Genetics and other announcements in the background (1)

Excerpt from the upcoming book Viking Funeral. Scroll down to read from the beginning. Thank you all for reading and for your comments. XO M

Part 1.

Dave was the oldest of five children. The son of a world-class athlete, our dad Tom and our world-class mom, Sandra. They were married 52 years, the Linanes. A world-class pair who created a world-class quadriplegic. By the end of this book, I think you will agree about all of them.

Our parents met when they both moved to Redlands, California in the summer of 1946 when they were twelve. They began dating at 16 and married when they were 20 in 1954. In the next six years, they had four children…under the age of six. I am going to pause for dramatic effect to let that just sink in. And further, they almost had five sets of Irish twins under the age six but one pregnancy did not make it to term.

Then I came along five years later. Just when they thought they were done…they were not. My mom was pregnant when I was seven but this pregnancy ended as a result of a dangerous condition called Placenta Previa in the summer before Dave was hurt. She would have been due about the same time as Dave’s accident.

I thought I wanted twins when I was pregnant, a boy and a girl, pregnant once, one of each. Boom, done. At the age of twenty-seven years, I produced my one and only child and retroactively realized how crazy their house must have been with all those babies, toddlers, and pre-schoolers, elementary school age children finally and then another baby right after they got rid of all the baby stuff…and almost another baby dealing with Dave’s accident. I don’t know what I was thinking, Twins? And for my mom with what probably felt like quadruplets and my friends out there with twins…I raise my glass to you. OMG. Is it nap time yet? I meant for the adults?

I asked my mom what my dad’s reaction was when she told him she was pregnant…AGAIN. She said, “Well, (she giggled) he was never surprised.”

Talk about bad fucking news

Excerpt from the upcoming book Viking Funeral. To read previous chapters, scroll down. Love all the love you are giving me with your comments, follows and likes. Thank you! XO M

The phone rang. I remember being in the kitchen. The connecting room to my right, the breakfast nook is where one of the three phones in our house was located at the time. My dad had been reading the paper. He hopped up from the table away from his paper to answer the phone.

I remember feeling something change in the room. I didn’t hear one word from my dad after he said “Hello? Yes…” It is not often that we recognize such a definitive moment in our lives as it is happening. I knew then, I felt it, the split-second joy had been sucked out of our house. It was as if a portal into deep space had been thrown open in our kitchen and the entire existence of our family was scattered beyond to the ends of the universe by the vacuum of nothingness, to oblivion.

My seven-year-old eavesdropping antenna was all the way up along with something else I had never before experienced, true fear. I paid close attention with my peripheral vision so as not to look directly at him. I had never overheard a phone call quite as silent as this one or felt the room so heavy with something I could not identify, something unnatural. He hung up the phone. I tried to search his face for clues of something in that half-second, whatever this unnatural thing was, only to discern that his gorgeous bright blue eyes had lost their beautiful energy. He hurriedly left the room in one quick turn. His sunny disposition, his entire being, everything about him had been washed over a dark gray.

Minutes later both he and my mom rushed out the back door into the garage. Wait, what about dinner? Where are you going? I wondered but remained silent, taking it all in. I didn’t understand where they were going or what was happening. I just knew something bad ushered or followed my parents out the door in a rush. Whatever it was I was very afraid of it.

It was rare that both of our parents were not home for dinner. I do not recall a parentless dinner prior to this day, but neither of our parents was present at dinner this night and many nights to come. I remember eating in frightful silence with my sister Anne, she was 12 at the time.

I know they would have given anything including their lives to have been at the table with all of us like normal that night. I know they would have traded places with Dave rather than face the fire of the worst news of their existence in the Emergency Room at San Bernardino Community Hospital. But we don’t always have the option of choosing our fate.

My parents were met at the hospital by a neurologist who explained in a flat tone, “Thomas (Dave’s actual first name) has experienced severe trauma to his spinal cord.” The neurologist slapped an x-ray up on a lightbox in front of my parents, people with no medical background getting their first of many accelerated med-school by force lectures. My dad took one look at the film and dropped to his knees with a stunned overwhelm that anyone could imagine looking at the horrifically obvious misaligned vertebrae of your child. My mom stood fast facing that fire. Her immediate reaction was to catch my dad from falling to the ground completely, along with the doctors and help him up. The doctor coldly asked if they understood what the x-ray was depicting. My dad clarified, “Yes, my son’s neck is broken.”

My parents began a frightening and heartbreaking path that afternoon that I watched my dad turn from a vibrant glowing soul to a shell of dark gray presence, our house was shrouded, an unspeakably broken home, a broken-hearted home.

 

 

November 6, 1973 (fan meets the shit)

I have always envisioned the way this event unfolded in my mind’s eye from the safety of a birds-eye view drifting on a vent of wind far above the action as this is as close as I could ever allow myself to get, even now. I am way above the football field at San Bernardino Valley College. I see players and coaching staff on the field, its a typical afternoon of practice. Players are running through drills and scrimmage line ups are tested.

The defense lines up against the offensive line. The ball is snapped. The play has run its course of bodies crashing into each other. The practice has come to an unusual halt. Something is wrong down there. A large circle has slowly closed in around a player, Dave who is on the ground. He doesn’t look right. He is laying on his back, with his legs unnaturally folded up underneath him, his cleats are digging into the flesh of his backside yet he is not moving around in reaction to what looks like a painful landing.

The coaches jog over to assess what has happened, why he has not shaken off this hit and simply gotten up. It is determined immediately that something is wrong, very wrong. Someone sprints to the sports office to call an ambulance. Most athletes at the college level have all experienced an injury at some point, but they don’t expect to go to practice and leave in an ambulance. The energy of the crowd of players shifts quickly to shock and grave concern for their teammate because none of what they see looks to be anything but ok.

The ambulance arrives in minutes and enters the field through a large chain link gate near the north parking lot of the SBVC campus and drives right onto the football field grass as everyone present steps aside, opening the protective circle of concerned players on one side to allow its approach.

He did not lose consciousness, he explains what he thinks has happened, clearly remembers being hit, a delayed hit. He looked up to see his opponent to determine the reason for the delay. At the moment he looked up his teammate tackled him, basically over the top of him. His head was in the completely wrong and unprotected position of looking up. Instead of the energy of the impact going through the helmet, through his spine and body like it should when the head is tucked down, his head snapped backward, the back edge of his helmet dug into his spine.

He described feeling something like an electric power panel lever being thrown in a lights-out manner of speaking before hitting the grass. He was confused because he had no sense of his body as he lay there, he asks where his arms or legs were situated. He could tell he was in an awkward position but felt nothing physical, only concern for the unknown whatever in the hell this was. He conveys the above-outlined steps he moved through that led to this moment to the coaches and again to the ambulance crew as they too, quickly assess the critical severity of the situation.

An ambulance in an odd location like the middle of a football field draws attention. Brian, Dave’s best friend, is leaving campus for the day. He is heading toward and enters the same north parking lot directly adjacent to the football field. He notices the ambulance and crowd on the field because the unusual spectacle is not anything one would miss. He stops momentarily, concerned about whoever was obviously injured enough to need an ambulance at football practice, but he is too far away to be able to discern anything. He continues as he was, on his way to his car and heads home.

Bruce, another close friend of Dave’s, is in shop class, also adjacent to the football field on the west side. The doors to the class are open because it’s a hot day. Among the noise in the shop, Bruce and other students also notice the ambulance on the football field. Like Brian, Bruce felt some mild concern about what may have happened on the field that required an ambulance response, but he too was too far away to really see anything one way or another. He goes back to his work at hand as the ambulance crew is working on someone.

An isolation board is slipped under Dave in an effort to avoid moving him and possibly causing further damage. He is strapped in place and quickly loaded into the ambulance. His friend from way before junior college, Steve Avila jumps in the ambulance to be with his friend who may be in serious trouble. The ambulance heads off the grass carefully out of the parking lot and north toward San Bernardino Community Hospital a short drive away. It was in the later part of the four o’clock hour leaning toward five.

From up in the sky above the college I can see our rooftop six miles just north of campus to the middle of town, where dinner was being prepared when the phone rang.