Further into the Abyss

I've been remiss in the not posting about my mom for a month, I know.  In my defense, I've been crushed at work for the past two months leading up to a trial tomorrow and Friday.  That's an excuse, though, and probably a poor one.  The reality is that it's all so personal and hard to write about.

The last month has not been good, not by a long shot.  My mom is slipping away, mentally and physically.  That's abundantly clear.  Just when I think things have plateaued and will remain static for a few weeks, she descends further into the Alzheimer's abyss and we go descend with her in a futile attempt to delay the inevitable.

This morning, I received a telephone call from a nurse at Maristone, one I've talked with before.  She advised me that last night, my mom disappeared from her room between routing checks on her at 11 p.m and midnight.  All staff were alerted and a search inside and outside the facility began immediately.  Ultimately, a staff member found her in apartment no. 102 - someone else's apartment - with her walker, a bunch of clothes and someone else's check book, like she was leaving on a trip.  Fortunately, the room was temporarily unoccupied, so she wasn't disturbing anyone.  

The staff alerted the director, who instructed them to check her out to make sure she was okay, then escort her back to her apartment on the second floor.  Because they were fully staffed last night, a caregiver sat outside her apartment most of the night.  Evidently, my mom was up all night rummaging around the two rooms her life has been reduced to.

Like a woman who has lost her mind.

The Dirty Dodgers

The Dodgers' spring baseball season ended tonight with a heartbreaking 18-17 loss to the Giants.  I'm proud of my guys and really, really proud of J.P.

The Giants took a 6-0 lead in the first inning, only to have our boys chip away until it was 6-4.  Wes struggled pitching in the first inning, so I brought in Cyrus, the youngest player on either team.  He was dealing tonight and shut the Giants down for two innings.  In the meantime, our boys had a huge inning and took a 15-6 lead.  

Because he was pitching so well, I decided to let Cyrus pitch a third inning.  That may have been a mistake, as he struggled with his control and the Giants starting hitting him.  After they scored 3 or 4 runs and had the bases loaded, I brought in J.P. to pitch.  I didn't really want to, but the other boys who pitched regularly had pitched recently and, in my mind, J.P. was the freshest.  

J.P. pitched well and threw strikes for the most part, although his velocity seemed to be a little down. Connor kicked a ball at second base that he should have fielded cleanly.  Then, on a ball hit slowly to the third base side of the pitcher, J.P. made a difficult throw to first base.  Aidan, playing first, could have made the catch even though the throw from J.P. was a little bit wide.  He didn't catch it, the ball tipped off his glove and ended up in shallow right field.  Two runs scored.  When the inning was over, we were down 18-15.

I checked with my dugout coach, Will, who confirmed we had or 9-10-11 hitters coming to bat in the bottom of the last inning.  We don't have a chance, I thought, although I told the boys differently.  With two outs, the boys rallied and before I knew it, J.P. was at the plate with two runners on base.  He took two pitches for balls.  Next, the pitcher threw two low and outside pitches that the umpire called strikes.  After the second one, I yelled - loudly - at the umpire, looking away so as not to get myself in trouble.  Damn, I thought, J.P. is going to look at a called third strike and be devastated. 

The pitcher, who was throwing hard, looked in at the catcher, rocked back and let the ball fly.  Low and fast, again, but this time swung the bat and hit a line drive single up the middle, right past the pitcher's head.  Man, I was (and am) proud of that kid.  Two outs, two strikes, two on, bottom of the last inning and our season on the line, so what does he do?  He rakes, that's what he does.  J.P. was "in the arena," and he wasn't scared.  What a moment.

Ultimately, Aidan struck out looking with the bases loaded and the tying run on third base, and the Dodgers lost 18-17.  That's baseball. 

Another baseball season in the books.  It passed by too quickly, as always.  Damn, I love those boys and their fathers that coach with me. 

This was a big spring for J.P. on the baseball field.  The last half of the season, especially in the tournament, I moved him up to second in the batting order and he started hitting the ball with authority.  He hit a double into the gap between left and center field two nights ago.  Tonight, he had a pair of hits into the outfield (including the line drive up the middle in the last inning).  Also, J.P. really began to develop as a shortstop.  Tonight, as was the case Tuesday night, he threw a fast runner out at first base from deep in the hole.  He had an infielder's hands and a good arm.  I think he can become a good baseball player if it's something he wants to do.

I wouldn't trade coaching these boys in baseball for anything.  I had that feeling again Tuesday night - a beautiful night after a shitty, difficult stretch at work - that on field #2 at Warner Park, under the lights, was where I needed to be.  Hell, it was where I wanted to be . . . forever.  As I've said before, if I'm lucky enough to make it to heaven, I hope my job for eternity it to coach 9-10 year olds playing baseball on a beautiful spring evening as the sun sets.

I'm a lucky man. 

A Sunday to Remember

Yesterday was a big day for J.P.

For the past eight months or so, J.P. has been attending First Communion Sunday School classes at Cathedral - where Jude and I were married - before our regular 11 a.m. church service at St. Patrick.  Like so much that he does, J.P. has taken his preparation for First Communion seriously.  He is and always has been an old soul that way.

Last Sunday, he was asked to do the second reading at the First Communion church service at Cathedral.  He was proud to have been asked and solemnly practiced his reading all week long.  As is also his way, J.P. bristled a little when Jude and I made suggestions to him while he was practicing (speak slowly, don't chew up your words, etc.), mostly because he expects so much of himself.  Sometimes, with constructive criticism, he tends to focus more on the "criticism" and not so much on the "constructive."

Jude's brother, James, was in town with his 2 + year old daughter, Caroline, for the festivities.  Jim and Jane White were there, of course.  Tom and Sandy White were at Cathedral, as were Jude's aunts, Margaret and Ann.  Tracy, Gary and the kids (Kaitlyn and Matthew) brought my mom, which made the day all the more special.  Alice and Jerry came, too.  Our families were well represented.

When J.P. walked down the aisle, hands clasped as if for prayer, I smiled to myself.  He looked great in the red tie I helped him tie that morning, the first real tie he has ever worn.  After Father Steiner addressed the children, who were sitting up front, and the congregation, one of J.P.'s Sunday School classmates did the first reading.  Next came the Psalm.  Suddenly, it was time for the second reading.

J.P. got up, walked to the center of the church, in front of the altar, and bowed low.  Then, he walked up the stairs, behind the lectern, and adjusted the microphone.  And away he went.

My son, my eldest son, who seemingly only days before was being baptized as an infant by Father Eric at St. Patrick, was reading from the bible to a crowd of well over 500 people.

And he nailed it.

J.P. spoke loudly, slowly and clearly.  Truth be told, he was easier to understand than many adults I have heard do readings at church.  When he finished, a lady in front of us mouthed to her companion "he's really good."  I beamed with pride.

When he finished and walked back to his seat, Jude and I looked at each other and shared a moment - a moment made up of so many other moments.  Something passed between us, unsaid and not needing to be said.  We exchanged a fist bump and I said a silent prayer of thanks.

A few minutes later, I watch J.P. take communion for the first time - the first of many, many times in his lifetime.

I've thought this before, but it wouldn't surprise me if J.P. became a priest one day.  What's important to me, though, is that he remembers the day of his First Communion and how proud Jude and I were of him.