clown, depression, grief, suffering, suicide, teacher, why, widow
On our first real date in 1989 my late husband and I saw Dead Poets Society. It was a great date-night movie, inspirational with poignant reminders to explore, stay curious and that we are all creative beings. We were in our early twenties just venturing out in our own lives and trying to figure out how to make them extraordinary. The film was poetry brought to life through script, cinematography and cast. As I recall this was my first experience of Robin Williams in a serious role moving him far beyond the simple but fun silliness of Mork from Ork. He was superb in the lead role; a vast talent not just mere funny man. I was uplifted by the experience of watching him and became a fan for life. He glows before us on the silver screen standing on top of a desk. “We must constantly look at things in a different way. The world looks very different from up here,” he tells the students, encouraging them to climb up too and look around with a new perspective. “…just when you think you know something, you have to look at it in another way, even though it may seem silly or wrong. You must try.” We think we know death and the reasons for it. Robin Williams took his own life and speculation abounds as to why: addiction, depression, maybe even bi-polar proposed one armchair psychiatrist in the media. He, like so many others who have died by suicide, is called selfish for his actions. But let’s take a new perspective. Let’s climb up on that desk and...
grief, loss, Photograph by Ken Gehle, poetry, storm, teacher, why
According to my daughter’s Facebook profile she has two mothers: me and a dear teacher from middle school. I have always been fond of being in that company because this woman loves my children, I mean really loves them. She does this for them and hundreds of others. She is proof positive that the heart does not have a finite amount of love to give. She was only 34 when she died. Stacey Daniel taught Language Arts bringing stories alive for hundreds of children and supporting them as they learned that they too had stories to tell. She found the special talent in each child, lovingly brought it out from where it was hidden and wrapped it up as a gift before handing it back. Wide-eyed children opened those presents and found that they could do what they had not imagined. They believed because she believed. As she was leaving, a hurricane was crawling up the east coast. Today there is a storm in our hearts. I remember seeing Stacey sign my husband’s memorial service guestbook, a modified portfolio of his images. I was so touched that she and several other teachers were there for my children. As I tried to process this unexpected news, I looked back at the page she signed. Her name rests beside this image of another storm our family endured. How ironic? How apropos? Yes, both. Another hurricane at another time. Another unexpected loss. Another wave crashes down. While I use prose to articulate my thoughts I so admire those who use poetry as their art form. Stacey’s friend, Jon Goode, an Emmy...
children, clown, grace, grief, loss, openness, suffering, why
How can it be that even clowns die? Our community lost a dear soul this week suddenly, without warning. We are shocked beyond measure, devastated. Vincenzo Tortorici was many things: loving father, larger-than-life personality, accomplished juggler, master of ceremonies, vaudevillian, puppeteer, Buddha scooter jockey and introspective wise old soul. A clown and actor by trade, he made the lives of children a little brighter during their stays at the local children’s hospital. Dr. Pucci was a miracle worker who knew how to set nurse traps with toilet paper, catch invisible balls in paper bags and make children forget where they were for a little while. I love to laugh and I make my attempts at humor, often funny only because of their feeble nature. I am not a natural; he was, sparkling eyes and all. I honestly can’t recall a single encounter with Vince where I did not laugh. We have boys the same age but as they have gotten older their interests have diverged. My interactions with Vince have been reduced to chance encounters in the grocery store or the YMCA. Social media has allowed me to stay in touch, laughing at his musings and putting in a comment or two. Even in the way he wrote you could hear his humor reflected. That’s a skill! Vince signed his posts with a clown face. :o) Of course he would. More than a humorist though, Vince could meditate profoundly over deep questions of spirituality, the root of creativity and on suffering. With his loss we suffer. The void is great. We ask ourselves: Why? How do we hold this...
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