The GGA Project -- Day #239 "At Shorty's with the Shorty"

I've always got my eye out for a new park to take my son to.  This is mainly because I myself get bored going to the same one over and over.  It's nice to change it up a bit.  Since I was going grocery shopping this afternoon, I decided to take him to a large park I'd passed many times coming home from work.

Today's New Activity: Futbol, Playground, and Young Punks at Union City's Shorty Garcia Park

One of the main reasons I wanted to go to this park is that there are always men playing soccer there.  I wanted Monkey to get to see the sport in action, in person.  So far he's seen it on t.v. and played with his mini-soccer ball and goal in the house, but he's never seen it live.  We sat for a while on the sidelines and watched what was definitely league play, and I translated from the Spanish for Monkey.  A coach screaming at his player, "callate buey, no mames...no digas nada mas pendejo!" (in an effort to keep him from being ejected for yelling at the ref) became "he got in trouble from his coach because he talks too much."  Well, it was a rough translation.

Monkey enjoyed the game, but after about 20 minutes he was ready to go play.  He ran to the playground and tried out all the fixtures he was unaccustomed to seeing.  There were tons of monkey bars (perfect for him--the little strongman can hang from them himself and lift his legs up, hooking his feet on the next rung.  Ridiculous!) and other things to climb.

And there was also a little walking suspension bridge, which he crossed carefully and with great ceremony.

He was having a great time with no end in sight.  And then something really strange happened.  He was standing and looking at these boys on their skateboards when he went into a bit of a daze.  I figured he was just staring at the boys and I was telling him, "that's a skateboard," just to make the staring less awkward.


All of a sudden he just looked up at me and said, "home?"  I asked him to repeat it and he said, "home."  I was surprised because he's never said this word to me before, and he's certainly never eager to leave a playground.  I said, "do you want to go home?" and he said, "yes," reaching his arms out to be picked up.  I said okay and picked him up.


We'd walked quite a long ways from the car, and halfway back I noticed a young guy standing by my rear car window, leaning and peering into it.  I'd left my purse there since I didn't want to lug it around the park, figuring I'd just keep and eye on the car (which I'd been doing while we watched soccer but had kind of forgotten about once we went all the way to the playground).  Ugh...I felt my Mama Bear come out.  I was livid.  After a bit the guy looked around and I'm pretty sure he saw by the look on my face and my stepped-up pace that this was probably my car he was considering breaking into.


I was surprised he'd spotted the purse, since my windows are pretty darkly tinted in back--but when you're desperate and looking for it, I don't know...you can sniff these things out I guess.  He walked back to his car, or the car where he and his friends were hanging out anyway and just stared at me in a near mocking challenge as I approached and put my son in the car.  I don't know how exactly this transformation happens, but when I became a Mom, I lost all fear when it involved being in protective mode.  Even though in this case it was just protection of possessions and not my child, the fact that my son was with me triggered that Mama Bear instinct.  I pity the fool who tries to mess with a woman in that moment.


But what was *really* interesting to me was that the whole reason I even headed back to my car in that moment was because my son asked to go home.  The rare, strange timing of it gave me pause.  In an odd way I felt like he was the protector.  Like he somehow knew something was amiss and wanted to clue me in.  I thanked him for that clue in in the form of an ice cream at Sonic.  How nice that I still had a wallet and could pay for it :)

The GGA Project -- Day #218 "Heartbreaking Loss/Heartwarming Win, Heartbreaking Loss"

Still sick, I had to cancel plans with my friend Alex to participate in the AIDS walk in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park.  I was really sad to do this.  Not only was I looking forward to the 6-mile walk (great exercise), I was excited because it's a family friendly event that I planned to bring Monkey along to.  It was sure to be a nice time.  But it's been cold lately, and I knew we needed to rest up and get better before we leave on vacation next week.  I also didn't want to get anyone else sick.  So yeah, we skipped it.


I managed to sleep in a bit, which almost never happens, so while I didn't feel any better this morning, I also didn't feel any worse.  And having planned to be home for the day, I was able to sit in for


Today's New Activity: Watching the FIFA Women's World Cup Finals


I'll admit I'm a bandwagon soccer fan.  I didn't grow up watching or playing soccer, so I have no emotional connection to the sport.  I like it when I watch it, but I usually only do that during the World Cup--and only the Men's World Cup at that.  But I've been paying enough attention to know that the US Women's team has done an amazing job during this tournament, and I definitely wanted to catch their chance at the finals, versus Japan.


There was a lot of talk about how Japan was the sentimental favorite, given the tragedy of March's earthquake and tsunami and all the deaths that came as a result.  Nobody would have been upset to see them win; quite the contrary is probably true.


So although it was tough to see the US team miss so many goal opportunities and lose a close one in penalty kicks after an overtime, it was heartwarming to see the Japanese women take this emotional win back to their country...an added measure of pride and hope for all the people back home.  Yes, that was nice to see.


That was the end of the nice reportings for the day.


A few hours after the game I received a shocking text from my friend Nessa that our mutual friend and (former for me, current for her) coworker William had died in his sleep earlier this afternoon.  William was recently diagnosed with cancer, but he'd started treatment and by all accounts was doing well.  He'd reported feeling good and being in good spirits lately, and had only hours earlier posted a comic strip on his Facebook page.


A call from Alex (with whom I was supposed to do the walk this morning)--who'd visited William just yesterday--revealed that William's sister came home this afternoon and found him unresponsive after apparently having just laid down for a nap, and attempts to revive him had failed.


William was 37.  It's such a terribly tragedy for the family, made worse by the fact that his sister, also under 40, had died suddenly of complications related to a heart condition just two years ago.


It was such a terrible shock, and I know the group of friends who knew William is reeling from it.  We don't know yet the cause of death, and the thought that he could just go to sleep one afternoon and not wake up is as sobering as it is upsetting.  I've experienced the deaths of people I know--older people who I knew would pass before me.  But the death of a coworker and peer is new, sad territory.


And this is the thought too, whenever I hear about a death and have the time to really think about it:  Where is William now?  Where is he?  Where did the entity, the person we knew as "William" go to?  Just like that.  He was here and then he was gone.  And to where?


I know that people who are members of most religions would say they know the answer to this question.  Or at least they could narrow it down to a few choices.  But I'm not convinced.  I still don't know how anyone living could really know what happens after we die.  Or even if some people do somehow have an idea of the "what," for sure nobody has a clue about the "how"... the how it feels, the what it looks like, the who else is there, the how long it takes to get to the next step.  Oh my gosh...when I really think about it?  Really and truly?  I'm terrified.


The idea of nothingness to follow is terrifying.  The idea of eternity is equally terrifying to me.  And it's that final moment I think about the most: the moment when what we know of a person switches over from "here" to... where/what/nowhere/nothing (?)


Today I understand why people try to communicate with the deceased.  All afternoon and evening I was having these thoughts: 'William, where are you now?  Can you just send a little sign and especially let me know if you know what's going on down here?  That people down here are sorry to hear of your passing?  Are missing you?  Can you let us in on the secret?'


But I know that is not possible.  I know that the mystery of death is that it remains a mystery to all of us until it is our turn.  And writing about this...I'm really, really sad that William's turn came so soon.