When Lifelong Friends Die

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The past three days have been tough. Incredibly, incredibly tough. Losing someone you love is no easy thing. I believe it’s the hardest facet of life you’ll ever have to face. And as inevitable as breathing.

I met my girlfriend Allison when I was twelve. I had recently moved to Woodmere (New York) and so had she. I guess both feeling like outcasts solidified that bond of mutuality that doesn’t come along often. And the fact it lasted a lifetime, wow, was a gift.

No two people were more different when it came to things we did, people we dated, the clothing we wore. She was extremely smart school-wise. I was definitely not. She was on the conservative side. I believed the more outrageous, the better. She built a career. I didn’t. Like I said two very different people. And yet despite all that and the intermittent years where we drifted apart, the connection was as strong as ever. We remained each other’s greatest allies because that’s what friends are. The Wind Beneath My Wings people who truly love you and want only the best for you. They raise you up to a standard you might otherwise never dare to reach. They bring you soup when you’re sick, in times of despair, when your babies are born, when your parents die, and when your husbands leave. They are there. Always, always there like a relentless storm or a magnificent rainbow reminding you that life is sometimes fucked up, sometimes cruel, but it is also equally beautiful. Despite the grief that shows up on your doorstep when they’re gone.

Yes, grief is something I know well. In fact, you could say we’re on a first-name basis. I guess it comes with the territory when you lose a sister who was everything to you. It creates a chasm you never fully get beyond, leaving you without an anchor. And this to me was unbearable. So I turned to the very small, very select group of women I’d known all my life and called them sisters … because it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

And now after fifty-two years to find myself minus one is a feeling so gut-wrenching I want to scream. As a writer, I like to think of my words as my ammo, my link from point A to point B without ever having to move this butt from the chair. Yet, whatever I’m saying right now can’t touch the depth of my sadness over losing Allison or the unfathomable anger that there won’t be other days, other phone calls to commiserate over. What we had … is it. Yes, I know we shared some fantastic, wonderful moments and that all I need do is think of them, think of her with those big, funky glasses of hers, and I’m smiling. She deserves that celebration of life. All those incredibly special people do.

But you know the truth is I am so not there yet. Okay? Give me time.

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Touring Across North Carolina. The Good. The Bad. And the Ugly.

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As the year draws to an end, as I realize I’ve been somewhat amiss with my blogging for which I apologize in advance, I suppose now is as good a time as any to share with you what I’ve been up to for the past two months.

October 11th I was deployed to North Carolina to help the survivors of Hurricane Matthew. Like all deployments before there is a heightened sense of adrenaline making myself ready to dig in for a big job. But that pumped up feeling is now gone. I feel drained from top to bottom, happy to be back home where I’ve put my game face back on the shelf until the next time. While I love what I do, it’s hard, hard work.

At the beginning of each deployment while everything is still in critical mode, we’re working twelve hour days. Seven days a week. We’re up before the sun. And once the waters have crested and subsided (if it’s a flood disaster), we’re out there in the field knocking on doors, in the mud, in the heat, in the rain, fighting flies, and sometimes you’re even up against folks who are not at all happy to see you. These are people who live so far off the grid, along back dirt roads with their guard dogs, “No Trespassing” signs and KKK flags flying high that you’d be an idiot not to think twice before stepping onto their turf, especially me with my “Levine” badge roped around my neck for all to see.

But this is the job. This is what I signed up for. And even though I’m aware of the danger every time I knock on a door, my thoughts are much more focused on helping someone who might have otherwise fallen through the cracks. That is why I do what I do. I want to make a difference to someone because it makes me feel good. Makes me feel like I am doing something important. Something authentic while living each day congruently with the values I hold dear.

For me working with FEMA has been a dream fulfilled. And beyond the hard days and pockets of devastation that penetrates the experience, I know each and every time I will come home with a new treasure trove of life lessons that I wouldn’t trade for the world.

I get to travel to places and see things I wouldn’t normally.

This was my first trip to North Carolina. For the time of year, it was unusually warm and yet Fall somehow showed its face. And what a glorious face it was. Cotton never felt softer than it does when still young and bursting from its pod. Streams teaming with trout and glittering like diamonds against the afternoon sun just as I caught this shot. And the frying pan and ice cream truck … well those were just added bonuses. Perked up my day like you wouldn’t believe!

 

 

 

I get to meet new friends.

 

Some might just be passing through, but some are more. Much more. With each deployment, like an old woman gathering acorns in her basket, I have found the most remarkable people I now call “friends.” People who have enriched my life and under different circumstances I might never have spoken to for one reason or another.

A James Cromwell (Green Mile movie) tall wisp of a man who shared my passion for writing. A tiny redhead from Puerto Rico I met during Hurricane Sandy who became my voice of reason. A guy with the last name Jimenez that didn’t speak a lick of Spanish and made me laugh at moments when I wanted to cry. A bald as a cue ball, ex-biker with an earring and tattoos up the yin yang who held me captive in the car every day forcing me to work by his side while he talked about the paranormal and whatever else he felt like discussing for the day. The list of those people who have come into my life through FEMA goes on and on. I am so grateful that our paths have crossed. That they dared to open their hearts to me. And never moreso grateful that I had enough sense to pay attention to that old adage, “Never judge a book by its cover.”

Shit happens.

I’ve been fortunate when I go out on deployment. Other than falling here and there, I’ve never gotten hurt on the job. And I’ve never been in an accident of any kind. Well, this deployment certainly changed all that for me. Less than two weeks into it, while driving, I was hit by an 18-wheeler. The front left side of their car was crushed like a pancake. And four weeks after that, the second rental was again demolished when I hit a dog on the highway. I can’t begin to express all the things going through my mind during that two-second clip from the time I saw the dog stopping in the middle of the road as I came barreling down upon it at 75 miles per hour, other than I broke in two.

Patience is a virtue I’ve yet to master.

I’m constantly reminded of this. And sometimes I wonder if I ever will.

My first month of deployment I was saddled with a crew lead who not only didn’t know what the hell she was doing, she like many aging people, kept repeating herself. Oh my God. Talk about torture. But I kept thinking about my mother. I kept thinking about the fact she’s losing her words, she’s no longer connected to a chain of conversation for any length of time and I must do better. For her. And for me I suppose knowing it’s only a matter of time before I too ride that choo-choo into La La Land.

Your health is all you’ve got.

I’m not one to make resolutions, but for 2017 I’m making an exception. When deployed, I tend to do all the wrong things. Eat the wrong things and not take care of myself like I should. Not because I want to. But because the job forces the situation. That and I think we get lazy riding around a car all day, out in the boonies where we’re lucky to find a McDonald’s or Hardees. So we grab what we can, when we can.

Which was my exact thought when I found this little kiosk. Was this luck or what?

As I look back on my time in North Carolina, there were many days my heart was heavy. For the families who’d lost everything, and their whole world was left piled out on the street in one soggy heap for all to see. For the animals left abandoned, abused, their limbs quivering as we drew near wondering if we were going to pet them or beat them. I can’t wipe those images from my mind. But I can counting my blessings. Every single one of them. Especially this beautiful one I know is waiting for me when I get home.

As I push through all these thoughts, I can’t help but wonder are the choices we make in our lives fated. Are we truly the masters of our domain? I like to think we are. That nothing in this crazy world of ours is set in stone. And that the best has yet to happen.

On that note, I will end with much thanks. Thanks for reading. And thanks for letting me share my thoughts with all of you.

Peace and love.

 

 

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9/11: Hope at Ground Zero

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Like millions of other people on September 11, 2001, I sat transfixed to the TV screen watching and re-watching images I simply couldn’t believe were real. It all felt so chaotic, so horrific, the truth was I didn’t want them to be real.

But they were. And as the fiery clouds of smoke continued to engulf and consume, little did I or the millions of other people watching realize to what extent these unfolding events would change us forever.

Looking back fifteen years ago, we were a different country. We seemed to stand apart from the rest of the world in the fact that we remained untouched by foreign invasion. Suicide bombers, sniper attacks … these were things simply not part of our day-to-day landscape. And because of that, we took certain truths for granted. And we shouldn’t have.

We were unprepared for what happened that day, and as much as I’d like to think we’re now smarter, more secure, I can’t help but ask: Are we?

Three thousand people perished that day. Three thousand brave men and women who fought to save their lives and the lives of others ended in a wreckage of glass and steel right before our eyes.

As a New Yorker, as a fellow participant in this bowl of humanity we’re all a part of, I felt what I imagine we all feel when something this crazy and senseless happens. Angry, mournful and questioning. Fifteen years ago, I didn’t have the chance to pay my respects the way I wanted to, so when I finally found myself back in New York, nothing could keep me away from Ground Zero.

 

The outside memorial of two enormous waterfalls set within the original footprints of the Twin Towers is a magnificent structure and quite peaceful as you stroll around and gaze at all the names etched in.

The inside museum tells a different story. It offers us something more. A glimpse behind the wall of smiling faces telling us this one loved to play golf. This one coached Little League. This one just got married. This one just had a baby. So many names, so many faces, I kept thinking as I moved from exhibit to exhibit until I finally came to the end. Thoroughly drained and profoundly touched.

History teaches us that the events of the past shape our future. It begs us to not forget. To not wipe clean the memories. It tells us to use all that we know to honor our cultural differences and rectify those injustices in this great story of human existence. It provokes us to think. To act. To develop a better lens through which we see the world and keep us safe. It gives us meaning. It provides an opportunity to build character and integrity in the lives of our children. And it teaches us the most important lesson of all … hope. For without that, there’s nothing.

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