“One Week in September”

NOTE TO READERS: You've read much on this blog about 'Tim's House' and the courage of Carole Brazis from Hambden Township. This column was written in September 2006, after the tragic suicide of her son, Tim Weed. Somehow, I missed posting it here. My sincere apologies for that oversight.


c. 2006 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(9-06)




For this writer, newspaper columns often seem to compose themselves. It is a truism that when ideas are scarce, current events often bring unintended inspiration. Then, need for passionate wordsmithing becomes unstoppable.
Recent days demonstrated this phenomenon with clarity. As I pondered my next installment of TAL, household concerns seemed more demanding. My attention was diverted by various personal matters. Soccer scheduling, a writing possibility for noted coffee purveyor Starbuck’s, and the need for legal advice crowded my thoughts.
Meanwhile, developing news headlines provided an intellectual backdrop for this busy routine. While I fretted over the weekly challenge of making my deadline, these fantastic stories took shape in print…
First, radical Islamic leaders began to call for the assassination of Pope Benedict XVI, after taking umbrage at comments he made in Germany. This outrageous step came over a 14th Century quote he repeated from Emperor Manuel II Paleologus, a Byzantine ruler. Then, the automotive world was stunned when reports surfaced that General Motors and Ford had secretly discussed a possible merger. In yonder days, such a proposition would have indicated the onset of sheer madness. A pairing between the two could never be considered! But with Toyota, Honda, and Nissan enjoying competitive advantages, even on American soil, such a move might have been beneficial. Meanwhile, the Shuttle ‘Atlantis’ and its crew were plagued by mysterious, floating debris while on a twelve-day mission. And finally, Venezuelan dictator Hugo Chavez appeared at the UN after President Bush, proclaiming that “The Devil himself has just been here!” It was a strange period for reporters across the world. Meanwhile, in Northeastern Ohio, public discourse centered on upcoming statewide elections. As ever, political ads littered the airwaves with sensationalized rhetoric. It was a point in time that could make the most hardened news junkie go numb!
Thoughts about all these rowdy events were stilled by news that a young friend had passed away unexpectedly, in Chardon. With disbelief, I read an e-mail message about the tragedy from a former co-worker. Suddenly, my head was clear. Nothing else mattered. Only quiet reflection remained over the loss of this familiar face from Geauga…
Tim Weed was the sort of personable, energetic soul that anyone might want as a neighbor, comrade, brother, or son. Though only in his twenties, he seemed to cherish the experience of human existence with maturity. His good humor entertained and uplifted the crew at Mikolsky’s Giant Eagle. Customers were treated with courtesy and good cheer as he handled duties in the Produce Department.
My first encounter with Tim came from the perspective of supervision. As a Co-Manager for this local business, it was typically my responsibility to work a late schedule. After closing the store at midnight, we would enjoy conversation while completing end-of-day tasks. I used to pump a fist in the air and exclaim “Another one in the record books!” when my day was finished. He would still be busy with overnight chores. Yet the moment of celebration made him smile.
Eventually, he began to ask questions. First, in relation to my background and retail experience. Then, about more personal matters like my custom motorcycle. When I professed a long-term affinity for classic rock, and biker culture, he spoke about his father. I was surprised to learn that such things were commonplace, at home. A sense of camaraderie developed between us, that went beyond standard workplace civility. I felt glad to have Tim as a member of our grocery team.
Hearing him ruminate over social activities, girlfriends, pro sports, and career goals evoked many moments of personal reflection. I was often moved to think of my own life, in bygone days. He seemed to enjoy tales of highschool adventure from the 1970’s. We had a cross-generational bond that became stronger with each passing year. This dialogue ended when I exited the store in June. Yet my memories of him remained compelling.
Calling hours at the Ritondaro Funeral Home lasted for two busy days. An incredible number of people came to offer their condolences. It highlighted how many other hearts had been touched by Tim’s upbeat nature and outlook. Anguished tears flowed incessantly. But despite the visitation of sorrow, love brightened the darkness. His mother offered a gentle embrace to every mourner. Even with the moment’s burden so heavy to bear, there was strength in her heart for tomorrow.
I bowed while waiting in the receiving line. My lips moved with invisible devotion. “Dear Father in heaven, we were not ready to surrender this traveler to you so quickly. And he was not truly prepared to finish his journey. So accept this earthly plea… give mercy and peace to our beloved friend. And watch over his family in the days ahead… amen.”
After the silent prayer in front of his casket, I went to a front room where music was playing. A computer rendered still photographs from the life that had ended. And words filled the air with a familiar refrain that swelled my eyes with dew:

“Mama told me when I was young
Come sit beside me, my only son
And listen closely to what I say.
And if you do this
It will help you some sunny day.
Take your time... don’t live too fast,
Troubles will come and they will pass.
Go find a woman and you’ll find love,
And don’t forget son,
There is someone up above.

(Chorus)
And be a simple kind of man.
Be something you love and understand.
Be a simple kind of man.
Won’t you do this for me son,
If you can?

Forget your lust for the rich man’s gold
All that you need is in your soul,
And you can do this if you try.
All that I want for you my son,
Is to be satisfied.

(Chorus)

Boy, don’t you worry... you’ll find yourself.
Follow your heart and nothing else.
And you can do this if you try.
All I want for you my son,
Is to be satisfied.

And be a simple kind of man…”

The song was a classic tune penned by Gary Rossington and Ronnie Van Zant of LYNYRD SKYNYRD. Humbly, I reckoned that it embodied the spirit of an older generation, not unlike notable recordings by Bob Seger or Bruce Springsteen. Yet the lyrics represented a fitting tribute for Tim, as well. I listened to the song over and over again. Even as we departed, the melody filled my thoughts.
Ink patterns on a page of parchment offer little in the way of authentic solace from events like those described here. But for a wordsmith, no better tool exists to wring out hope from clouds of woeful gloom. So let a simple promise fill the days while we are apart from such wandering gypsies:

“Don’t ask me to say goodbye, my friend… only farewell, until we meet again.”

Questions or comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: glacio61@alltel.net
Blog – http://chardonthoughtsatlarge.blogspot.com