by Cheryl on January 27th, 2012 | Posted inJust me
I did not know Sarah Burke. And yet, since she died last week at the age of 29 after a skiing accident, I can’t stop thinking about her.
Sarah was a freeskiing icon. She was also a true pioneer. She pushed for the sport’s inclusion in the X Games, in which she won four gold medals, and in her greatest accomplishment, halfpipe skiing will be included for the first time in the 2014 Winter Olympics.
She will not get the chance to go for the gold she was favored to win, the one she’d always dreamed of hanging around her neck. She ruptured her vertebral artery in a routine training run Jan. 10, then went into cardiac arrest. Her brain was deprived of oxygen, and though the surgery to repair the artery was successful, the damage to her brain was irreversible. She died nine days after her accident, with her family around her.
In looking at videos and photos and reading stories about her, Sarah was beautiful and, from all accounts, humble and kind and supportive of all women, even her competitors. She was the inspiration for many female skiers and, in her memory, will continue to be one.
But that’s not what touched me so much about her. She met her husband, pro skier Rory Bushfield, when they were barely teenagers. They married in 2010. There is a video clip that shows the two of them talking about each other, and the way they look at each other…I don’t know how he’s going to survive this loss.
They were free spirits who loved the mountains and each other. Maybe it’s living on the edge all the time, pushing that envelope, that makes them seem so alive. And when they die, it is that much more shocking. I hope Rory will find peace in the quiet of those mountains, in time.
Sarah lived life to the fullest, with passion and determination, and she was memorialized at the X Games on Thursday night. The lights went out on the superpipe and a procession of Sarah’s friends, coaches and fellow competitors made their way down, holding torches to light the way to the bottom where Rory (he’s wearing the green coat with the hood) and Sarah’s family waited.
It was beautiful. And sad.
I didn’t know Sarah Burke. But my thoughts are with her husband, who lost the love of his life, and for her family, who are now without a daughter, a sister, a friend.
by Cheryl on January 26th, 2012 | Posted inJust me
I used to think in blog.
Through the course of a day, something would happen and I’d think how it’d make for a great post. I’d even half-write it in my head if I wasn’t near my computer.
But now? Now, it’s different.
I click on “add new” and, too many times, I close the file without writing anything, or after deciding the few lines I’d banged out suck. My mind has been elsewhere. Specifically, on my fiction work in progress. And I wonder if my attention there is closing me off to what’s going on around me. Or if writing fiction makes it difficult to switch gears to blogging, if it’s too much of a brain suck to be left with anything original to say over here.
I find I have less time to sit and think about posts. My life is more about taking a quick instagram, or a couple lines on Facebook. It’s kept me somewhat involved.
Then, the other day, I started feeling sad. A little mopey. Disconnected. I think it has something to do with missing my time over here. Where I can just let my thoughts about parenting or something one of my kids said or my love of cherry jujube hearts flow. Where I can examine them and shape them and know that you’ll understand. You’ll get it. And then maybe you’ll share with me something that’s happened to you.
We have a give-and-take here, don’t we, that I truly value. So much so, I’m starting to realize how much I miss it. It’s not about the validation. Well, not entirely. For me, it’s really more about the connection.
I truly appreciate all of you who leave your words here and trust me with your secrets. I also apologize that this post is so self-indulgent. It was just something I wanted to get out.
by Cheryl on January 23rd, 2012 | Posted inJust me
David took Sage to ice skating lessons. And then to softball practice, where he had to hand out photo packets and hit-a-thon envelopes, which is clearly the job of the team mom. Except this Sunday, the team mom was WAY too busy at home – screaming her lungs out for the New England Patriots in front of her TV. It was the AFC Championship against the Baltimore Ravens. I couldn’t miss it.
Maybe there seems something wrong in the cosmic order when it’s the woman who is the rabid football fan, specifically of the Patriots. But I guess David knew what he was in for when he married a sportswriter. I mean, if you don’t love sports, you probably shouldn’t make a career out of it. And if you don’t want your wife to love sports more than you do, also don’t marry someone who does what I did for a living.
I never covered an NFL beat. I did cover one Super Bowl, in Miami, when I worked in Palm Beach. I was one of a posse of reporters from my paper, and my seat was outside the press box, in the stands. When I went below to get interviews, it rained, shorting out my computer. I had to dictate on deadline. That was good times. Who says the job isn’t glamorous?
I grew up in Connecticut on the Patriots and Steve Grogan and white helmets with a red-white-and-blue patriot in a three-point stance, ready to hike the football. I bowed out for the Victor Kiam years, especially after the harassment of my lovely, beautiful and crazily-talented friend Lisa Olson. And then when Robert Kraft took over, I was back.
And now I live as far away from New England and Foxboro as I can and still be in the continental U.S. I can’t find any Patriots gear out here, but I have found friends who’ve grown up in New England and we cheer from afar. I *might* yell loud enough during games to be actually heard a few thousand miles away. Ahem.
My sister, who lived in Boston for years but now lives outside Philly, becomes so nervous she watches via computer rather than on TV. We frantically texted each other, because my sister and I wave the Patriots fan freak flag equally as high.
What else is there other than sports that can bring out such passion, such heartache, such elation, such incontinence, all within a few minutes or even seconds of each other?
Nothing. Which is why I love it.
I might have to be sedated for the Super Bowl. But then it just wouldn’t be as fun.
by Cheryl on January 17th, 2012 | Posted inJust me
Once upon a time, there was a gray dog. Someone decided she was worthless and tied her up in a yard that had not one soft surface upon which her body could rest. No one cared if bugs ate at her soft fur. Or if concrete brought sores to her skin or the chain around her neck became almost imbedded in her skin. Or even if she ate.
Somehow she ended up at the shelter in Devore. Where every bone in her body could be counted. And they decided her time was up and she was going to be put down to make room for other dogs, maybe just like her.
But then, the day she was scheduled to die, an angel arrived in the form of a volunteer from I.C.A.R.E. Dog Rescue. They saw her soulful, sad yellow eyes and her gentle spirit and they rescued her. With love and kindness and patience she became brave enough to wag her tail and lick a hand. She no longer cowered when someone stood suddenly. She began to think that not everybody had hate in their hearts.
Then one day she lied on a blanket in a cage at an adoption event. She chewed contentedly on a bone while, all around her, dogs barked and yelped and raced around. People peered into all the cages, stopping to hold the wiggly puppies. She didn’t come to the front of the cage to look at anyone. She didn’t do anything that would draw attention to herself.
But I saw her anyway. I saw her sleek grey fur. I saw the bald patch on her leg and her soulful eyes and her soft muzzle. I asked to take her out and when I pet her beautiful face she looked at me and gently licked my chin. And then, after 10 minutes or so, she licked Sage’s chin, too.
We took her for a short walk. Then I sat on a bench to call David, and she lied down on my foot.
Tonight, we took her home to be part of our family.
She was too busy sniffing every square inch of the house and meeting her new furry older brother to pose for a picture. But here is one taken Saturday when we first met her.
If you are looking for a dog, I urge you to check with local rescue groups and shelters. There are a lot of people devoting their time, money and hearts to saving these “disposable” dogs. Or consider volunteering to foster a dog while it waits for its forever home, or even donating money or things a group or shelter might need – like collars or blankets.
This dog who was neglected and deemed fit to die? Is now snoring softly by my feet. We are ready to love her the way she should’ve been loved since the beginning.
Thank you, Amanda, for bringing our girl back to life. And thank you, I.C.A.R.E Dog Rescue, for all you do to help dogs like ours. I wish all endings could be happy.
by Cheryl on January 12th, 2012 | Posted inJust me
The thing about living in our town is that you drive up the main street that runs between our neighborhood and past the elementary school and you see things like this.
I didn’t know Jessica Joy Rees. It didn’t matter. I was out there this morning, cutting ribbons and stapling posters to trees while Xander watched from his stroller. Because that’s the kind of community in which I live. Mothers, kids – everyone reaches out to help one another in hopes of bringing comfort to a family in times of unimaginable sadness.
Jessie was 12 when she died January 5th of an inoperable brain tumor. She attended our elementary school, graduating last year from the six grade. Her father is a pastor at Saddleback Church, two miles down the road from these signs.
Every class in school made a poster of a Joy Jar and many of the kids made the other individual posters, including Sawyer. The signs and ribbons lined the street from her family’s house to the church and each one told the message Jessie no longer can: NEGU. Never, ever give up. She never did. NEGU is a charitable foundation inspired by Jessie, to raise awareness for pediatric cancer, to support the children and their families, and to raise money for research.
When she was sick, she came up with the idea of Joy Jars, after her middle name. She wanted to brighten the day of other kids with cancer at CHOC (Children’s Hospital of Orange County) so she filled jars with fun stuff for kids: play-doh, crayons, little toys. She’d deliver them every week to sick children, hoping to make them smile. Even as she was enduring her own 11-month battle.
She has touched countless lives by what she did while here on earth, and she continues to inspire hope and faith in her passing.
There is now a hole in the middle of a family where a beautiful young girl used to be. And that is something no posters, ribbons or outpouring of love can ever fix.
