplained encounters that have made him highly receptive to life’s synchronicities. Those same moments have become truly meaningful for him but to fully understand Rabbi, Shuman you have to know his story.

His earliest memories were of his parents taking him to his grandmother’s home. His grandmother had an old antique music box that he would wind up. Inside the box were small figurines of a man and women sitting at a piano. He can remember listening to the music in his grandmother’s living room and the smile the music would bring to her face. Those childhood memories are always with him because those memories represent the love his grandmother had for him and in many ways that love is still with him.

It is said that we are the sum-total of all our experiences so in order to understand Albert Shuman the man you have to understand what he endured as a child. When he was a young boy his family lived in Germany and on his ninth birthday the Nazis gathered up his family and moved them into a Jewish Ghetto. The Jews were eventually packed like cattle into train boxcars and sent to various concentration camps. He still can remember the heat and stench inside the boxcar. He was only nine years old and very frightened from being separated from his family. He was too young to comprehend what was happening to him and the others.

On numerous occasions he spoke about the day he turned eleven years old. It was his second year inside that Nazi concentration camp. He was cold, hungry, and scared and he didn’t know whether his family members were alive or dead. He was living there with the walking dead, the living skeletons, the skin and bones of the malnourished. Those are just some of his recollections of that nightmarish existence at the hands of the Nazis, the so called master race.

Hungry, weak, and detached from all emotion he got the nerve on that particular birthday to walk over to the barbed wire fence. He witnessed many being shot on that fence and for some it was a means of suicide. “If you do not want to go on being starved, climb the fence,” he thought to himself, “let the Nazi guards shoot you.” It was at that moment when those thoughts were racing through his head that he heard the voice of a young girl.

“Do you want my apple?” she asked him in German. She quickly tossed it over the fence. He grabbed it and began eating it when the Nazi guard walked over and whacked him with the butt of his gun.

“Get away from here” the guard yelled at the young girl. Frightened, she turned and ran up a large hill to a farmhouse a mile away from the camp.

“Stay away from there!!!” the girl’s mother said to her in a stern voice.

“Mother, what did those people do?”

“It doesn’t concern us,” her mother yelled, “Stay away from there!!!!”

“There is this young boy there,” she said to her Mother with tears in her eyes. “He looks so sad, so hungry. What could he have done to be treated that way? When I gave him my apple the solder hit him just because he took it,” she said with tears rolling down her face, “those solders are mean.”

“That doesn’t concern us,” she yelled once again at her daughter, “they are there for a reason.”

She then grabbed her daughter’s arm and said, “It doesn’t concern you.”

Everyday young Albert Shuman walked over to the fence and each day the young girl threw an apple to him. He looked at her face through the fence so that he would never forget that young girl’s kindness.

“Someday I will be free from here,” he yelled to her, “don’t worry I will be free from here you will see.” A Nazi guard whacked him with the butt of his rifle.

“Get away from the fence, rodent,” the guard said to him in German. He then smacked young Albert once again with his gun.

“Get away from here if you know what is good of you” the guard yelled to the young girl.

 

When the young girl's mother saw her daughter returning home crying, she frantically slapped her across the face, “You stubborn, stubborn child, what do I need to do to keep you from going there?” Her mother’s primary concern was simply to keep her and her daughter safe from harm. Her husband and two sons were fighting the Russians on the eastern-front. She didn’t know whether she would ever see them again.

When Albert Shuman was thirteen the Russians moved into East Germany they moved fast and were fierce fighters. The Nazi guards did not have enough time to burn the bodies of the dead. Some of them out of fear of the Russians tried to pass themselves off as Jewish survivors but what set them apart from the others was their well nourished frame. They were quickly rounded up and Albert witnessed some of them being executed on the spot. He wasn’t pleased or shocked by the contempt the Russians had for the Nazis, “getting shot through the head seems much more merciful,” he thought to himself, “than being starved to death.”

The young Russian solders gave Albert and the other survivor’s food and when one of the solders had an apple in his hand. He saw young Albert staring at it, the solder out of compassion handed it to him. Albert unable to speak their language pointed in the direction of where he saw the young girl run each day.

The solder out of curiosity placed Albert’s frail and weak body in a Jeep and drove him to the farmhouse. When they arrived no one was there so Albert took a pen out of the solders shirt pocket and motioned for a piece of paper. Albert wrote “thank you” in German on the paper and placed it with the Apple on the young girl’s porch.

He was the only one in his immediate family that survived those insane nightmarish years. The numbers the Nazi tattooed on Albert's arm when he was a child are now a permanent reminder of what he endured.

He eventually was sent to live with distant relatives in America. It was in America that he struggled to find meaning and purpose in his life. He searched for answers as to why he was one of the survivors. The image of the young girl’s face kept retuning to his dreams at night. Her face instilled in him a determination to live so that one day he could return that kindness. If he could not return the kindness to her then perhaps to another person in need.

When he turned seventeen he enrolled in a rabbinical school and eight years later he became a Rabbi. He wanted others to understand the strength of the human spirit and how the little kind actions of a young girl gave him the strength to survive the Nazis inhumanity.

Over the years he became a scholar, a teacher, a lecturer but something was terribly lacking in his life. His intellectual pursuits to unravel the meaning and purpose of life could not be achieved by reason alone. He needed answers not just for the peace of mind but to overcome his loneliness. He continuously thought about the young girl in Germany who overcame her fear so that she could reach out to him from the other side of the barbed wire fence. He often wondered what ever became of her.

 

 

He was living in New York as a Rabbi in the summer of 1960 when he was invited to give a lecture in Baltimore, Maryland. He decided to travel by train rather than drive there alone. He has always enjoyed engaging people in conversation but mostly he enjoys meeting new people and listening to their stories. When he sat down in his seat he noticed a woman that looked so familiar to him, though he could not quite place her. Something inside of him compelled him to sit down across from her on the train.

He was thrilled when he learned that she was from Germany and they conversed in their native language. He was also a bit amused that she was traveling to hear a lecture at the same symposium where he was lecturing.

“Are you Jewish?” he asked her.

“No,” she said in a melancholy tone.

“Then why are you so glum?” he asked in an amusing way trying to lighten her mood.

“I am going to the symposium because one of the lecturers was in a concentration camp near the farmhouse I lived in as a little girl,” she said to him.

She began to tell him her story of what she witnessed just a mile from where she lived. She then told him about the face of the young Jewish boy in the Nazi concentration camp. “I wish I knew what happened to him,” she said as a tear rolled down her face.

“He is fine,” he said while emotionally moved. It was then that the tears welled up in his eyes.

“How could you possibly know that?” she asked.

“Don’t you remember?” he said to her, “I told you I will live. When I got rescued by the Russians I put an apple on your porch.”

She looked at him astonished by his words. “When the Russians came,” she said, “we fled our farmhouse because we didn’t know what was going to happen. My father and two brothers were killed at the eastern-front fighting the Russians”

She then looked into his eyes, “You put an apple on my porch,” she asked.

“I wanted to let you know that I was all right,” he said.

“I thought about you all the time,” she said as she wiped the tears from her face.

“And I, you,” he said.

“I never learned your name,” she said.

“Albert,” came the reply.

“Anna,” she said, “my name is Anna.”

After the lecture he knocked on her hotel room door and when she opened it he handed her an Apple, “I don’t want to lose you again, Anna” he said with deep sincerity that could melt the heart of any woman. He learned that she came to America as an exchange student and remained in America. She became a teacher of history at a high school just a few miles from where he was living.

They soon married but their story doesn’t end here. In 1968 when Albert’s wife received a letter from her Mother in Germany stating that Anna’s Grandmother’s sister is living in a small town in Pennsylvania.

“I would like to go to Pennsylvania and see my Great-Aunt in person, Albert,” she said to him.

“Can’t you just pick up the phone and call her,” Albert asked her.

“Let’s surprise her,” she said

“I don’t even know her,” he replied

Anna got her way, and they drove three hours from New York to that small town in Pennsylvania. When they arrived at the address that was given to Anna by her mother, no one was there.

“No one lived in that house in 20 years,” a man said to them from across the street.

Albert then told Anna, “if we leave now we could get back to New York for a late dinner.”

When Albert and Anna were heading back home they stopped at a red light on the Main Street in that small Pennsylvania town. Anna then noticed a small antique store.

“Let’s stop in there,” she said.

When they were looking around the shop Anna noticed an old music box. Albert in another part of the store was looking at an antique pocket watch. Anna then wound up the music box and they both heard the music. Albert at that moment walked over to Anna and he noticed the small figurines inside the music box of a man and woman sitting at a piano.

“That looks like the music box my grandmother owned,” he said to Anna.

“Where did you get it” he asked the owner.

“Not sure exactly,” came the reply, “it was made in Germany though many years ago.”

“My Grandmother owned one just like this,” he told the owner.

“The bottom drawer in the music box is locked” Anna said to the shop owner, “do you have the key?”

“I don’t have the key but the lock is not that complicated,” he said to her.

The owner walked over to the counter and came back with a small lock pick and opened the bottom drawer in the music box. Inside the drawer was a letter. Anna, surprised at seeing the letter, began to read it.

“It is written in German” she said to Albert, “and it is dated March 16, 1939”

“My Name is Anna Shuman,” she said out loud as she began reading.

“That was my Grandmother’s Name,” Albert told his wife, “she had the same name as you.”

She then continued reading,

“My Name is Anna Shuman” she repeated, “and this is my music box it has been in my family for many, many years. If anything should happen to me I want my Grandson Albert Shuman to have it.

If by chance you should read this letter, Albert, I want you to know that I love you very much and I will always love you. Your happiness means more to me than life itself. Grandmamma Anna”

Albert’s face beamed with emotion and he was unable to hold back his tears,

“how much do you want for the music box?” he asked the shop owner.

“Look I don’t speak German so I don’t know what that letter said,” the shop owner said to them.

Anna translated the letter to the store owner in one simple sentence, “This is his Grandmother’s music box.”

“How much do you want for it?” he repeated, “I will give you whatever you what.”

“Look just take the music box,” the owner said, “it’s yours.”

“How did you come to getting this music box in your shop?” he asked the owner once again.

“I have to go down to the basement and look at the inventory records,” the shop owner said, “it has been here for quite sometime though.”

When the owner returned a short time later he told them, “it was owned by a woman named Olga Hager. I think it was her son that sold it to me. If I recall correctly I think Mrs. Hager is in the Manner Nursing Home now.”

“She’s my Grandmother’s sister,” Anna said to Albert, “that is who we came to see.”

They learned from Olga that her son was in the German army during the war. The Nazis confiscated most of the Jewish families’ belongings in Germany and somehow Olga’s son came in possession of Albert’s Grandmother’s music box. He gave the music box and some of the other Jewish families belongings to Olga. When the war ended, she and her son, left Germany and they brought the music box and various other items to America with them. Years later when Olga was placed in a Nursing Home her son sold the music box and some of her other belongings to the antique dealer. On hearing this from Olga - Albert then realized that the Pocket watch he was looking at in the antique shop was his Father’s watch.

On their way back to New York Anna turned to Albert who was driving and said to him. “The letter in the music box is dated March 16, 1939. We were married on March 16, in 1961.”

“In someway I believe my Grandmamma Anna was determined that I get her music box because she knew how much I loved to play with it as a child,” he then said, “it was her way of saying she never stopped loving me.”

Rabbi, Shuman has continued over the years to tell his story at lecture Hall’s and to the average person on the street. The events that occurred in his childhood are heart-wrenchingly painful and those events have become a part of who he is as a person. He and Anna have overcome the darkness and pain of the Nazi regime by becoming each other's light.

Some people would say that the synchronicity within Anna and Albert’s life is nothing more then mere coincidences. Anna and Albert on the other hand find great comfort in knowing that there is a much deeper dimension to life than coincidences.

 

 

Albert stood up from his chair on March 16, 2006 at a dinner hall as his wife sat next to him. It was a very special occasion for them. He stood before a crowd of approximately two-hundred people and thanked them for being there to celebrate their forty-fifth wedding adversary. Their three daughters, two sons, and ten grandchildren, were also there to celebrate this heartwarming event.

“All of you know how Anna and I met,” Albert said to them. “You all heard the story many times before so you can relax now because I will not lecture you on our story. If you notice, however, all of you have an apple on your plate. I know, I know,” he repeated, “I wasn’t that fond of apples either, but because of Anna I grew more fond of them. Don’t worry though we have plenty of other food. You won’t leave here hungry, I can promise you that” he said to them as the audience laughed.

“I hope I haven’t offended anyone with the apples it wasn’t meant as an insult,” he said. “I have been told my humor is not always politically correct. I suppose that is why I would never make a good politician. I would always be cracking jokes about the current politics,” he said as the audience laughed because they knew their local Senator was sitting in the room.

“As you already know,” he added, “I love to tell the story of how Anna came back into my life here in America - on a train. We came together again in the land of the free and the land of the brave as that popular song goes.”

He then said, “it doesn’t seem that long ago when I was forever separated from my family when I was shoved and packed into a train’s boxcar in Germany. I was sent to one of those concentration camps as a young boy – by train. Like thousands of others I was sent there. That is where I met my Anna but we to became separated and lost for a time. We were like two corks in the ocean and it seemed as if we were riding each wave on a random destiny. I soon learned though our destiny was set forth by the spirit of our love. We were bound by our soul’s desire because years later when I needed her once again she came back to me to show me how to love.” The audience was silent and they were glued to his every word.

“We came together today,” he said, “so that we could share this moment with our immediate family and with all of you as our extended family. We are all family because we all love and respect one another.” He became visibly emotional and Anna who was sitting next to him reached over and held his hand. He then picked up a glass of wine and took a drink.

The room was quiet as they waited for him to continue speaking. “To some the Nazi regime is ancient history but there are still some who have witnessed the inhumanity and lived. I hope we can learn from what we witnessed so that succeeding generations can never repeat those atrocities. When I came to America before Anna came back into my life, my mind was filled with the chatter of explanations of why and how I should live my life. It wasn’t until I quieted the chatter, I heard the small still whisper of the soul. It guided me and put me in synch with my soul’s desire which is to love and to be loved.”

He then said to the audience, “It has taken me many, many years to figure out that in order to find contentment in life you must first quiet your mind. The mind can become filled with the insignificant matters of life. I was ignoring my heart - never ignore your heart. The heart can put you on the right path - life without love is a wasted life.

You must find the love within you first before you can share that love with others. Don’t wait for others to love you first because you cannot discover love until you begin to love. Then and only then will you find the true synchronicities of life. I have found - when you reach out and care for the welfare of others, others will reach out and care for you. We are never alone in the world. I discovered that through the small acts of kindness from a young girl who threw apples to me, every day, like clock work, over a barbed wire fence” he said with a smile.

He then looked down at Anna, “Our hearts and souls are always intertwined and synchronized with the hearts and souls of our significant others. We are here now sharing our life’s journey - a journey of discovery and wonder. We are sharing this world in order to love and to be loved.”

He then looked over at his children and grandchildren, “I hope my children and grandchildren learn to put aside the insignificant matters and let their heart and soul reveal to them the true beauty in life,” he said as tears welled up in his eyes.

“Albert, let them eat now,” Anna said.

“Thank you,” he said to his family and guests while laughing, “thank you,” he repeated with a big enthusiastic smile on his face, “I am grateful for all of you for being a part of my life and may love always be a significant part of your lives.”

With love,

Thomas F. O’Neill

(800) 272-6464

Other articles, short stories, and commentaries by Thomas F. O'Neill can be found at the links below.

Link: http://thomasfoneill.blogspot.com

Link: http://pencilstubs.com

Link: http://www.livejournal.com/users/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://www.myspace.com/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://thomasfoneill.spaces.live.com

Link: http://pencilstubs.com/magazine/MagPage.asp?NID=2564

Link: http://pencilstubs.com/magazine/authorbio.asp?AID=412

E-mail: introspective7@hotmail.com

by Thomas F. O'Neill

I moved back to my hometown, Shenandoah, Pennsylvania, five years ago after being away for nineteen years. The transition of moving back was difficult for me because the town I remember from my youth is quite different from the town I am living in today.

My hometown is in the heart of the Pennsylvania coal region. When the coal industry was booming Shenandoah’s population was approximately thirty-thousand. The mines however are no longer open; they closed in the early nineteen-fifties. The closing of the mines caused the population in Shenandoah and the coal region as a whole to go on the decline. Today, there are approximately five-thousand people living in my hometown. The average income is somewhere around seventeen-thousand per year and the majority of the people are on public assistance. The town’s poverty has also resulted in higher crimes and drug use among the youth.

Forty-four percent of our town’s population is made up of senior citizens. The seniors are very vocal and negative about the towns decline as well. However, I enjoy listening to their stories of what the town was like before I was born when various Department stores lined the main street. I was very shocked and saddened over the amount of vacant lots and vacant buildings in my town.

What bothers me the most is that the majority of our town’s teenagers congregate on the main street out of boredom. Most if not all of our town’s youth will move out of the coal region once they graduate high school or college. They will move to where there are high paying jobs and better employment opportunities. This is the main reason why the outward migration is greater than the people moving into our region.

I was contemplating on moving away from the area once again but I decided to stay to cultivate ways of teaching the history of our town to the younger generation. Some of the friendships I have made over the last five years also helped me become more involved in my community.

I have always been intrigued by our town’s history. The history was mostly passed down to me orally by some of the miners widows and my grandparents. They were proud to live in the coal region because of its rich ethnic diversity and heritage.

I was very bitter about the change I saw in Shenandoah because I felt people were losing touch with our town’s past. I tried my best however to accentuate what is positive in our community rather than dwelling solely on the negative.

It wasn’t until a tragic event occurred on August 4, 2006 that my perception of the region changed in a very dramatic way. On that date a fifteen year old boy Aaron Kegolis was severely injured in an auto accident. His girlfriend who was driving the vehicle lost control of her car after a blowout of one of the tires. The car rolled over an embankment and Aaron Kegolis who was a passenger in the car was thrown from the vehicle. He suffered a severe head injury. While he laid in a comma, I witnessed the entire community reach out to his family.

That auto accident was truly tragic it changed not only Aaron’s life but his family and friends lives as well. His family told me that he has a long road of recovery ahead of him. The difficult road that Aaron is on is being made a bit easier though by the outpour of love and affection from his family, friends, and the entire community.

The coal region is known for being economically depressed from lack of jobs and resources but the community’s concern for Aaron only goes to show that the coal region is still rich with heart and soul.

The entire community has come together and organized fundraisers for Aaron's family. There were softball tournaments - twenty-five teams played each other which raised a lot of money for Aaron. There were dances organized by the high school students. Concerts were held and t-shirts with - “Aaron bringing a community together” - were sold. Along with various other events that were organized over the last six months.

These fundraising events did much more than raise funds for Aaron they brought our entire community together out of compassion for one of our own.

We have a tendency to judge ones generosity in terms of dollars and there is no doubt that a lot of money has been raised to help Aaron's family. Those monetary donations are truly needed to aid Aaron with his recovery. What will never be forgotten though in the hearts and minds of our community are the small acts of kindness, because this kindness has a profound effect on the giver and the receiver, but most of all on our entire community.

Most people think that little acts of generosity are insignificant but every little kind act resonates through our community. When we reach out to enhance the life and wellbeing of a person in need, we in turn enhance our own lives.

Aaron has shown everyone that he has a loving family and a lot of friends who truly care for him. It was their collective collaboration of love that brought the entire community together in a way that I have never seen before which is truly heartwarming. It makes one proud to live in a community that cares.

Our community with its outpour of love and affection has shown Aaron and his family that you can measure the true worth of a person's character not by what they amassed over the years but by what they give to others. Our greatest gifts in the coal region are not measured monetarily because they come from the heart. Those heartfelt acts of generosity for Aaron resonate through our community like enlightening words of love which is far more precious than monetary gifts.

The truest heroes in our community are the ones who reach out to those of the least influence - the ones who do not have the means to return the favor. The coal region has a lot of heroes and they are the ones that have the profoundest effect on our community and it is through their kindness and love that they will always be remembered.

With love,

Thomas F. O’Neill

(800) 272-6464

Other articles and commentaries by Thomas F. O'Neill can be found at the links below.

Link: http://thomasfoneill.blogspot.com

Link: http://pencilstubs.com

Link: http://www.livejournal.com/users/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://www.myspace.com/thomas_f_oneill

Link: http://thomasfoneill.spaces.live.com

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/MagPage.asp?NID=2518

Link: http://www.pencilstubs.com/magazine/authorbio.asp?AID=412

E-mail: introspective7@hotmail.com

 

***********************************************************************************

Let us remember our heritage

 

by Thomas F. O'Neill

There comes a time in our life when we must face who we truly are in relation to others. We go through our daily routine, day after day, year after year, without ever taking the time to just sit back and visit our self in order to get to know our self better. Megan was no exception, for fifteen years she worked as a bank-teller in her hometown. It was simply a job for her; it was what she did for a living. She didn’t particularly hate her job but she didn’t particularly enjoy her job either.

She saw many of her co-workers over the years come and go due to the low pay and lack of appreciation, but she stayed. The bank manager liked her work and recognized that she was a trustworthy and good employee. Her co-workers however had a hard time getting to know her due to her shyness and her being extremely introverted.

She only lived a few blocks away from the Bank which was convenient for her due to her not owning a vehicle. In the years that she worked there she never invited anyone to her home which the other bank-tellers found a bit peculiar. She lived in a guesthouse that was once owned by a prominent medical Doctor. Her home had no television, radio, or computer. She had a phone in case her boss needed to get a hold of her but she never received any phone calls. Her job seemed to be the only contact she had with the outside world. She never missed a day’s work in the fifteen years she worked at the bank and she never took a vacation. Her co-workers found that odd and the fact that she had never gone to see a movie or even rented one was just down right weird in their minds.

Dr. Bender’s guesthouse had a large antique mahogany table in the living room. The table was there when Megan moved into the place, along with all the other antique furniture. The furniture was old but quite beautiful. There are beautiful hardwood floors and molding in the house. Her living room had a large fireplace and at night she liked to burn wood so that she could hear the crackling sounds of the wood burning. She also enjoyed watching the warm glow of the flames. Over the fireplace was a large painting that was painted in 1927 by an artist who was a friend of Dr. Bender’s aunt. The Doctor’s aunt once occupied the guesthouse and the artist painted her lying on a couch nude. In one corner of the living room there was a grand piano that Megan’s parents once owned. The other rooms in the house had walls and walls of book shelves filled with the books that Megan had read over the years. When she ran out of room for the book shelves she plopped the books on the large Mahogany table in her living room. She never got rid of her books they were more valuable to her than any other possession.